Depression can no longer be the elephant in the room Robin Williams died yesterday from his own hand. Yesterday morning, I sobbed in the shower and fought thoughts in my head that people wouldn’t think I would have, or even allow myself to have as a Christian, a Pastor’s wife, a writer, a speaker, a mother, a wife, a daughter. But I do have thoughts. And sometimes they are very bad. Last night I sat
(A version of this post first appeared on my talented friend Addie Zierman’s blog. I’ve changed it up a bit to post here because it still rings true for me… it often does.) How I can best advocate for my kids with special needs (This was writing back when the most recent Chicago winter wouldn’t end.) It’s nine o’clock in the morning. I spoon leftover chili into my mouth and look out a smudged
She lives hard and well, and falls asleep fast We’re lying in bed together just before she goes to sleep. She has her arm slung over my body. We look at each other. Face to face. Just the two of us. I start singing a song and Polly joins in even though she doesn’t know the words. I sing, and she sings, and her relaxed attempt at joining in without knowing what she is doing
Why I tell my kids about my depression I guess the short answer is: they already know about it anyway. I have four girls. I have depression. One of my most serious episodes occurred at the end of 2011 into 2012. At some point during that time, I basically gave up on life. It’s hard to admit as a mom, and also as a Christian, but I stopped functioning. I found myself in and out