Or on compassion.
I'd been struggling with depression for years without being aware of it. I was simply too busy to give it any thought. If I found myself eating too little or too much, I'd blame it on stress, priorities, my failing metabolism or what random thought I'd come across.
But today, I caved. I crumbled. And I had to acknowledge that I was depressed.
I gave myself ten minutes to breathe and process it then I had to decide to jump back to my routine of stress, priorities, my failing metabolism and the next random task that came my way.
Fortunately, someone took away my decision today. And I was allowed to unwind and rest. And forget that I was depressed.
Till my preschooler touched my face after I gave her a bath this evening, and told me, "You're sad, Mommy."
I found it odd because I was sure I was feeling better. Definitely better than I did when I woke up this morning. I assured my shrink, "I am fine. Who told you that?"
"No one. You just sound sad," she said before giving me a hug.
It was interesting that no one--no one--knew, not even myself, but she caught it, this depressing inner demon. And she squashed it.
Thank you, my therapist, my happy pill, my strength.
YOU ARE READING
Perceptions of a Preschooler
No Ficción"It's your birthday and you get to pick whatever you want. Will you choose Mommy or a fluffy, cute white dog?" The young girl points at me. "Will you choose Mommy or a tall, beautiful horse with a shiny, brown coat?" The young girl points at me. "Wi...
