10 years ago when I was thirty-five, I was in a state of depression that I would like to deny. But denial isn’t honest and it isn’t a part of my story that would ever help anybody. This isn’t my proudest story, and I’m ashamed it was ever a part of my life.
In February of 2015, I wasn’t the person you would meet today. I was sullen and Melancholy. I remember, very clearly, leaving work and driving to a photographers house to pick up the newborn pictures of my youngest daughter. She was a month old. My oldest daughter was seven. And I was crying, hysterically, in my car.
I had two daughters, both out of wedlock, both by different men. My relationship was unstable and we were friends, at best. I had a decent education and was doing a job that I loved but wasn’t making any money at. My credit was crap and I was renting a house that came with a garbage landlord because I couldn’t buy a house. My mother who I had been a caretaker of was in a nursing home for physical health rehab. And I felt like the biggest failure in the world.
I had all the pieces there but couldn’t put the puzzle together. And for the very first time in my life, I felt like there was no purpose for me to be here. I felt like my youngest daughter’s dad would be a great parent to both of my kids, my Mom would be better with someone more qualified than me to care for her, my work could find a qualified replacement, and my consistent feeling of drowning would be over. I’d have peace.
The truth is I felt like I was doing everything half-assed. I had taken on the role of “superwoman” long enough that I was beat down. I was tired. I felt like I gave one thousand percent to everything I was doing, and to everyone in my circle, but in reality that was an impossibility.
I called my friend from work and cried to her for twenty minutes. I assume she probably couldn’t understand most of what I said, but I said enough for her to know I wasn’t in a good place. And as much as she loves me she would never tell me this, but I’m sure that call scared her.
Later, I learned it was postpartum depression, but back then I just felt crazy. Literally crazy. I never experienced anything like this before and I haven’t since. But it lit a fire under me to go back to school and my degree to do therapy. I had known for years that would be my career path, but I didn’t wait long to go back to school and get my degree. As a matter of fact I enrolled in classes not long after.
I am forever thankful that I didn’t let the bad feelings from that day get the best of me. A decade later I can tell you I have two of the happiest kids in the world. They are spoiled rotten and tremendously loved. They are crazy about their Momma who is just as crazy about them in return. My youngest daughter’s dad, Cory, is in fact a great dad to both the girls and we are wonderful friends. I went to school and graduated with my Master’s and work as a mental health therapist, and a good one at that. We moved out of that old house into our house now that we share with my husband. My mother passed two years later, in 2017, and surprisingly I am so happy knowing that she is living in the arms of my Lord and savior.
None of these things could have happened if I would have taken that “there is no reason to be here” thought and acted on it. It goes to show you that having a hard day is not the same as having a hard life. I am in love with living, learning and having experiences. I am thrilled to watch my kids hit milestones. I am excited to see where they are going to take their lives and more excited to see the different ways they are going to leave their mark on the world.
I would have missed out on so much if I would’ve taken the off ramp before it was my time. All the hang ups I had were doing nothing but setting me up for bigger blessings that I just couldn’t see then. This is why having faith in your future and believing that God has you in his hands is important. And all of it was in the works ten years ago, when I was thirty-five.
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