By Liz Lalama of Salad At Midnight

I did it again.

I promised I would do better. I promised I wouldn’t keep being like this. For myself. For him. Most importantly, for us. But I failed. No matter how hard I try, my depression keeps getting in the way of our marriage.

It happened yesterday when my husband asked me the same question multiple times in a row and my brain just couldn’t process. I got frustrated and overwhelmed. The irritability aspect of my depression rose and I snapped. Again. Just like the last time I snapped at him for something that wasn’t his fault. And the time before that. And the time before… Well, you get the picture.

Sometimes my depression isn’t so much irritability as just classic sadness, but even then it’s still harmful. Depression breaks down our relationship when I have no interest in doing any of the things we enjoy together. It causes a rift when I don’t have the energy to do my part to take care of our home and our life. It tore at my marriage this summer when I just simply didn’t cook and the clothes I promised I would fold three weeks prior were still on the floor of our bedroom.

I did it again.

Depressed insecurity got the better of me a few months ago when I became irrationally angry that my husband had brought home an item I’m allergic to from the grocery store. I told myself it wasn’t because he messed up, that it was really because he didn’t pay enough attention to even know what I can and can’t eat. “He wasn’t listening to me! I don’t matter.” That’s the voice of depression, not me.

Sometimes I say things that I’m sure are hard to hear. Honestly, even as I’m saying them I know they aren’t really what I believe. It’s just depression talking. Depression tells me to be discouraged about my future and our future as a couple. I lose hope that we will work through our problems and think our marriage is doomed to failure. I start to question why we got married and believe he would be better off without me. I start to think that maybe this wasn’t meant to be.

I did it again.

I almost believed myself and destroyed my marriage. In reality, none of that is the truth. It’s just depression talking.

I can only imagine the immense stress that puts on my poor, faithful man. He deserves the funny, silly, sexy version of me at night, not the one who hides under the covers, crying and fighting suicide. There are so many words and actions that I can never take back. They mar the otherwise beautiful picture of our marriage. I feel guilty that I have put him through the pain of my depressed words and actions, failings exacerbated by an illness.

I’ve learned to recognize the voice of depression in my consciousness. It’s pretty easy to tell because when the beast is tamed, I don’t have those thoughts. When depression isn’t there to ruin my marriage, I’m sure I snagged the best guy on the planet. I feel very much in love, and I know we’re meant to be together throughout our lives. My husband is getting better at differentiating between the dull, flat, pessimistic tone of depression and the intelligent, realistic, and hopeful tone of my own voice. He is getting better at learning to not take my depression-born anger and pessimism personally. But I still feel guilty that he even has to learn these things.

I tell him I’ll do better. Once again I make promises I failed to keep in the past. I keep trying to grow, learn, and seek wellness. I want it to be different this time, but deep inside I know I will probably break my promises and hurt him again. I feel the failures of my past and the failures of my future.

Despite the struggles that my mental illness brings to our marriage, I do have a choice. I can live in guilt and discouragement, or I can live in grace. I can berate myself every time my depression flares up and my anger flares out, or I can let go of my mistakes and accept my imperfection. I can let depression destroy my marriage, or I can seek reconciliation each time I fail.

I am human. We all are.  You struggling and failing wives reading this are, too. Mistakes and brokenness are part of what it means to be human. A marriage is the merging of two humans in all their raw and beautiful brokenness, struggles, and mistakes. Failure is inevitable, but grace is wonderful.

I did it again.

I lowered my pride and asked for forgiveness, which yet again my husband faithfully gave. I gave myself grace and I started over. I’m sure it won’t be the last time. Honestly, I’m OK with that because I know that this cycle of failure and forgiveness is the reality of humanity, marriage, and true love. All of us constantly fail, but all of us can give ourselves grace yet again.

*****

About the Author

Liz Lalama has been a writer for as long as she can remember. She has a vision for fostering community and loves a good chat at the coffee shop, on a walk, or at the playground. She writes honestly about life, mental health, faith, and society at her blog Salad At Midnight.