“Ayushi, could you wait back?” Mr. Bhati, our economics professor stops me from leaving the class for the period break. “We expect great things from you. Continue to work hard. I believe you can top the state and get the highest in economics this year.” ‘Sir, I will try my best.' I was the promise made eagerly, broken promptly. Dopamine, the pleasure hormone, is released not only after an achievement but also much earlier, in anticipation of it- A lesson I learned last week from Dr. Robert Sapolsky's lectures on neuroscience but one, my subconscious has always known. The reason this happens, Dr. Sapolsky explained, is that the dopamine release acts as a bait to encourage hard work towards success for more. I had chanced upon a shortcut- finding satisfaction in the multiple mini releases, never striving harder for better. I didn't last anywhere near the top. Instead, I was so nervous during the economics exams, I missed the last question. I wrote such elaborate first few answers that I felt short of time towards the end. ‘I knew everything but didn't keep track of time,' I repeat after being awarded the GMAT's penalty on not finishing a section. Twice. A stellar employee makes a major blunder in the second project she leads as an analyst. Yes, me. I crushed on my best friend for over four years, only to break up in a week fearful of the insecurities that started to pop up. He cares, he cares not. What if I start liking someone else? Will I be a cheat? Then and since, as I repetitively failed expectations, I also developed an acute phobia towards commitment. Almost chick, never chicken. Instead, the remains of an unfertilised piece of egg excreted monthly, promising potential, never promise! I didn't make it big. I didn't make it. Instead, I quit the job and made it back to my parent's house hoping to find something I was good at and happy to do. Two years and three jobs later, I am working with my sister to create a utilitarian art brand, still here, in my parent's house. We were starting to do well when COVID hit. Confused, scared with no clarity about the future. The extra hours and limited distractions struck at the rusting pendulum. Oscillating between the regrets of the past and ever-so dreadful ‘expectations' from the future, for once, I am struggling to gain a foothold in the present. Refreshing IG feed every hour no more transforms into an hourly wallow of self-pity looking at friends traveling or getting promoted. The world hit pause and now, most everyone is working from home, cooking, and reading. I fight temptation, delete IG to work, and work on myself. In those hours of uninterrupted introspection, I finally made the long-awaited tear-jerker of a ride 12 years back to when I was made to take accountancy, commerce, and Mr. Bhati's economics as my electives instead of biology, chemistry, and physics because father thought I wasn't dedicated enough to pursue medicine. I had not worked hard enough since. I don't know what contributed more to that prophecy. His words. My rebellion. Both. Sitting on the floor leaning on the wall closest to the router, I type a cover letter to what could have been an application to a med school until my ass hurts and my eyes burn. Desperate to compensate for the last decade, I spent the first few weeks of the lockdown learning to speak in French, cook, garden, write and invest. Days passed, became weeks. The initial enthusiasm started to wane because there was a lot of learning but as many results. I realized I was getting better at things I learned by doing like cooking, unlike those I learned passively about. I had to converse in French. I had to type, scribble, jot. Not just read books on it. Anything is easier read than done. Attempting to do everything, I wasn't doing anything well. I had to streamline my subjects. Call it greed, I chose to start with investing and designing. Impatient to recover all the past losses, I started out to make a few mistakes, costly ones but slowly I am learning to pick better quality companies. We are creating better designs for our art brand too, some that inspire for a happier present, others in the hope of a better future. Now, when someone asks me what I do for a living, I won't mumble that I am a Chartered Accountant and a CFA, distracting them with my academic qualification. As I think back to the still very empty bank account and the room I continue to inhabit in my parent's house, I now have hope. With every unrealized gain I make on the investments and with every positive feedback we get on our designs, I stand a little bit taller, my eyes smile a little bit wider. If tomorrow, I wake up to hear that quarantine has ended, I might not jump out of bed with excitement. After a long shower and a slow breakfast, when I step outside, it will be with equal amounts of hope and dread that the unknown brings. The world would have changed. I would have changed too. For the better.

