Outwardly, I have my “game face” on. People think I am really together…even the people who know about my depression. And, it’s hard to live up to that reputation, that persona. But, I remember a quote from a play I saw many years ago, called Dream on Monkey Mountain. The line was, “You can’t go mad on market day.” Meaning, I put pressure on myself to meet absolute obligations, no matter how I feel inside, but it creates a lot of stress. Inwardly, I doubt myself, I struggle with my self-esteem…all of it. I wear a mask because of the societal taboo associated with it, but the truth is that I have struggled with depression, ADD, and anxiety for almost as long as I can remember. I remember coming home from grade school and spending hours in my room crying and listening to music.

The problem is that there is a stigma associated with depression and other mental health conditions. Do we treat people with cancer or who are visually impaired like lepers? Culturally, we don’t talk openly about depression, or if we do, many who have never dealt with a true clinical depression give us platitudes and unwanted advice as though they are the experts. When it was everything I could do to crawl out of bed and just show up, I’ve heard, “What have you got to be depressed about?” (in my case, it’s a chemical imbalance of the brain…not situational, though situational depression is real, too); “Pick yourself up by the bootstraps;” (as though I choose to feel this way….now that would be “crazy!”); “If you just prayed more…” (so the deaf and the wheelchair-bound have a “lack of faith,” too? Trust me, if there is a silver cloud in this at all, it’s that I pray more because of my depression!)

So, not only am I saddled with this awful condition, I cannot talk about it with those who do not have it. Even though one may not have cancer, there is no stigma associated with talking to those who do. Not so with depression. Just bring it up and hear the led balloon go thump….We’ve got to reverse this and not let the discomfort of others hinder us from getting the help we need for fear of the “Crazy With a Capital ‘C’” label. How many lives have already been lost to suicide because the depressed person never felt comfortable reaching out? How many could have been prevented if they had and someone had recognized the situation for what it was? Though I have never been suicidal, I have been blessed to be the person a few who knew of my own struggles reached out to…and I know it can make the difference.

Depression is never the same two days in a row. If the chemicals in my brain are in proportion, I may have a good day. I may not “seem” like I am depressed, or just “using depression to get sympathy.” If I am able to sleep through the night (my “norm” is that I cannot), and can get enough sleep, I may have a decent day. But, depending on where I am in my cycle, or worse yet, descending into menopause with erratic cycles and hormones, it can throw that precious chemical imbalance way off. The meds restore that balance….and medication is yet another stigma, and yet another verboten topic. Yet, all they do is bring us back into balance. I have yet to find that elusive “happy pill” so many seem to think our medications are!

I may not look like Sylvia Plath, or a resident of Bellvue, the Snake Pit — or worse yet, Arkham — but this is real. This is my life. I am a person with depression. It doesn’t define me, but sometimes it confines me. So, on one of those days like today, where I have stupid crying fits for absolutely no reason; where it takes every ounce of oomph I have just to shower and brush my teeth; where I’m irritable and hate myself for it, just know I am hurting in here, give me a hug and tell me you care.

I’m going to create a category for these posts, because now that the “secret” is out, I plan to keep talking about it and give this condition a name and a face. I’m going to talk about parenting with this condition, misconceptions…and, yeah, more on stigma. Stay tuned.

For more about depression see:

www.bringchange2mind.org/
www.nami.org/
www.wingofmadness.com
www.dbsalliance.org

http://www.nimh.nih.gov/index.shtml

www.facingus.org
App: T2 Mood Tracker (and there are others)

* These are resources only and nothing I’ve said in this post should be construed as medical advice. If you think you may be suffering from the symptoms of depression, contact your physician.

I said that sometimes the seasons of life overtake us, and we focus on whatever needs an immediate solution. My husband has a stressful job, but he’s only there for a limited time. However, I’m Mom 24/7, rain or shine, in sickness and in health, and there are no vacation days from the responsibility of raising these little people into adulthood.

Now, I’m not saying it’s a terrible job. On the contrary, like a certain branch of the military, “it’s the hardest job you’ll ever love!” But I am saying that I am so close to the day-to-day operations that the sheer myopia is stunning in its dizzying intensity.

I second guess myself all the time. I feel guilt. I agonize over “doing the right thing.” Castigate myself when I think I’ve been cranky or harsh in my wording. I “get” my role in the big picture, but I often don’t see it being so close up. It’s like gaining weight…It’s gradual and then you see a picture of yourself and you can’t believe it compared to earlier pictures. (That works the other way, too, with weight loss….but we’re dealing with my experience here….*sigh*)

But then, someone from the outside looks in and you see what you don’t often give yourself credit for. Someone will say something specific about your child and you see a glimpse of your mothering that validates all you’ve done….and it feels really good!

