Depression visited our lives in cycles, casting shadows for days on end. During these times, even simple gestures, like bringing home Joe’s favorite mint-chocolate-chip ice cream, would often go unnoticed, a small offering swallowed by the weight of his mood.
The usual avenues of connection – movies, dancing, intimacy – seemed distant, lost in a gray expanse. Even the offering of myself felt inadequate, met with an emotional inertia that left me feeling helpless. I came to understand that during these periods, the most loving action I could take for Joe was to grant him space.
“Depression isn’t something you cure,” Joe once explained, “it’s something you learn to live alongside.”
And so, I began to learn. I shifted my focus, choosing my own favorite ice cream flavors, a small act of self-preservation. Then, one day in August, driven by an unspoken need, I found myself at the Oregon Humane Society, seeking solace in a secret, rebellious act of self-care.
It had been a particularly challenging week. My strategy for loving someone through depression had evolved into prioritizing my own well-being. “And today,” I thought, pulling into the parking lot, “I’m treating myself to a kitten.”
That evening, when Joe returned home, a tiny ball of striped fur emerged from under the bed. I braced myself, ready to justify my impulsive decision.
But then, something shifted. Her mischievous green eyes met his usually somber ones, and an unspoken connection sparked between them. It was as if an unseen energy filled the room. As the kitten stumbled in a playful dance, tripping over her own paws, I watched a flicker of something new in Joe’s eyes – a glimmer of light, a hint of joy that had been absent for too long.
This unexpected moment revealed a simple truth: sometimes, support comes in the most unforeseen forms, and understanding my partner meant recognizing and respecting his needs, even when those needs differed from my own expectations.