As someone who struggles with depression, the term one of those days has a whole different meaning to me. Today has been one of those days. It has been one of those days where I call it a win to have gotten out of bed. Where it was a Herculean effort to put one foot in front of the other and stay up and moving. When I wanted nothing more to lay down, pull a blanket up over my head, and not move for like a month. You can't do that in society. You definitely can't do that as a stay at home mom. Being a stay at home mom adds an element to depression I never knew before. On days when you can't even fathom taking care of the basic needs of yourself to keep functioning – you have to keep your kid(s) going. You managed to open your eyes – you deserve a medal. You sat up and considered getting out of bed. You deserve a parade to go with that medal. If you get up and out of bed, you get a party. If you get up and parent those days…you get it all. You won't care of course. All you want is to curl up, rock, maybe hum, under a blanket, listening to headphones, all alone. So you know, when you are feeling a little more up to it – medals, parades, and parties. Now add in a toddler who just wants to run, climb, dance, spin and play outside - then inside - outside - inside…you get the point. You get up and you manage to do all that - making sure your kid eats, dresses plays laughs and learns. You get all the accolades and celebrations in the land. Except here's the thing – you don't. I want to introduce you to the mind of a stay at home parent in the throes of depression and anxiety. There are days I wake up and every inch of me is screaming. Do you know what it's like to have a toddler dump all her blocks off the wagon, and use it for a skateboard? Exhausting. This kid never stops. Don't get me wrong, I'm lucky. I have a healthy, smart child with a love of life. It's awesome - and exhausting. Her mouth also never stops. “Mama Up. Mama shoes, out. In. Snack, please. Mama Doc. You ok?" You know what you want and aren't afraid to make it known. Mama doesn't want to watch Doc McStuffins for the 150th time - if Mama hears time for your checkup again, Mama is going to want to run into a wall. When you're fighting to just function, excessively cheerful kids shows DO NOT help. Outside. Yeah. When you are in the throes of depression, the last thing you generally like is nature. Let alone playing in a sandbox, and then blowing bubbles and let's not forget playing drag baby girl around the yard in her pool because she loves it and you love her, but you don't want to even be out here let alone running in a circle. No baby girl, Mama is feeding you lunch, but on a normal depression episode day she wouldn't be eating so please don't shove that cheese stick in her mouth, please don't no, no and now I am eating a cheese stick. Around this time, anxiety will show its ugly face. You will doubt everything you do, say, act. Are you being a bad mom, are you letting your mood affect your kid? Did you make sure they ate right and enough, as you have no desire to eat? Are you taking them out enough because you hate being out right now - or are you going out too much to compensate? Does she need quiet time right now, or do you? Did you play enough and teach enough and love enough and discipline enough....and...and...and... So it continues into the night. You will inevitably lay awake at night while anxiety reigns, making your mind constantly go from one worry to another, examining everything for what you did wrong. Once you finally go to sleep though, depression will take over and you will start the cycle again the next morning. It is rarely just one day. Depression episodes last a while, often with anxiety. Besties – isn't it sweet. So to other stay at home parents suffering from depression and anxiety you aren't imaging the suckiness we're stuck with. Your kid(s) are the best things in your life, but sometimes, you have to force the behavior whether or not that feeling is there. Take it easy on yourself. You love them, you would do anything for them and sometimes the disease that turns your entire life upside down wants to take that away from you. It won't. You have made it through this disease to have a life, a spouse and kids – which makes you damn strong. So keep opening your eyes every day and making it about that kid. It's important for them and you. There is NOTHING in your life before them that could have gotten you out of bed on a day like today. That is powerful. That is important. That is lifesaving. You are NOT alone. There are many others. Just know whether you get out of bed today, or just sit up – I am proud of you. The episode will eventually end. You won't have to pretend to have fun chasing your kids around and dancing. You will have fun. You will treasure it in a way that parents who don't suffer from depression will never understand. I do. So here is your medal. Whether you're ready for it or not.

