As a grown man, there are many things I don’t share with my daughter. Not because I have anything to hide, but because I want a separation between fatherhood and my adult life. But as the people in my private life becomes more significant than I am able to (or want to) contain solely for myself, it spills over into the world where my daughter and I occupy. At the age of 12, my daughter is not only very astute in reading my moods but also mature enough to understand them.

I never intended to get involved with someone who was already married. But when I decided to exit the impossible arrangement, my mood went spiraling downwards much quicker and much more profoundly than I had ever imagined. While my parenting, work and perfunctory responsibilities were performed without a hitch, mentally, I was absent as I felt like I slept-walked through the day. When my daughter was at her mom’s, I’d either work or oversleep as a way to cope against the sometimes-overwhelming emotions as all the stresses in my life were red-lining at the same time.

After a few weeks of melancholy, my daughter said to me, “Daddy, you’re not fun anymore.” That’s when I realized that the preoccupations in my private life have bleached over everything everywhere. I received more and more comments like these and finally when my daughter puts her name on my to-do list, it’s more than a literal cry for attention. Rather than putting a brave face and snapping out of my self-pity wallow, I looked at my daughter and said, “Daddy’s going through a bit depression.” Our moods instantly turned serious. We chatted for a bit and my daughter was relieved that I didn’t need medication or hospitalization but wanted to know when I would get better. Even prior to this moment, I had debated in my head how much to share with my daughter about my dark place. But in the end, I decided to tell her that this place exists.

 

I give her a lot of credit. She understands. She is patient. Amazingly, but not surprisingly, talking about my distance from her brought us even closer together.

 

I chose to tell my 12 year-old because I wanted her to know that my mood has nothing to do with her actions or inactions. Because we spend so much time together, I don’t want her to take responsibility for not bringing more joy to our lives. And so this was the opportunity for her to know a little bit about what else preoccupies my mind besides being her dad. She learned a lot about her old man when I opened up a bit of my private life to her.

I chose to tell my 12 year-old because I wanted her to know that while I will move mountains for her, I am not invincible. She’s seen me stick up for her against other awful parents, supported her when her mom was unreasonable, and many times I’ve plowed unnecessary obstacles in her way so she can have choices. But I’m not always a tough as nail, defender and enforcer of all things. Sometimes, my lashing out only hides an underbelly of vulnerability. She learned from me that the tougher the armor, the great the necessity to protect what is precious.

And the real reason why I chose to tell my 12 year-old about my depression is that it isn’t something that should be ignored. Invisible pain are just as legitimate as physical ones. There is no glory in stoicism. Enduring the pain does not make me macho. Ignoring it doesn’t make me an unmoved hero. And if I dismiss these barometers my body and mind are registering, I would merely be hastening my own deterioration and directly my ability to be a good father and a better man.

The toughest first step I ever took was to admit to myself that I was not okay and needed help. Telling my daughter I need time was a much easier second step. I give her a lot of credit. She understands. She is patient. Amazingly, but not surprisingly, talking about my distance from her brought us even closer together.