Today was a “normal” day: me alone with my three kids. I played with the kids. I hugged them. We tickled and laughed. We even left the house for a small adventure. We made it through the entire day without anyone melting down into tears. That’s something to celebrate.
My husband came home today with another tale of woe about church. I believe his introduction to the story was, “I don’t think things could get any weirder.” I think he’s said that several times in the last couple of months, and yet the weirdness persists. I listened with attention and empathy.
I’ve fulfilled my roles of mom and wife well today, and that makes me glad. But under all of that is a strong, steady current of sadness and fatigue. Nothing in particular is on my mind to make me feel this way. It’s just there. It’s as though there are two of me, one is heavy, bolted to the ground. The other is happy and in the moment with people I love.
The happy me is inextricably tied to the heavy me, and that makes everything effortful. I think this might be a symptom of depression, and someday I hope I will have recovered fully and will be capable of feeling carefree. Right now, it feels like I have changed completely. Sometimes I think this weight will be with me every hour of every day from now on.