January 26, 2022
Why I Talked to My Kids When I Was Struggling With Mental Health
In mid-December, when I hit my omicron wall and my mental health crumbled, it was important to me that my kids knew what was going on.
And not just because there was no hiding it. I’m not stoic at the best of times, but when the stakes are high, there’s no disguising my feelings. And I knew that any effort to keep from them what I was going through was only going to seem strange and mostly likely create far more alarm than merely acknowledging reality ever would.
So I told them. I said, “This isn’t your problem, but you need to know what I’m going through. I’m having a really hard time with my feelings and I need help and support to get better. And fixing me is not your job at all, but I need some understanding from you for that to happen.”
I told them I’d be calling the doctor and finding different ways to manage my stress. I told them, “This is what’s happening, and I’m telling you because you deserve to know and because I know you’re smart enough to get it.”
They were smart enough. And I was grateful too for the example I was setting for them, for de-stigmatizing mental health struggles and talking about these as I’d do with any other health issue. I was showing them what reaching out for support looks like, and I was also hoping that I’d eventually be able to show them that these things do get better. They would see that admitting that you need help can be what strength looks like, and I was also giving them the opportunity to rise to the occasion and be the kind and loving people that they are.
It’s a delicate balance. I am a parent and they are my children, but our relationships are still built on love and mutual respect, and these relationships are reciprocal. And yet at the same time, it’s not their job to take care of me. I don’t ever want them to feel the responsibility of that, or to worry that their own needs were being neglected as I was focusing on my own well-being. (I am fortunate too to have the support of their dad, and my family, and our community so that there is room for me to to focus on both.)
In order for me to be able to properly take care of them though, I had to take care of my own self first, and they understood that.
It helped that my fallibility was not news to them, and I was building on years of imperfection—my mental health crisis was really just more of the same!
I think some of the greatest lessons we teach our children involve showing them what it’s like to be human and to live with humans, for better or for worse.
I agree. I really wish my parents had done this. They were just disciplinarians. It wasn’t until I had an uncontrollable full-blown panic attack a few years ago (after many years of panic disorder and depression) that they even acknowledged my mental health stuff was real, and that just “getting out for some fresh air” wasn’t going to cut it.
I mean, I think there hasn’t always been the vocabulary to talk about these things. So glad that is changing. xo
Thank you for sharing this! I’m really grateful that the conversations around mental health have changed to much in the last couple of decades, especially now that I’m a parent. Baz knows that mama takes medicine every morning to help her brain, and that sometimes mama and daddy have hard feelings that it’s good for him to know about but not his to fix. So many mental health conditions and forms of neurodivergence (I have both) are hereditary, so I’m hoping that if he ends up with his own diagnoses one day, we’ll have set the groundwork for him to understand them as different but not bad or less.
That groundwork matters so much. xo
Kerry, you explained that to you children so well and just the fact that you actually talked to them about it is so commendable. And, the right thing to do. A great example for them.
I’m pleased you sought help and are open to sharing this experience. Slowly, mental health is becoming less stigmatized.
Thank you, Diane!