Last week, Lotta over at Mom-O-Matic wrote this post. I thought about commenting, I thought about writing a post about it, I thought a lot about it, but decided that I really couldn't say anything about it. Now she has written this post. I still don't feel I have any right to be commenting over at her place, because she has every right to write what she feels the need to write without someone coming in and wrecking it. But I have so much to say about it.
Basically, her posts are about how terrible it was living with her mother, who had severe depression. That's not fair. Her posts are about how difficult it is living with someone who has depression, and how it has affected her life. I believe her. I can't argue. But Lord those posts hurt, as do all the comments she has received from people who have had to deal with similar situations.
You see, I worry a lot about how my issues will affect my Sprouts. I KNOW that I am not as good of a mom as I would like to be. I KNOW that sometimes I am impatient, that I isolate myself from them, that I am not as affectionate as I should be. But I try SO HARD not to let my depression hurt them.
I remember after I had my mini-breakdown, Big Sprout would ask me if I was "sick again" whenever I was short with her or just seemed not happy.
I hate that. I mean I REALLY HATE THAT!
I don't want my Sprouts to grow up and say "I know Mom really tried, but..." I want them to always know that I love them no matter what. It scares me that even though I am trying so hard, I might not be successful. It scares me that my best might not be good enough. I wonder why the powers-that-be ever allowed me to have children.
The hardest part is knowing that all I can do is my best, hoping it is enough, accepting that it might not be. I don't want to be the mother who fails her kids. I don't want to be that selfish woman who puts herself before her children. I don't want depression to become an excuse for being a poor parent.
I comfort myself by thinking about all the "normal" parents in the world who make mistakes (every parent I have ever heard of), but somehow it doesn't help. I try to believe that by openly seeking help, and being clear to the Sprouts that mommy has a disease that makes her like this, I will somehow provide them with the tools to deal with me being a little nuts.
Big Sprout knows that mommy takes medicine because she has a hard time with things. She seems to deal with it okay. I try to put it on the same level of diabetes or something similar. I try not to show how terribly down I sometimes feel.
Will it be enough?
I suppose I will never know.