Believe and Do the Hard Work

My mom is dying.  Not very gracefully, but that's her problem.  I've just spent a week at her house as she got out of a rehab unit.  She's been in and out of the hospital or rehab since August.  Since I live in a different state, this is the first time I've been able to spend some time with her.  And it was hard.  Talk about emotional whip-lash!  Several times a day I'd got from feeling sorry for her and compassionate, to being irritated and angry with her for not trying to make her own life better.  But, that's okay.  I'm always reminding myself that it is not my responsibility--I've done everything I can to help her find some reasons to work at getting better, but ultimately she is responsible for the decision to do the hard work and get better, or to suffer for these last few months of her life.  I’m okay with her dying and not really sad over having her gone.  That may sound cruel or unfeeling, but I think it's really just coming to peace with what I've had and haven't had with her. What I am sad about is that I never got the connection with her that I always wanted.  But no one did—not my sisters, not my brother, almost definitely not my dad.  The positive side of this, for me, is that I have created a very different relationship with my children.  

Whenever I feel myself slipping into depression, I remind myself how differently I interact with my kids.  I try to be open and honest with them.  I try to let them know what I’m feeling and how I feel about them.  So, even though my mom has failed in her relationships, I am doing better.  And I am not destined to have an end-of-life experience like hers.  During all of this--watching her get old, I've feared the aging process and what it will look like for me.  But it will be different.

My sister was talking to me about how different dad was at the end of his life.  He would go out walking every day, despite the weather, despite how fast he could go, despite how much he hurt.  And it dawned on me that even though I am like my mom in my emotional make-up, I am also like my dad—I have his persistence and drive to do the hard work.  I told my therapist about this and she commented that I have really gotten the best of both of them.  From my dad I have his perseverance and work ethic, but unlike him I am empathetic to people who struggle, particularly with depression.  From my mom I got the depression, but it has helped me gain empathy and compassion.  So I have the tenacity to keep fighting my depression, which my mom never has had, and I have the empathy/understanding, which my dad lacked.  He never understood depression and from what I can tell was never sympathetic to my mother’s state (at least while I was around; maybe he tried to be sympathetic early in their marriage but didn’t make any connections with her, who knows?).  Anyway, I feel good about it.  I feel good about what I’ve learned from both of them.  I feel good about the strengths I’ve gotten from both of them.  I feel proud of myself.

I was thinking about my fear of becoming like my mother—how my depression has scared me and how my knee-jerk reaction to difficult problems is to think “I can’t deal with it.”  But I’ve stopped myself long enough to realize that even though my initial reaction is to feel overwhelmed and like I don’t want to deal with anything, I don’t let that stop me.  Yes, it has taken me a long time to overcome some of my depressive episodes (this last one in particular).  But I did it.  I didn’t give up.  Even in my darkest moments, I was aware of my depression, I was aware that I could eventually change things, I was wanting to change things.  Even when death seemed like the most preferable option, I kept persisting, if only for my kids’ sake. But I found a reason to keep working and trying.  I was always grasping at ways to deal with my depression better than my mom did (Hell, my mother isn't even aware of how depressed she is--funny side story:  I mentioned something to her about how I knew it was hard to do things when you're feeling depressed and she said "you think I'm depressed?"  My jaw dropped.  I said "mom, you lie in bed all day and stare off in space.  I think that is a really good indicator of depression."  She is completely out of touch with her own feelings! It is astounding!).  Anyway, I will be the first to acknowledge that I wasn’t always super effective in dealing with the depression and some days were definitely worse than others, but I never stopped trying, even when just getting myself out of bed was the most effort I could muster.  That persistence and awareness is what sets me apart from my mom.  I don’t have to be afraid of being like her—I am nothing like her.  I am strong, I am honest, I am a hard worker, I am empathetic to other people and their struggles, I am aware and continually trying to be a better person (to be the best I can), and I don’t give up and expect everyone around me to cater to my pain. 

 

I can’t quite explain how important this is for me to recognize, and to really believe.  I feel like I’m at a turning point in my healing process—I’m finally believing and knowing that I’m not like my mom.  I feel myself being freed from that fear.  It’s a really good feeling.  I’m not expressing it very well, but it is profound.  I’m feeling it in my bones, not just on an academic level.  So I guess that despite the difficulties of dealing with my mom and siblings and the end-of-life process that is so tricky, I am benefiting from it all.  Maybe this is what it was going to take to help me recognize that I am a very different woman than my mom, despite our shared experience of depression.  I feel like I am being freed from the fear that always bound me to her.  It’s exciting and refreshing and comforting.  

It has taken a long time to get here.  It is something that my therapist and I have talked about and worked on for the last 8-9 years!  Yikes, that’s a long time, but at least I’m making progress.  My persistence has paid off.  And I am really beginning to believe my therapist when she talks about all the hard work I’ve done to get where I am now.  It has been hard work, and I have done it.  No one can take that away from me and I’m better off for it.  And my family is better off and my relationship with my husband is better off. 

Anyway, I’m emotionally exhausted, but I’m also confident I can get through this.  I’m confident that my husband and I can work through all of this together, that I’m not alone.  He and I have also spent the last year working on our relationship--we were both so very unhappy, but now we're more connected to each other than ever.  It is really difficult to explain how significant knowing that I'm not alone and that I can work through this is.  I’m in such a different place than I was a year ago.  

I wish I could say there was a magic moment or a specific thing that has helped me relearn happiness.  But really it's just been a collection of moments.  It's been persisting, not giving up, trying over and over to find the right anti-depressant combination, being willing to try a variety of avenues to reach a healthy place.  It's been continuing in therapy, starting daily exercise, and having a small but significant network of loved ones, friends, family, therapist, that didn't give up on me either.   If you're reading this and in the middle of a depressive episode, I hope that my experiences will give you confidence, or even just a glimmer of hope, that things can get better.  Just don't give up.  Believe and do the hard work.