Depression in Motherhood
Why is it that so many mothers seem to struggle with joy? Depression is a common plague of mothers, who can least cope with it. At the stage of our lives when our output is at its highest and most intense, the well of life within seems to be failing to deliver. Why is that?
As I have watched moms around me, and even more as I have lived the secret life of a busy and imperfect mom myself, I have noticed a possible reason. Perhaps it seems obvious to you, but most moms I know have gone through, or are in, some of the most stretching, challenging times of their lives.
As I run around my kids, I have been through seasons (read ‘years!’) that I have been utterly exhausted. I have too often been aware that my face is a scary sight, not just to strangers who see me without make-up, but to my darling children who love anything on me except fury. I have looked around my home and garden and wondered why I seem unable to keep on top of keeping things in the right place. Other moms have veggie gardens. I tried that, but my little boys wee’d on our spinach and I decided to leave it for the worms. At this moment my garden is made up of (this is in no way an exhaustive list): sand (it’s the dry season!), deflated pool toys, stray socks (that’s where they disappear to!), marbles, a broken trampoline, and my kitchen scissors (if only I knew exactly where!).
Most moms I know, even the perfect ones with manicured gardens and manicured nails, have found motherhood harder than they imagined. As we are stretched beyond what we can bear without supernatural help, the fault lines in our characters come under pressure. Never before in our lives have these weak points been under as much stress. Thus the strain begins to show.
We thought we were pretty nice people until we got married. We realised then that there was a bit of selfishness in us, but we gave a little, got a lot in return and got back to thinking we were pretty ok. Then we fell pregnant and we rejoiced because we were going to be the best moms ever.
But months turn into years, and the small chores of motherhood seem unending. Our other dreams for our lives seem to have died forever (how can they call 20 years a season?!) and worst of all, as we hear our nagging voices and catch a glimpse of our irritable faces, we come to the heartbreaking realisation that we don't like ourselves very much. Our illusion that we were pretty nice people has been shattered.
There was a point in my motherhood when I realised all this and it broke me. My husband had gone out for dinner with some friends and I was in bed alone. I was talking to God quietly and asking him to help me to be kinder. I became desperate in my request of Him, needing, more than anything, for Him to change me, to fix me in the area of, well, niceness. My desperation turned into desperate sobs of repentance, of admitting that I didn't have what it takes. I cried liked I hadn't cried in years. I was broken at His feet, and my insufficiency was undeniable.
It's the same reason why many mothers lack joy. Their fault lines have been exposed by the increase of pressure on their lives. We are not who we thought we were, and we need a deeper revelation of our own identities. Our hope is in admitting our weakness. Our hope is in repentance.
And then, not immediately, but consistently and thoroughly over the next two weeks, God massaged into my soul what He thought of me. He reminded me of my identity. I am loved by Him. It's who I am. He reminded me of so many beautiful and wonderful things. He reminded me that when He made me, He made me to show the world His beauty. He reminded me that I am stunningly gorgeous, more glorious in His creation than the best sunset. Oh, so many things He told me,that might sound like mere words to you now, but to me they were life. And then He called me again, into the challenging days that are my life, and He told me I could do it. He called me deep into the waves of His love, He called me beyond the shores. And because of Who He is, He makes me brave. He makes me believe I can. He makes me able to work harder without being overwhelmed. He gives me the courage to tackle one small task at a time, to put one foot in front of the other. He makes me brave enough to be kind. Because He loves me. He sees me. He knows me. And He made me to be beautiful. I am not what I have been, but I am what He says I am.
And oh, the joy! There is hope. There is courage. There is joy. It available today, even in the toughest season of motherhood. And it's found in Him. My prayer is that where you have been depressed by your overwhelming situation, your disappointment in the illusions that you had for motherhood, and the debilitating observation that you are not all you hoped you were, that you would take it to Him, admit your weakness, and recieve His forgiveness, His affirmation, and His strength for each day.
