A (Depressed) Christmas Story

It wasn’t until my mid 20’s that I was officially diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD). However, I also did not receive any sort of mental health evaluation until this time.

Signs of severe depression had presented themselves for as long as I can remember. I merely didn’t understand what they meant, and was therefore ashamed of these feelings.

If mental health been a more prioritized and discussed issue during my childhood, my depression still wouldn’t have been “wiped away.” That’s not how it works.

However, it could have been addressed much earlier, perhaps leading to a less severe disorder, or at the very least, providing me with healthy tools to adequately address it with.

Additionally, it would have saved me from the turmoil of multiple other negative emotions due to my lack of understanding that even though yes, something was technically wrong with me, it wasn’t in the sense that I spent so many years secretly despising myself over.

To Have or Not Have the Discussion

In a world that takes away the innocence of childhood so soon, many people do not wish to further “steal that away” by exposing them to the complexities of mental health issues.

However, from personal experience, I would argue that not educating children on the matter steals and strips them from their childhood also. In fact, I would even go as far as to argue that the consequences can be much more dire.

My Childhood

From an outsider perspective, including those closest to me, I seemed like a perfectly happy, well-functioning child. I had an amazing family, lots of friends, was a straight A student, loved to read and play sports…the list goes on. In all fairness, I’m pretty good at masking negative emotion. I never intentionally “put on a front,” but if I felt as if I were going to project negative feelings onto someone else, especially in situations where I was unsure if I were even validated in having them, seemed selfish to me.

Deep down, however, I knew something wasn’t quite right. However, I was raised to be a very grateful, kind individual. The feelings that seemed to creep up made me feel extremely ungrateful, and therefore, ashamed. It was a secret I kept throughout my childhood, but also one that I’ve never been able to forget.

My first memory of this (unbeknownst to me at the time) depression is literally ingrained in me to the point that I think about it EVERY time the Christmas holiday rolls around. This season of joy is anything but for me.

For context, I never recall a time in which I actually believed in Santa Claus. I’m sure I did when I was really young, but my memories don’t start until about 5.

I’ve always been very inquisitive, so I confronted my parents at a very young age to tell them that I knew Santa was not real. It wasn’t physically possible. It wasn’t something that upset me, however. If anything, it made me learn to be more grateful because I knew where the gifts were actually coming from. I also felt quite “empowered” and “intelligent,” because I knew a secret that many wouldn’t learn for years. I KNEW it was my parents, and I knew that they eagerly saved up all year for the occasion (I was quite the noisy child).

That Memory

The memory I so vividly recall is the immense sadness I began to feel as the holiday season approached. Everyone around me seemed so full of joy, getting more excited as time went on. My parents would eagerly get my brother and I to compose our Christmas lists. They would then pull out the Christmas savings, keep an eye on sales, and even stand in long lines to ensure that they could put the biggest smiles on our faces. My dad would even borrow our neighbor’s video camera, so that he could fully capture and look back on our expressions of joy and excitement on Christmas morning.

Guilt and Sadness

The worst, and most guilt-ridden time for me as a child, were both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Don’t get me wrong; I won’t say that I had zero excitement. I just felt guilty because I found it hard to be SUPER happy on any day.

Every Christmas Eve, while trying to go to sleep, I would secretly cry. Originally, it would be because of these feelings of sadness. Then, it would be due to my shame and guilt; I had no reason to feel this way. Not really knowing how else to describe it, I felt like a “bad child,” an ungrateful brat, and one that didn’t deserve what I had, because obviously I couldn’t be happy enough with it. I constantly with battled this though, because I really didn’t BELIEVE that I was any of those things. I just didn’t know of another explanation. On Christmas morning, yes, I would be happy and excited. I would still feel really sad though, and even more guilt-ridden. I felt as if I needed to exaggerate my excitement. The thought that my parents may mistake my “unexplainable sadness” as a sign that they somehow didn’t meet my expectations devastated me. It wasn’t their fault that something was wrong with me. It wasn’t their fault that a was a “bad kid”

I was lucky enough to have two absolutely amazing parents who went through every effort possible to see that smile on our faces, yet I was plagued by this ever-growing feeling of sadness. I felt so ashamed, so guilty. I appreciated everything they did for me, and I never felt like it wasn’t enough. I was so grateful. I knew how lucky I was. What was wrong with me??? I had NO reason to feel the way I did.

Conclusion

Looking back, a lot more things are clear. The truth is, a lot of people fake joy during the holiday seasons. However, the exaggerated emotion caused me to feel even worse about the sadness that always seemed to creep up on me. It triggered a more intense spell, leading to more shame, and became a vicious cycle. My lack of understanding my feelings was detrimental, as it caused me to shamefully hide them. This, along with my ability to excel and lead the life of a “normal kid,” gave no one any reason to believe I needed help. But I did.

Reflecting on those feelings still makes me want to feel ashamed, even knowing what I do now. The mind can be quite stubborn and persistent.

So the question remains.

Are we stealing a child’s innocence by placing more or a priority on realistic things, such as educating them in an age appropriate manner about mental health?

Or, are we protecting it?