Dear friends who think I’m glued to my Facebook feed, bombarding you with family snapshots:
When my name pops up in your newsfeed, I can almost picture you rolling your eyes or hovering your finger over the Unfollow button to escape my updates. You might wonder if I’ve ever truly enjoyed life beyond the lens of my iPhone. For the record, I have. You likely have no interest in hearing about our weekend adventures or scrolling through a gallery of photos chronicling every detail. But frankly, your disinterest doesn’t faze me.
My posts aren’t about seeking likes or hearts; they serve a deeper purpose. In my darkest moments of anxiety and despair, they remind me that I’m creating joyful memories with my family. They’re proof that I’m capable of happiness, even when self-doubt clouds my mind.
I cherish the little things—like my daughter inheriting my bouncy curls, despite the inevitable struggles she’ll face with them in humid weather. Looking into her big brown eyes and seeing my own reflection is both exhilarating and heartbreaking. Her vibrant spirit and love for dancing are gifts from her father, and I hope she always retains that fearless, unstoppable energy—something I’ve often lacked.
Right now, she’s too innocent to realize that I’m not the superhero she believes I am. I’m the one she turns to for comfort when she’s scared or just wants to snuggle. Our bond is precious, and I hope she’ll remember that I always tried my best to be the mother she deserves. Despite my struggles with anxiety—an ever-present monster lurking beneath the surface—I strive to be a good role model for her.
A dear friend gifted me a journal just before my daughter was born, encouraging me to capture every moment of her childhood to share with future generations. She advised me to include all the highs and lows, but that pink book remains untouched, aside from a few hospital mementos. I feel guilty for not documenting more of our lives together.
It’s ironic that I can express my feelings here but struggle to jot down small daily joys. I need to be in the right mental space, and often, my thoughts can be toxic. My diagnoses, which include adjustment disorder with high functioning depression, panic disorder, and generalized anxiety disorder, weigh heavily on me. I own these challenges, but I don’t want them to define my role as a mother. That’s why I share snapshots of our life: to remind myself that I’m doing okay.
I often tell myself my husband deserves a better partner—one who is always polished, manages the household flawlessly, and can deliver a witty remark to brighten his day. Instead, I often collapse on the couch after dinner, hoping my daughter sticks to her bedtime routine so we can enjoy a fleeting moment of adult time.
My children, including my lovely stepdaughter, deserve the best version of me too. While I know there are worse mothers out there, I constantly worry that I’m falling short. The reality of parenting is that you’re always second-guessing yourself, fearing someone else is doing it better and that you need to step up your game.
So, for every perfectly staged family photo I share—complete with coordinating outfits—know that it’s part of a larger journey that transcends social media and the typical desire for affirmation. Mental illness can be a relentless adversary, and sometimes your own mind is the harshest critic. Whether I’m struggling to breathe in a moment of panic or venting my frustrations to my husband, the battle is real.
It’s unfair and exhausting. Psychological issues are stigmatized, yet they deserve the same attention and compassion as physical ailments like cancer or diabetes. No one chooses to face a chemical imbalance in their brain, nor do they want to rely on medication to maintain a semblance of normalcy. The pain is genuine, and so is the guilt that comes with its impact on loved ones.
I often say things I don’t mean, leading to guilt and regret, and before I know it, the situation spirals out of control, and I can’t even remember why I was upset. Most days, I’m in awe of how my husband tolerates my mood swings. He has his flaws too, but he navigates life without the constant mental fog that I experience.
Since being diagnosed 14 years ago, I’ve sailed through waves of joy and faced challenging storms. I like to believe that there’s a rainbow waiting at the end of each tempest, even if it sounds cliché. Right now, I’m grateful for my wonderful family, our new home, and a job transfer that promises to ease my stress. But I’m not naive; I know more storms will come, and I’m simply trying to focus on the beauty that follows.
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In summary, I may be that friend you find annoying on Facebook, but my posts reflect my journey through motherhood and mental health. They serve as reminders that I’m trying my best, despite the challenges I face.
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