The Lerner book, Dancing with Anger, speaks of relationship patterns that we repeat with partners, co-workers, friends, parents, and children. She suggests that we take time to examine the modeled behaviors that our parents presented for us. She encourages us to speak with our parents, to inquire with them about their experiences. With that in mind, I emailed my mother this morning.
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I need to share with you that I have been struggling with a significant depressive episode for several months. As depression does, it crept up on me until, one day I was shocked by how dark the voice in my head was. Before coming to visit in June, I had already started seeing a psychiatrist as well as resuming therapy with a psychologist. We’ve adjusted my meds a bit (still Wellbutrin but 300mg XL but with a 75mg immediate release “boost” in the morning), but that hasn’t helped entirely, and after a few therapy sessions it seems evident that biochemical changes are not the sole culprit.
Over the last 10-15 years as a wife and then mother, I lost track of me. With every decision, it was often simpler to concede than argue for what I might want. The roles then became the whole of the person with the radical, bawdry, outspoken, unique creature I used to be hidden somewhere in the shadows. I have a lot of work ahead of me to uncover that creature, and it would help me to understand your experiences and choices.
Would you mind sharing your thoughts and feelings on the choices as a wife and mother you made that impacted your values, your desires, your aspirations? I know that it is a deep and private subject, and if you would rather not go into it, I understand. If you would, however, I would appreciate it. I would also be curious about your hopes for me before I met Sandy and began that life. In turn, perhaps you have considered your own thoughts about your mother’s choices and her perception of yours? Weighty subject matter, I know.
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My mother has always been accessible. She listens without complaint. My mother is a woman fascinated by what you have to offer. She engages you so easily with a complimentary observation followed by a self-deprecating comment or chuckle. Her warmth radiates from her smile, her eyes, the cant of her neck.
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Her initial response came quickly.
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Thank you, Robin, for sharing this with me. I have been under a heavy weight (malaise) for the past week or so, accompanied by some dreams that have some kind of symbolic significance, I’m sure. Autumn has been in most of those dreams. I have had the sense that this “oppression” I feel is secondhand–that is, that I am picking up on someone else’s torment. This is something that occurs often in our family, particularly on my mother’s side. When Autumn, or you, or Tom, or Midge, or Mom would be going through some hard life situation–and keeping it to themselves–many times, I would sense that something was wrong or “off” in someone’s world. Most often with Autumn.
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Her longer response – her epic as she described it – took just a couple of days, but that’s my Mom. She recognized my need and responded promptly. I won’t copy most of it here – a good deal of it was about her own life and choices and those are not for me to share with the world. They are helpful to me, however. I know now that at some points in her life she deferred to my Dad’s wishes perhaps subconsciously. In other points and certainly now, her deference is a conscious choice based upon her faith.
What I would like to post, here, however, are her comments on me. I know that’s fairly self-centered, but then, hey, this is a blog about my depression. Why not include something about my childhood. My mother is a simply elegant writer. She’s easy to read, so I won’t edit it for brevity.
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My hopes for you, however, have never changed. From the time you were very small, I sought to encourage your independence. I wanted you to be the real you. I didn’t want you to “perform” for your parents, as we (my sibs and I) did for ours….
So, wanting you to be independent was my dream for you (another dream, one you weren’t particularly impressed with, was that I wanted you to be in one school system start to finish—this because I thought it would inject stability into your life; what was I thinking?). I didn’t make a big deal out of what outfits you picked each day. And you DID pick your own clothes, most of the time, from the time you were about 18 months! If it was purple on orange, so be it. I truly admired your unique sense of style with your wardrobe and your hair all the way through school. You had a creative mind and you knew what you wanted. You knew how to stand up to people in difficult situations, when I would have crumpled and run off to a dark corner and sucked my thumb, or scribbled late into the night in my beat-up journal, railing at my shortfalls and other injustices.
You had a following. People really admired your natural sense of leadership, as well as your spontaneity and creativity. Even today, someone who was a classmate or otherwise knew you in school will come up to me and ask how you are and what you are doing. You made an impression, Robin. Even as a little child, we valued you and your opinion as if you were already an adult. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do, but that’s kind of how it was. And you had such resilience! Despite a very difficult childhood, in circumstances unlike other children’s (except maybe for farmers’ kids), you forged ahead.One of my great, heart-wrenching regrets is that we unknowingly allowed the boys and all their problems to eclipse you. We really were not prepared to take them on, and we had no idea what we were doing—except that we were deep into our faith by then and felt that God was directing us to make a difference in their lives. [Well, of course, I did fall in love with Scott—who could resist those big brown eyes and that Prince Valiant haircut?] The nature/nurture thing sure didn’t work out the way we thought it would! Those blasted little genes will win head over heels almost every time. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter. It is what it is, as the saying goes. But life changed dramatically for you when they arrived. As if it hadn’t been hard enough already . . .The different things you tried during your school years—Brownies, ballet, Juniorette, band, speech—I remember that it never really rattled me when you changed your mind. I remember a twinge of something when you decided to stop ballet at eight years, but your reasoning made sense to me. You stuck that out so much longer than I ever stuck to anything. You always could persuade us—and I don’t remember any major high drama—on your part, that is. Mr. Emrich was a bit upset about the French horn, I think. More, probably, for his own reasons than for yours. But you and he worked out a compromise—you stayed in the concert band on the horn, and did the flags during marching season. I hope I’m remembering that right. In college, again, you made several decisions on your own—such as moving from the dorm, etc., and we didn’t feel that we had to overly interject our opinion. You were putting yourself through college, as we had. Not that we would have held the $ card over you, if we had been financing your education. I truly believe that. When you were a sophomore and announced that you thought you were gay, well, I’ll admit, that rocked my boat significantly. I didn’t react well at all—and I apologize for embarrassing you. But I had to process that. Even as I wrestled with this, I knew that intrinsically it was your right to work that out for yourself. I’ve always felt that about you—you were then and remain so today this bright, independent spirit, and often I represent that oft-quoted expression that in my eyes you can/could do no wrong. I didn’t obsess on what you wanted to do with your life. Of course, I thought you’d be a terrific teacher! Still do. But I just wanted you to do what you wanted to do that would use your talents to their fullest—because you have so many. Besides, you are a teacher in so many aspects of your life anyway….
[edited section about family history of depression]
We are all broken—glued back together the best we know how. Sometimes the fractures weaken us, so that any jolt causes us to crumble. Sometimes the light that is our soul shines through the cracks, making us like lanterns, leading others through the dark.