I just decided to pop on here real quick as I’m lying in bed next to my snoring infant and the kitten on crack. A thought has taken hold of me that I can’t shake until I’ve given it physical form. Why is it so taboo to talk about our traumas? Are we afraid of the judgement? Or are we ashamed of admitting we have undergone something that has permanently altered our very being? Understandably, it can be pretty uncomfortable baring our souls to just anyone, but even to our closest friends or relatives we show a brighter, happier image to disguise a darker truth.
Even before I had P and discovered depression in one of its more exhausting forms as Post-Partum Depression, I struggled with “regular” depression. Of course I couldn’t have plain old depression. Anxiety has always been its constant companion. Imagine you’re treading water and there are bricks tied to your ankles. You are managing to hold your head above the water. Then, waves in the form of financial problems begin to swell around you. Next, storm clouds carrying thoughts full of “what if’s” gather and darken the sky above you. Finally, just as you feel something brush your leg, your chest feels as if it will burst from the panic. This may not make the picture clearer unless you share some of my fears, but my point remains the same. Depression coupled with anxiety can be crippling. One would think talking through this feeling would help. This may not be the case when those closest to you can’t seem to fathom why you can’t just get over it. A perfect example of this would be a conversation between my Nanna and myself.
N: How was your day?
Me: It was ok. Just stressful, and I’m just feeling down.
N: Why? What happened?
Me: Nothing happened; I’m just feeling a bit down, is all. N: But, you were fine earlier. What’s wrong, now?
This exchange seems innocent and meaningless on the surface. But, when you’ve got depression, there’s rarely a “reason” for feeling sad or down. It’s hard to explain someone, and we just wish those closest to us would just get it and know how to help. This is ridiculous, of course, and illogical. But when depression rears its ugly head, logic and reason tend to flee.
I’m Jess, and I struggle daily with depression. This is an illness like any other that I work endlessly to treat and overcome. Having this conversation is healthy and normal. There is no shame or fault in feeling the things brought on by depression. Let’s normalize having conversations about these things and being open to the possibilities than anyone we encounter could be struggling with the same inner demons, or at least something similar. That’s it. I just wanted to spew my thoughts for the evening. Goodnight, and sweet dreams
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