Into Motherhood: A monthly photo + poem series inspired by authentic interviews with everyday moms.

Article and Poetry By Michelle Bengson, Photography by Chelsea Macor

Depression is complicated. Even though today we are reducing the subject to a simple photo story and poem, Chelsea and I recognize every story of depression is unique and deep. This goes for the story of the mother we interviewed- Miriam- and for mine too.

For a short while during my teenage years, one of my parents suffered from depression. I can still remember the way they moved through those years- physically there, but not often spiritually present. As an adult now, on my own motherhood journey, that’s how my bouts with depression settle in me too. It is not as the label implies. I am not sad, rather I am despondent. I don’t feel or care, and my life becomes like a distant movie to watch rather than to lead.

Similar to me, Miriam grew up with someone close to her suffering from depression. Unlike me, Miriam was responsible for their caretaking for many years. As a child, she didn’t know any difference. “Depression was my baseline,” she remarks. 

And so when postpartum depression visited Miriam as an adult, she had trouble even recognizing or naming it. But Miriam’s kid did not.  

One day her child got close to her face and said, "Mommy, is the baby the only person who makes you happy? You used to be happy with all of us. I miss Happy Mommy." 

It was this observation that drove Miriam to the doctor's office to get a prescription. And it started Miriam on a quest to rediscover “Happy Mommy”. She began to put her own mental healthcare at the top of her list, claiming it to be as important as her family’s care. 

These days Miriam says she is still tired and her emotions can be all over the place, but overall she is noticing more and laughing more. She told us: “Painting with Ade. Pulling weeds in the garden with Frede. Watching Sylvie do her finger pointing dance in her diaper. Giving Bodin his millionth kiss of the day as he simultaneously bites my face and pulls out my hair. These deep, delicious breaths and belly laughs are what I'm craving and cherishing these days. “

The same goes for me too. In my bouts of depression, it is often my kids, up in my face, glaring at me with their confused, longing eyes, that drive me to reexamine my mental health and happiness.

That’s the ironic thing about depression, isn’t it? Depression can run deep and complicated, but the things that drive us to keep going, the things that inspire us… are often the simple, little ones sitting right at the surface, at the tip of our nose, at the top of the page.

To-Do List

My child whispered, 

I miss Happy Mommy.

Do you remember her? 

The next morning, 

on my to-do list,

I penciled at the top, 

Doctor and prescription.

The next day… Sunlight and water.

Eventually…Play and laughter.

I began to write my lists as if they 

were from a childhood friend.

As if they were a teenage lover’s note slipped into a slot of a school locker.

As if they were wisps of wise words, 

scrawled through generations. 

They became search engines for joy.

Months passed.  I called my child over. Pressed the tip of my nose to hers, and smiled. 

Thank you, darling, for reminding me 

that among my tasks, pleasure is practical, and also needs accomplishing. 

I grew up with depression. Someone very close to me struggled with it terribly. For her, I was her wake you up in the morning person. Her drags you to bed at night person. Her cleans up after everything that happens to you person. Her call 911 when you overdose person.

So depression was my baseline. And therefore, after having each of my babies, the postpartum version of me didn't feel very different. But as we were trying to get pregnant with our third child, I had four very early miscarriages. And something switched on.

It was The Rage. It came and went, but it slowly changed me. Even after 2 more successful pregnancies, it wouldn't go away. My husband gently suggested I look into getting some support for it. But after decades of watching someone else spend so much time and money on therapy and antidepressants (and the medications to address all of the side effects they caused) with little relief, I was very resistant.

One day, though, as I was feeding and laughing with the baby, my then 7 year old Adeline quietly asked, "Mommy, is Bodin the only person who makes you happy? You used to be happy with all of us. I miss Happy Mommy." At my 6 week appointment, I filled out the mental health screening, honestly this time.

When I got back to the car and told my husband we needed to pick up my prescription, he nearly cried. He kept telling me he was proud of me. And I remembered how living with someone else's depression - leaves you holding your breath, tiptoeing, straining for any small sign of a smile, of life. This was my childhood and adolescence. And I had been imposing it on my family. So when I finally chose help, we all took a huge collective exhale.

These days, I still feel a mixture of emotions. Some days, I find myself spending hours of should-be-sleeping time playing this game on my phone because this game is the only win I feel like I'm getting. You know, there's not always a high score for the mom thing.

But other days are better. Painting with Ade. Pulling weeds in the garden with Frede. Watching Sylvie do her finger pointing dance in her diaper. Giving Bodin his millionth kiss of the day as he simultaneously bites my face and pulls out my hair. These deep, delicious breaths and belly laughs are what I'm craving and cherishing these days.

What I’m trying to say is that: these days, I am oh, so, so tired, but I am also laughing now. Even as an adult, I notice how I get so much joy from my mother's laughter. And I can see how my own laughter fills my kids' buckets too.

When my family looks back at this moment in time, I want them to hear me laughing.