It was shameful.

I remember my mother fondly. But I’d never want to live with her for an extended period. A weekend was enough. Jeanne and I would visit her, and stay for two or three days. That’s all we could take. My mother spent much of the last 20 years of her life in depression. She was doom and gloom. We’d be upbeat. And try to make her see the bright side of life. Didn’t work. By the time we left, we were exhausted. Mentally. Emotionally. I’d breathe a sigh of relief as we drove away. But I also felt a little sad. I often tried to convince mother to get her depression treated. But often she didn’t even want to acknowledge that she was in depression. Because there was a stigma attached. Mother was from an era in which it was shameful to have a mental illness. I guess some people still think of it that way. –Jim Broede