The Deal My Body Made
For a long time, I’ve struggled with depression, but things changed after my divorce. Before that, I still had normal highs and lows. I could feel excited, motivated, or happy, even if it didn’t last. After the divorce, that never really came back.
The divorce itself wasn’t something I wanted. I was trying to fix things, trying to keep the relationship together, and putting in a lot of effort. At the time, I was made to believe that I was the problem. Later on, I found out there was cheating, and a lot of what I had been told wasn’t true. That part hit just as hard as the divorce itself.
Looking back, it feels like I was fighting for something that was already over. I just didn’t know it yet. I was still trying while the outcome had already been decided. That left me feeling like no matter how much effort I gave, it wouldn’t have mattered.
After that, something in me changed. I didn’t shut down completely, but I stopped feeling things the same way. I don’t really get a sense of reward or satisfaction anymore, even when I accomplish something. I don’t laugh much. Most of the time, I just feel irritated or angry, even over small things.
That anger isn’t really about those small moments. It’s more like I’m already at my limit, and it doesn’t take much to push me over. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to fix that, trying to improve myself, but it gets exhausting. It feels like every time I make progress in one area, something else shows up.
I have a wife now and a son, with another child on the way. I love them. That’s not something I question. But I’ve noticed that I don’t express it the way I used to. Things like initiating affection or giving reassurance don’t come naturally anymore. I have to think about it and remind myself to do it, and sometimes I don’t catch it in time.
That’s been hard on my wife, and I understand why. From her perspective, it can feel like distance or lack of interest. From my side, it’s not that I don’t care. It’s that something in me doesn’t react the way it used to.
I also worry a lot about what kind of father I am. I don’t want my son to grow up the way I did. I don’t want him to have to figure out love by noticing what’s missing. That matters to me more than anything, and it’s a big reason I keep trying, even when I’m tired of it.
At some point, I realized that this isn’t just about “trying harder.” It feels more like my body made a decision at some point to shut certain things down so I wouldn’t get hurt the same way again. It wasn’t something I chose, but it’s something I’m dealing with now.
So where I’m at isn’t that I’ve given up. I’m still here, still working on it, still trying to be better for my family. I’m just tired of treating this like something I can fix quickly or perfectly.
This is more about understanding what happened, figuring out how to work with it, and making sure it doesn’t get passed on to my kids.
That’s where I’m at right now.