I think mothers are very hard on themselves. We commiserate with each other, but sometimes we tear each other down to feel better about ourselves. Few really do care how old your tyke was when s/he began walking or talking. The real question is, “How are you as a mother? Am I doing a better job than you are? I’m insecure and I need to know…” It’s about self-validation because we are so close to the situation.

I may not always blog here, but ever since my oldest was born, I’ve blogged somewhere. And, when I begin to doubt myself — because this job is far too important — I look at some old blog posts and I see that I’ve done pretty well by my kids, and it gives me the power to stay the course a little longer.

Nikko is 13 and was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at 2 years old. He’s been a pioneer in many a diabetes trial, he’s blogged for several years (though only at Edublogs for the last few months to a year), and has provided support to many kids both online and off who are dealing with living with diabetes.

He is a really smart guy, having participated in Robotics since he was in first grade, and his blog really reflects Life with diabetes: he does all the things he likes to do, and his condition doesn’t hold him back. Yet, he talks about his condition openly and honestly, and tries to help others during a time where many rebel against the condition and either go into denial or refuse to take care of themselves.

I’m really proud of my son and hope that if you find him as amazing and inspirational as I do, you will help his blog win this award! Here’s the site where you can nominate his blog, Nikkobetes, and get all the details: Edublog Awards.

I have not read the book yet, but was hipped to it by my friends over at Gifted Homeschoolers Forum (full disclosure, I sat on their board for a year, and the founder/Executive Director is a friend!). We’ll see if it addresses any of the issues raised in my post yesterday.

First of all, I want to thank you for the outpouring of support: I am still getting responses and private e-mails with feedback from the post . . . it seems the article resonated with you, and it helps me to know I am not alone in feeling as I do. And, when I am tossing something around mentally, I tend to gravitate toward learning more about it, and last night I did what I usually do when I get into “that mode:” I read. I downloaded a preview of The Bee Eater, the story of Michelle Rhee and the story of the Washington D.C. debacle that I mentioned in the post. I plan to purchase the book, as I found the preview interesting. I cannot tell how much they plan to get into deconstructing “Voucher-gate” (my term, not theirs), but I am hopeful.

So far the book has made much of a sign in one of the D.C. schools: “There is nothing a teacher can do to overcome what a parent and a student will not do.”

The book says that the sign basically absolves the staff for the kids’ failings:

“For those children, the sign was a daily admonition that the teachers at Slowe were not responsible for the students’ failings. We’re not the reason the test scores at this school are awful. We’re not why D.C. schools rank at the bottom of all the nation’s schools. Look to yourself, look to your parents. You are to blame.”

I’m not sure how I feel about that, because, as my post discusses, I think the Black community certainly could be more proactive. In fact, I dare say, we must be, if we are to reverse the situation. Many of the thoughtful responses I received have mentioned that our community tends to go on auto-pilot and trust what teachers tell us without questioning, or that Black parents are so burdened with other issues affecting our community that they feel that they cannot get involved, or that we tend not to think outside of the box, but are a monolithic bunch for the most part.

I think all of these rationales are true. Whether they are accurate remains to be seen (and again, these are theories put forth by respondents, not people actually arguing these points).

Without getting too much into what I believe politically (there are tons of my political opinions out there if you Google me or follow any of the links here on the blog), I think we do “group think” too much. We vote a certain party almost 96% of the time, and we do tend to trust what teachers tell us most of the time (how many of our boys are labeled ADHD … and I am the mom of one who truly is, so it’s not a bias).

I also mentioned that my mom worked full time, was single, low-income, and yet was fully involved in PTA and other school-related things. So, yes, I think we have grown complacent and apathetic. It’s hard to have fire in your belly after a long, hard day, I get that. But every generation, save ours, has done it. And, if we don’t get back to it, we will not see change.

This is a call to action, peeps. Single, married . . . Affluent, low-income . . . Homeschooling, public-schooling . . . Whatever your situation, what I am calling you to requires no money — just passion! The statistics are out there, (and, yes, I’ve even interviewed Dr. Rod Paige, Former US Secretary of Education and author of The Black-White Achievement Gap, who backed this up), now we need to rouse our community out of its apathy, and challenge them to ask questions about the conditions of our school edifices, about performance scorecards, about parental choice and involvement.

However, despite our current politically charged environment where the “race card” is thrown around indiscriminately, there are times I consider racial issues. Some know that due to my upbringing in subsidized housing in a less than affluent neighborhood, I have real issues with “any gun for any one,” and depart from the stance most conservatives hold regarding access.

As with much of what I post here, it’s “thinking out loud” as I let you in on my thought process as I churn about various issues, and tonight was no different.

