It was a dazzling October morning, with the vivid colors of autumn exploding all around me – yet all I could think of was how badly I wanted to end my life.
For weeks I had been dreaming of closing my eyes and never opening them again!
I was fully overcome by “new dad depression” and my internal demons were relentless and cruel, affording me little peace of mind.
These disturbing thoughts were becoming overwhelming, and I needed a desperate lifeline to try and find myself again. I love being out in nature, and on this morning, I went with my daughter to a secluded playground that overlooked the stunning valleys of our city.
I was falling into despair but felt optimistic that this would make me feel… human again.
As I pushed my one-year-old on the swing and tried to enjoy the beautiful scenery, the dark thoughts continued to hound me. I forced a smile when the first few tears started to form in the corner of my eyes.
However, trying to hold them back was a hopeless endeavor, as the harder I tried, the more the tears started to flow.
My watery eyes became fixated on a nearby cliff, and I imagined myself climbing over the barrier and then casually jumping to my death!
In that moment, I knew for certain that I needed help!
I had just lost my mother to pancreatic cancer a month before this episode, but despite my wife’s pleas to speak with someone, I continued to brush off her concerns for my mental state and trudged along.
This was not the time for me to be weak, I told myself. I had a baby girl that needed her dad, and there was no time for mourning. Despite my faux bravado, I was slowly falling into the abyss, day by miserable day.
It’s impossible to pinpoint when the idea of suicide first crept up on me, but the thoughts became more alarming as the weeks after my mother’s death went along.
I no longer had my rock, and I was lost. Not just lost, but I had so much internal rage I was keenly aware it was all going to come to a head one fateful day if I didn’t confront my anger soon.
My Mother Was My Foundation of Strength
Through the darkest days of my life, my mother had always been there for me, being a guiding light and my guardian angel against the physical abuse that I had suffered from my father.
It was only because of my mother’s guidance that I didn’t follow in my father’s footsteps and turn into a monster as well. In fact, I had promised her that I would break the chain of abuse that my father and grandfather also suffered from as children.
I was determined to never raise my hand to my kids and wanted to ensure that they would not be subjected to the daily terror I had to endure in my youth.
When my wife became pregnant with our first child (my daughter), I was convinced that she was my gift from the universe and my chance to prove that I would keep good on my promise to my mother.
Sadly, in a cruel twist of fate, I received the gift of my daughter’s life but had my mother taken from me.
Cancer had robbed my daughter of her grandmother and she would only learn of my mother as a ghost summoned through the stories of others. This reality was unbearable, and I refused to accept it.
The weight of being a new father and the loss of my mother had sent me to the edge, and here I was ready to literally step off from it.
That day at the playground shook me up enough to begin opening up to my wife and other loved ones. Brushing aside my shame, I held nothing back and told them of my despair and suicidal thoughts.
Fortunately, with the help of those who care for me, I was able to slowly work my way out of the deep depression that my mother’s passing had triggered and settled into fatherhood.
However, all these emotions were back with a vengeance a few years later when my son came along and was diagnosed with autism.
Just like with my mother’s death, I was unable to accept that this was my reality. I spent months wishing for my son’s diagnosis to change and once again cursed my fate.
“Why can’t I catch a break?”
“I’m such a damn fool for thinking I’d ever be happy!”
I was bathing in self-pity and had now convinced myself there was indeed a dark cloud following me around.
It was all about me. Me, me and me!
I Had Conjured My New Father Depression!
While I didn’t have the wisdom to understand it at the time, this wasn’t about what I deserved, or some cruel twist of fate done to punish me. It was simply… life.
Over time, I came to accept my son’s diagnosis and once again clawed my way out of the abyss. I knew I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and get back to being the kind of father my mother would be proud of.
I have now been in the trenches of parenthood for well over a decade, but the path I have taken isn’t one I could have ever anticipated when I was an expectant father.
However, that’s the rub of being a dad. We don’t get to choose exactly how our journeys into fatherhood will unfold. It’s these curve balls life throws at us, that help to trigger the flight or fight response in all new fathers.
Before I became a dad, I had been battling most of my existence to live a normal life after my abusive childhood. I falsely believed that overcoming my trauma helped build the resiliency necessary to take on any challenges fatherhood would throw at me.
Unfortunately, I was wrong.
I thought I knew my character, but fatherhood tested my assumptions to the limit.
I’m not proud of how close I came to giving up, and I openly admit I hesitated to write this article.
In the end, I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I could reach one new father in distress with my story, it would be well worth making my confession public.
If you are that father, please hang in there!
Just get yourself through one minute and then the next. It’s just like breathing.
I then challenge you to cast aside any ego or shame and open up about your feelings with a loved one to get the help you need.
Getting help matters, and so do you!
I promise the dark clouds will lift, and you will bounce back just as I did.
Always remember that being a good father means fighting for both yourself and your child.
Ultimately, fatherhood will knock you on your damn knees and keep you there if you aren’t willing to battle back.
That’s why we can never give up.
We owe that not only to our children, but ourselves as well!
