Motherhood, Work, and Mental Health: One Woman's Journey

United States of America

I've suffered from major depression and anxiety since I was 9 years old. I am 43 now. I suppose you could say I'm in recovery, although the word recovery implies there is some permanent healing. With mental illness, there is no recovery. It is more accurate to call it a mutually agreed upon co-existence. It is always there, and I've learned to accept its presence.

I'm currently managing major depression with diet and exercise as I've had negative reactions to anti-depressants in the past few years. I experience joy; I'm fully present in the moment and deeply appreciate the beauty of life, my family, and nature. I love walking in the forest and observing birds and native flora. I connect deeply with my family and friends and feel like an indispensable contributing member of society. I feel like I have space to breathe.

It hasn't always been this way. Sometimes, even now, the dark cloud still follows me. When I want to recover and rest, I'm reminded by my ever-filling inbox that I have obligations at work that demand my attention. In times like these, I feel like I'm not enough.

This is the biggest stigma of all: the one I hold against myself. There is so much self-depreciation, so much beating myself up. Why can't you just finish this project? Why can't you just cook dinner every night? Why do you have to be so much of a sloth!?

I am exhausted and also continuing to fuel the exhaustion by constantly battling myself.

A wise therapist once told me the story of a person who was playing tug of war against a giant, huge behemoth of a monster. The person was yelling, cursing, struggling, pulling, straining, hurling themselves against the weight of an immovable being. It was an unwinnable war. However, there was a way to move forward:

Drop. The. Rope.

Not in a macabre sense like mailing it in and giving into depression and anxiety—but make the deliberate decision to stop fighting against the immovable beast. Drop the rope and walk away. Choose a more noble fight. Rest. Feel well.

I understand needing to provide accommodations to people with physical disabilities—but realizing there may be a framework to assist me with a mental disability is the next step in my journey. For years, the stigma that I've carried tells me I am not capable enough or not achieving enough. However, if I drop the rope and look through the lens of this disease and see how much I am thriving despite being afflicted, I can see myself in a new light and walk away from the stigma.

The stigma has affected my life by allowing self-limiting beliefs to drive my self-worth and sabotage advancement. I'm a successful engineer, and yet, there is doubt. Any time I have to take a few steps back to catch my breath to feel grounded, it makes me feel less than worthy. Because a "normal" person would be able to function despite tremendous stress. Is this what work is like for normal people? Does everyone deal with this amount of stress? Why can't I just let it roll off my back? Why does it creep up, grab my legs and arms and drag me down in the abyss?

After my kids were born, we were hyper-aware of the potential for postpartum depression. It was no surprise when it settled in months after each child was born. So many of those early moments are drowned in the deep dark clouds. How many smiles did I miss? How many smells of their sweet fuzzy head did I ignore because I was wrapped in my own blanket of hopelessness? I had support: an engaged and active husband, friends, family, a great therapist, and amazing doctors with a cocktail of effective medicine. Even so, I felt rage like I had never felt before.

I did the hard work in therapy. I did the best...