Regular listeners of the show know that I homeschool my children. About three or four years ago, I established a support group for homeschoolers of color, mainly because it seemed that we were such a rarity that whenever we came across each other in a class or on a trip, we’d gravitate toward each other. But tonight, this “rarity” really hit home:

My oldest has been involved with Robotics since he was six and in first grade. He’s been involved with, and competed in, JFLL, and now FLL. Most think it’s a male dominated field, but due to the push for girls to get into the sciences, we see a lot of girls in the classes and competitions. However, I can probably count the number of Black kids (or Hispanics) that I have seen in our six years in the field.

Tonight, my oldest began a Java programming class. He was the only Black kid in the class.

I finally decided to approach my husband (a computer programmer!) about this observation. This was a night time class, after the traditionally schooled kids in the class had been at school all day. So, it wasn’t a “you are a bourgeois Black family that can afford to have a stay at home parent” issue.

Back to my upbringing as a poor kid in San Francisco in the 60′s and 70′s: my mom put me in ballet classes, tap dance, and all sorts of extra-curricular activities. Classes through Park & Rec during the summer, and private classes during the school year.

So, if she could afford it somehow, as a single, poor mother, not on any type of government assistance, other than the private subsidy we got for our apartment owned by a faith-based organization, again, I wondered: “Where are all the Black kids?”

We live within easy distance of one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Next month they will host a full weekend of classes and activities for 7th – 12th graders (homeschooled, public and private schooled…it matters not…it’s open to all). The fee is a very affordable $40 bucks for the whole she-bang. I am anticipating, despite the aggressive recruitment efforts by these institutes of higher learning, that once again, we will be one of a very few, if not the only, family of color. Why?

My brainiac kid will probably have a job as a programmer for his first job in 3-1/2 years from now, rather than the obligatory fast-food job. Is it because, as with my upbringing and that of my husband, it is expected that he will succeed? That it is expected that he will go to college?

I’ve talked about this with both Walt Williams and Ken Blackwell. But still I am stymied when I encounter this. With all the hoopla about The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, could there really be something to it? Are we failing our kids by not setting out the expectation?

At work today, my husband was talking to one of the other programmers there about our son’s class tonight. His co-worker is from India, and he said that classes such as these are in the curriculum for children the age that our son is now, with the full expectation that they will find high tech jobs here in the States. Again, “expectation” is at the heart of the issue.

I don’t believe in the extreme “Tiger-momism” wherein it feels — to me — that kids are robbed of a normal childhood.  I went to school with kids in the same gifted programs I attended who felt they couldn’t go home with an A- or B on a report card. But, that said, one thing that keeps coming up as I discuss this with leaders in the Black community like Tim Scott and Charles Lollar, was that our mothers sacrificed for us and never discussed “will you” but rather “when you” with respect to college.

Yes, I support school choice. And yes, I am outraged by the way that programs like the successful DC voucher program have been treated. And, I believe Jonathan Kozol got it right in Savage Inequalities. But even so, is it something closer to home that holds our children back?

I don’t have the answers to any of this. And again, I am thinking out loud in front of the millions of people on the internet. But, if I don’t ask these questions, then we don’t get to dialog and brainstorm any solutions.

Image credit

But, if I am completely honest, I know it is because today is “The Day.” Today marks the two year anniversary of my mother’s death.

Somewhere, in the middle of the night, during rounds of REM sleep, something buzzed around in my subconscious psyche, heralding the day in hushed tones.

My husband says I have this uncanny “radar” for markers — both the marvelous and the macabre. I think maybe it’s a “woman thang,” in that we tend to be better with names and dates. Whatever the reason, I am unmotivated and, against type, very introspective and withdrawn.

I’ve ranted about watching my mother die, but today, I really mourn it in a profoundly different way. Witnessing the deterioration of one you love, and watching the life slowly drain away day after day takes a toll. At the time, all my attention was laser-focused on my mom. But now, with the passage of time, and less immediacy, I find that I am processing it. How many times over the last two years have I reached for the phone, only to remember that she’s no longer here? How many times have I thought of her during some of the interviews I’ve conducted with some of the very people she railed at on her television, knowing that though she disagreed with me philosophically, she’d still be impressed and proud!? Longing to call her after those interviews to see what she thought…and sad that she didn’t live to see it happen. The LA Times article mentioning me came out on Mother’s Day, and how I would have loved to have shown it to her, as we visited her for lunch, knowing full well she would blanch at having her daughter touted as an “Aspiring Rush Limbaugh,” but knowing equally as well that she would have carried the article around in her purse to show everyone she knew.

And, profoundly sad that this woman, who worked hard for 40 years of her life, never got to enjoy her retirement, or  the opportunity to do any of the things she really wanted to do, like take classes, or spend more time with her beloved grandchildren.

Mother-daughter relationships are complex, and few could be classified as more complex than ours, however, in hindsight, though you wish some of the rough edges had been smoother, you tend to remember the good times. And, today, I do.

* Title “reinterpreted” from the site “Stuff White People Like“