My story

My childhood wasn't always easy; a lot of things were different from my friends' experiences, but that was all I knew, so it was normal for me. My mother has suffered from depression since I was about 7 years old.

It all started when my mother had two burnouts, and since then she has been in regular therapy. However, the illness itself was never openly discussed at home; the subject was hushed up. She always told me that everything was fine, so I never dared to ask too many questions because I wouldn't get an answer anyway.

When I was 8 years old, my parents got divorced. From then on, I lived with my mother and only saw my father on weekends. I have a good relationship with my parents. My mother, however, had great difficulty opening up, and my relationship with her remains rather superficial. She was hardly able to show affection to me and my sister. I very rarely heard her say that she loved me, and she rarely hugged us. She was very closed off and distant towards us. Because I grew up that way, I didn't know any different and it took me a long time to realize that this wasn't “normal.” I have no memories of the time when my parents were still together. I often tried to remember, but unfortunately without success. Even when I look at childhood photos, they sometimes seem strange to me because I have no memory of them. Sometimes this frightens me and I wonder why that is.

What has weighed heavily on me since I was little is that the illness was never discussed openly. To this day, I still don't know exactly what led to my mother's two burnouts and years of depression. I also find it difficult to bring up this topic, as I was repeatedly met with rejection or the subject was quickly changed. This was very difficult for me, as I was completely unfamiliar with the clinical picture. I would have loved to help her, but I didn't know how or what I could have done.

One memory from my childhood that has stayed with me is that when we were little, we were never allowed to bring friends home. I suspect my mother was ashamed and didn't want others to see how we lived, or was afraid that someone might notice that she wasn't well. But that was normal for us, so we didn't question it much and went to our friends' houses instead.

Since I often visited my friends at home, I saw how things worked in their homes. I was warmly welcomed, they were open with me, laughed, talked, and played together. I didn't know this from home and appreciated it very much.

We also hardly ever went on family outings or had dinner together. I went on many such outings with my friends and their families, and so I felt more and more like a part of this family.

What was very difficult for me throughout my childhood was my mother's mood swings. Sometimes we would be out together and everything would be fine, then suddenly her mood would change and we would have to go home immediately. At home, no one would talk about it, which made it difficult for me to understand. I didn't know why we had to leave so suddenly or why her mood had changed so abruptly.

The main impact on my life is that I have become very withdrawn as a result of my experiences. I never really talk about the past or things that are on my mind because I have learned to suppress and hide my feelings. Since I often encountered rejection from my mother, I am also afraid to talk about it.

In my role as a man, I was repeatedly told that a man doesn't cry, doesn't talk about feelings, and has to be strong. This role model had a strong influence on me, which is why I am still insecure today and can only open up to very few people. I am afraid of not being taken seriously, of being rejected, or of appearing weak. My role models have always shown me how to cope with everything on my own. This is firmly anchored in me, and even though I know that those around me would like to help me, I want to show them that I can do it myself. I also only talk about my feelings when I realize that I can no longer cope on my own.

What I want from society above all else is education. If I had known exactly what depression was and how I could have helped her, it would have been a great help to me. I often felt helpless and was simply there for her when she needed me. I often felt alone and overwhelmed by the whole situation. My sister gave me support in such situations. I also noticed that no one likes to talk about the subject. No one around us knew about my mother's illness; my sister and I were on our own.

I would like to encourage everyone to talk openly about depression and to address it when you notice that someone is not doing well.