What I have always believed to be my "parenting style" is now an onslaught of question marks as I wrestle with the heartbreaking realizations that perhaps my depression and I have caused irreparable damage to one or all of my four children.
1.I should have stayed and watched hockey, soccer, and/or footballs games rather than drop my children off at the door. Although I have justified the "drop off and run" by convincing myself that my kids wouldn't even notice if I wasn't there for every sporting event, the truth was that I didn't have the social stamina to interact with exuberant parents, cheering crowds, and the actual activity. Attendance did occasionally occur, but my lethargy and few words on the ride home, followed by hours in my bed to recover from the experience were, in my opinion, just as detrimental to my sons' self-esteem as my absence.
2.I have never befriended the parents of my children's friends. As my daughter would ask me if we would be joining the other dancers and their moms for celebratory dinners after recitals and competitions, the anxiety at being part of a group would send my thoughts bouncing through my brain as a sea of excuses tumbled from my lips. Sadly, most of them were comprised of "I don't have time." When other parents would call our home to make play-dates, and would enthusiastically suggest, "We should get together some time," my cool refusal was often accompanied by a cancellation of said play-date on my part, lest the sociable mother continue her pursuit of my friendship. Now as I replay the lost opportunities for my children because of my inability to commit and trust others, I am convinced the refrain "I don't have time" will forever be etched in their beautiful minds as my mantra rather than something more positive and uplifting such as "I have all the time in the world for you."
3.My negativity was a constant storm cloud hanging above me. Rather than acknowledge and praise good grades, special moments, second place trophies, and exceptional opportunities, it was easier to illuminate the failures, downplay the good, and highlight the bad. As opposed to cheering on the wins, however big or small, my derogatory quips are now chanted by the entire family. "If you ain't first, you're last," although meant to be a joke, is directly related to my ever crumbling emotional state, and will without a doubt prevent my children from ever properly celebrating their achievements.
I have previously written on how my mental illness will serve to teach my children tolerance towards others battling anxiety and depression. However, medication and therapy have enabled clarity of thought which has put to rest certain demons, while others have grown into monsters that now refuse to stay under my bed.
While I'd like to believe that what I viewed as a healthy take on parenting meant to foster my children's independence and teach them humility was in fact successful and true, as I continue to assess every aspect on how to battle my illness, I have to accept that the damage may already be done. Now is the time to put into place much needed pillars of strength for myself and my kids.
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