Month: May 2017

Things You Shouldn’t Say to Someone Struggling With Depression

I’ve lived with depression and anxiety for over 20 years. Throughout this time, people have felt it necessary to put their two cents in regarding my mental illness. They’ve said unhelpful things to me that people who have never experienced mental illness might say. Here are a few things people have said to me and I’m sure I’m not the only one who has heard them.

1. “But you have so much good in your life.”

What those who don’t have a mental illness may not understand is what I have in my life makes no difference to my mind. Yes, I have a pretty good life. I have a wonderful husband, a wild and amazing son, an awesome dog, great friends and a wonderful family. My depression and anxiety don’t give a shit about all that. What others don’t get is that my mental illness is due to a mixture of biological and environmental factors. Sure, bad times in my personal life can trigger episodes, but sometimes there is no reason for an episode. I’ve been known to be happy despite things not going my way and I can be anxious and depressed when everything is “right.”

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Not Where I Thought I’d Be at 38

I turned thirty-eight this year. Thirty-eight. 38.

I turned thirty-eight this year and I’m nowhere near where I thought I’d be.

Years ago, I thought that by the time I was thirty-eight, I’d have a family that included two children, two dogs, a cat, and a husband. I’d have a stable job that I enjoyed doing and everything I worked so hard for would be paying off.

Today, at 38, I have one fabulous toddler, one dog who is my main girl, no cat, and a loving and supportive husband.

What is missing from my life is not the second child, the second dog, or the cat. It’s the job. It’s the career. It’s the stable work I enjoy doing day in and day out. I work part time assisting kids and while it’s not consistent work and not exactly what I want to be doing, it can be rewarding. The problem is, it’s not where my heart is.

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How My Relationship With My Dog Changed After My Son Was Born

I’ve been a bit stumped lately about what to write about. What is important to me? What can I say? It isn’t until I call over my pup and we have a cuddle that it hits me.

I’ve written about my kid. I’ve written about my husband. I’ve written about myself. Now I am going to write about my dog. Yes, you heard me correctly.

My dog. My fist born. My sidekick.

I know what some of you are thinking. You’re thinking how silly.

So, go ahead. Laugh if you will. Shrug you shoulders. Crinkle your face. Wave your hand at me. It’s all good. Because I don’t care. Because I can handle the jokes. I can handle people thinking I’m a weirdo because I call my dog my first-born.

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