A couple of years ago, I wrote a column on ‘What we want our parents to know’. I had stitched together words from young people living with mental health struggles and their appeal to their parents. I was amazed at the number of people who found resonance with the pain and plea in the sentiments. Sheba, a mother of a child living with suicidal thoughts, shared that one of the stories was a turning point in her life. A young girl implored her parents, “There are times when I have thoughts of hurting myself or even ending my life. I wish I could talk to you at those times without you going into a panic, crying or immediately calling up the psychiatrist. I know you worry about my safety, but can it not be the only thing we talk about?” and, “What I am going through is not a reflection of your parenting skills. So please stop beating yourself up by constantly talking about your ‘failure’ as that makes me think that you think the same about me. Depression is persistent in nagging me into believing that I have failed at life, and your words just make it a lot worse.” I was very curious to know from Sheba, what in these words had struck a chord with her. She told me, “We are all locked in this idea that we are failing — we are failing at what society demands from us as parents, as children, as young people. We are not measuring up to whatever this idea of ‘good enough’ is and rather than seeing other’s pain, we are turning against each other and are more lonely than ever before.” Her words have stayed with me and so has her request, “Why don’t you write now on what we want our children to know? You might be surprised how similar the themes might be.” Her words and questions nudged me to set out to interview some parents I work with in therapy on what they would like their children to know: I am so sorry for constantly pushing you to meet ridiculous social expectations and being harsh on you when you could not meet them. When you started withdrawing, not going to school or locking yourself in your room, I saw it as a reflection of my own inadequacy as a parent. Anger became our way of talking to each other. I lashed out at you and you lashed out at me. Maybe you thought, you were failing me and I definitely thought I was failing you. When I look back at all those years, I wonder when did I buy into this idea that parenting was all about making children fit in. When you shared with me that you were gay, I found it so hard to accept as I was so worried about what would others think. Somehow, I took my job as your father to all be about making you fit in society’s yardstick of normality. If there were one thing I would tell all parents then it would be this — when you are pushed to choose between social norms and children, always choose your child.’ I kept comparing myself to other mothers, and you to other children as if we were all in some kind of race and we were always falling behind. It made me imagine the worst-case scenarios, and predict a lifetime of failures and burden of unworthiness. It was so damaging to you, our relationship and to me. I am so sorry for messing it up. Parenting is supposed to be about bringing up children but you have made me grow up and understand that no matter what happens to us, we always have a choice in the way we respond to hardships. I have seen you do that in so many ways. The way you get up and go to school on days when I know the ‘dark fog’ of depression makes it so difficult for you to even get out of bed. Though there are times it tries to silence you, you always speak up against injustice — whether it is about a child being bullied in school, patriarchy or even how the social structures of class, caste and religion divide all of us. I am not sure when depression and anxiety started creeping into your life but I do know that I was not there to listen to you or to understand you in your worst days. I tried to dismiss it so often with, “If you try you can snap out of it,” and, “It’s all in your head.” But I hope you do know that I am really doing all I can to try to figure out how it shows up in your life and how much you have suffered. I hope you will forgive my ignorance one day. I am learning to not make any assumptions about you, and can I request that you do not make assumptions about me too? If I am checking on you in the middle of the night it’s because I want you to get your sleep. When I ask you to get off your phone it is because as a mother I get really concerned about the impact of social media on your mental health. For the past year, our relationship has gotten stuck in a roundabout of blame, anger and resentment. Both of us are exhausted, hurt and worn out but don’t know how to find an exit. I feel everything I say or do is perceived as an attack and maybe you feel the same. I have messed up in the past but I am really trying now. What can we do for you to feel safe with me and for me to feel safe with you? You are most precious to me and I will do whatever I can to restore your faith in us.
