Nearly 20 years later, I still remember the struggle of growing up with a parent who had depression.
As a child, I didn’t understand what my mother was going through. I remember her seeking treatment and asking my dad where she was. At the time, he told me she was dealing with “women problems,” and I took that to mean any number of things.
When I asked my dad about it recently, he admitted that he had no idea what to say and was afraid I wouldn’t understand or might have more questions he couldn’t answer. He thought that giving a generic answer would end the discussion ― and it did ― but it also ended any further exploration of the topic with my parents.
[For more on this story by Lauren Rearick, go to https://www.huffingtonpost.com...1445e4b06226e3f57fab]
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