Why I Finally Decided to Seek Treatment for My Depression and Anxiety

Name: Nanea Hoffman

Age: 45

Occupation: Blogger

Diagnosis: Anxiety and depression

I think I’ve probably lived with anxiety disorder my whole life, but I don’t think I became aware that that is what it was until I was diagnosed in my early 40s. I can look back at my childhood and say, ‘Okay, obviously that was anxiety,’ but I just didn’t have the language for it then. I thought it was normal to wake up with a pounding heart every morning. I didn’t realize it was a panic attack. I thought it was normal to wake up a few times during the night dripping in sweat and my thoughts racing.

I was actually diagnosed with clinical depression first—in my 30s, after a family crisis. My parents were in town visiting me, and my father had two strokes while he was here, so their visit turned into a three-month stay. It turned out fine, but when they left and everything settled down, it was like my body had time to fall apart and that’s when I realized it was depression. 

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I didn’t know to seek help—my family’s very Catholic, and mental health professionals were just not part of our life. You prayed something away. And because of that, I think I tended to view any of my struggles as personal shortcomings. It certainly wasn’t something I would talk to anyone about. It was a source of shame. I don’t think I would’ve sought treatment for the first time in my thirties if I hadn’t been a mother at the time. Suddenly, it was like, well, this is not getting better by itself, and I have to function for this kid—so I have to figure out what is going on.

“I thought it was normal to wake up a few times during the night dripping in sweat and my thoughts racing.”

When I was first diagnosed with depression, I told my husband right away. I needed him to understand why he’d find me crying when he came home from work in the middle of the day, or why I hadn’t showered all day and the house was in shambles. He was very understanding. He wanted to do whatever was necessary to help me get better. Still, he doesn’t suffer from anxiety or depression—so he can sympathize, but he can’t empathize.

In the beginning, I didn’t tell anybody else, though. I certainly didn’t tell my kid at the time—he was too young. It wasn’t until right around the time I started my website, Sweatpants Coffee, when I was in the grips of depression and anxiety, and I needed a way to express myself. I thought it was going to be just a small outlet. I just started telling my story, and it was easier somehow, to tell it to strangers on the internet than it was to tell the moms at my children’s school.

RELATED: Answers to Mental Illness Questions You’ve Been Too Afraid to Ask

Recently, I’ve been going through a depressive episode. I’m managing it, but my husband and I had a discussion where I broke down and he said, ‘Tell me what to do for you.’ I remember being exhausted, in tears, and shouting, ‘It’s not my job to teach you how to navigate me!’ He was confused because he does love me and he doesn’t like to see me suffering like that. But it’s an ongoing conversation. As for my children, it’s sort of natural for them. They understand if I’m having a panic attack, because it might happen when I’m in the car. I’ll just tell my son, who’s a teenager now, that I need to lie down, and he gets it. It’s like you have a cold. It’s a normal part of being human. Sometimes you’re physically sick, sometimes you’re mentally sick. There’s no stigma for my kids.”

Pick up the May 2016 issue of Women’s Health, on newsstands now, for tips on how to help a friend who has a mental illness, advice on how to disclose a diagnosis at work, and more. Plus, go to our Mental Health Awareness center for more stories like Nanea’s and to find out how you can help break the stigma surrounding mental illness.