The following story was narrated to The Weight She Carries contributor Ivy Chibanda.
Depression has left my kids traumatized, my relationships with my colleagues ruined and my health in a fragile state. It could never had been this serious had I admitted I had a problem and sought help when I had the chance. Prevention is much better than cure; it’s unfortunate I am only realizing it now.
I fell in love with my husband, then boyfriend, ten years ago. We had a blissful relationship and as we were very much in love with each other, we got married and started our lives together. Two years later, we were blessed with twins. It was a perfect family.
However, jobs were scarce in Zimbabwe and he had to move from one temporary job to another and the money was not enough to sustain us as a family, even though I was also working. We agreed it was best for him to move out of the country and find a better job and the children and I would follow as soon as he had settled. I had a more stable job as an administrator, so it only made sense that I stay behind.
Somewhere along the line, my husband fell in love with another woman, impregnated her and they started living together. I didn’t know about this, and whenever I visited, he made sure I didn’t find out. This happened for three years.
I never cried or had any other outburst; I just left. I told him if it was what he wanted, I wouldn’t force him to be a part of my life. I returned home, told my family and went on with my life as if everything was normal. Although I didn’t cry, the most I would sleep for was two to three hours. I would stare into space, thinking of what I had really done to deserve this. Was I not beautiful enough? Had I grown too old for him? Was I less of a woman? I would constantly stalk the lady on social media as she posted beautiful pictures of her ‘perfect family’ with my man. I kept this all to myself. I was depressed, and I didn’t know.
Eventually, I started falling apart, bit by bit. I became aggressive and constantly agitated. No one would tell me what to do; everything had to be done my way and if not, it meant it was wrong and I would have an outburst. I strained my relationships with my colleagues and my family members. A friend advised me to seek counselling but I wouldn’t hear of it. I didn’t think I needed help. I believed I was okay; it was just that no one understood me.
I told people that I didn’t need help and that anyone who thought I needed help was the one who needed help. I alienated myself from others. Everyone around me had to tread carefully when they were around me because they did not want to be on my bad side.
There came a point when I then broke down; I could not take it any longer. My mental state became affected and I started destroying property, cursing those that tried to help and walking into the streets at odd hours of the night. My family managed to hold me down and I was taken to the hospital.
I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, which had been building up for years, but I had been in denial. I managed to get counselling and I am on my way to total healing. I have learnt to accept what happened to my marriage and I have let myself cry it out.
The reason I shared this story is because I know there are sisters like me out there, who feel that crying is a sign of weakness and believe if the world sees you crying, they’ll think you are not strong enough. When you face hell, allow yourself to cry, accept what comes, and allow yourself to heal before you can move on. When I look back, I realize I almost left my children without a mother. I traumatized them with the way I reacted all because I was in denial of the pain I was going through.
In your darkest moments, it’s okay to cry; it’s okay to talk to someone about how you feel. Just because someone has done you wrong, it doesn’t mean it’s your fault. It means they just don’t know how valuable you are. Beyond those tears are laughter, joy and happiness if you take it to the Lord in prayer. All will be well at some point.