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving 2018, and I took my 7-year-old daughter to a showing of "Ralph Breaks the Internet" right after school. I already knew that the movie theater was this kid's happy place, but this trip ended up being extra special. We were the only two in the theater. Not only did we loudly talk and make jokes throughout the showing, she got up and danced around the empty theater during the credits. I mean, ran up and down the aisles shaking her "groove thing" to "Zero" by Imagine Dragons. And then as we were walking out, she said, "I'm gonna tell them this is the best time I've ever had in this theater." And she did. Bless that teenage concession stand employee that listened to her speech and smiled at me over the top of her head. I think this is the first time I've fiercely hoped my daughter would remember a moment for the rest of her life. But the more I thought about it, I realized that it wasn't my first "memorable moment" at the movies. It's the summer of 1999, and I'm with a large group of friends heading to the movies. We've driven 20 miles to see the new releases playing at the Capri V Theatre in downtown Ottumwa, Iowa. More specifically, we're here to see "The Blair Witch Project." Now I can't remember all of the people in our group, but I do remember that I was the last person in line to buy a ticket and Jessica was right in front of me. Jess and I were both 16 at the time. There were two people selling tickets, and when Jess got up to the counter, one of the employees asked her how old she was. Let me reiterate that. They didn't ask to see her ID, they just asked her how old she was. And as I heard her say 16, my heart sank. "Blair Witch" was rated R, and now they weren't going to sell her a ticket. All of our friends ahead of us in line (some only 16, some older) already had their tickets, and to be perfectly honest, I was pissed off. She told the cashier that she'd like a ticket to see "Bowfinger" instead. I gritted my teeth and bought my own ticket to "Bowfinger" so Jess wouldn't have to go to the movies alone. In case you don't remember that film, it's a PG-13 comedy starring Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. I'd like to tell you more of the plot, but I honestly don't remember. I was way too angry to actually pay attention. I do remember how Jess kept forcing herself to laugh too hard at the jokes and looking over at me in the dark as if she was trying to "will" me to enjoy myself. It wasn't going to happen. I was way too angry at her for "ruining" my evening. I was angry for her automatic honesty. Which, nearly 20 years later, seems crazy. I was mad at my best friend for telling the truth. I recently read a book by Gretchen Rubin were she writes that "what you do every day matters more than what you do once in a while." And while it's hard to believe that Jessica Eakins was completely truthful every single day, I do know that she was truthful MORE than once in a while. If there is an underlying theme in all my memories of Jess, it's that she was an honest friend that never set out to hurt anyone's feelings... but often told people what they needed to hear. The Capri V Theatre closed a year after Jess died. And I can't remember the last movie I saw at that location, and I honestly can't remember the last movie I saw with Jess. I often wonder if this moment - this "life lesson" at the movies - would even be burned in my memory at all if Jess hadn't died less than five years later. But it is. So strive to be honest... more than once in a while. Even if you end up forcing someone else to watch "Bowfinger."

On Valentine's Day, I watched in horror students running with their hands up out of a school where yet another school shooting had occurred. I have followed school shooting closely since Columbine as my biggest fear is an active shooter situation and I work in a college. As more news came out about the shooter, my heart sank. He was adopted and lost both adoptive parents, one recently. I do not feel sympathy for this murderer but I do relate. I often worry about my sons. My beautiful carefree adopted boys. Being adopted doesn't end the pain and neglected feeling these toddlers experience from birth. My boys were adopted from foster care. They spent 3 years in the foster care system. Although both lived in my home for a majority of that time, my oldest son spent some time with bio mom during transition which ended up causing major regressions in behavior and attachment. My little 4 year old boy is obsessed with violence and guns. We have to monitor his every program and game. We see therapists about his violent behaviors and attachment issues. My fear is that one day it will be my son, my boy on the TV in the position of the shooter, not the victims. I try to tell myself it is irrational, he is 4 years old. I feel like I am doing everything I can to help him attach, show emotions, not react in violent outbursts, have outlets to express things but what if its not enough. What if the shooters mom did all the same things? I know some parts of our situation are not similar. My husband is very active in his boys life. They have a strong male role model not just in a father but in uncles and grandfathers. As a mother you never want to think ugly about your child but as an educated person with extensive knowledge in the affects of abandonment, attachment and adoption issues you cant help the thoughts. I write about his behaviors, thoughts, feelings. I ask him about things that are important to him. I let him tell me stories that I write in notebooks for him so he can express his imagination. I show him how to express his anger with words not actions. We don't spank which I am sure causes a lot of judgment but when a child has been abused and only knows violence spankings do not work. You have to know your child and the situation. I am sure if I had given birth to them that I would choose spanking but in his mind those spankings are not much different from the abuse he suffered. I was spanked as a child and I believe it helped me as I rarely did anything to get in trouble. My husband was spanked as a child and also led a trouble free life. That does not mean it is good for our boys. We tried to spank at first but noticed the extreme regressions our son suffered after barely getting a pop. This showed us that some kids have to have other forms of punishment. At 4 years old his offenses are not major. Tantrums on occasion. Hitting or biting siblings. Telling lies. His meltdowns are the real testing behaviors. He actually does the best in public situations, in listening skills and in opportunities to help others. He has so many strong qualities. I think I worry the most because of the mental illness his mother suffers from. I worry that he will get depressed easier. That he will be suicidal. That he will struggle making friends because of his intensity. I worry now about how to combat things that will come at him like drug use. HIs mother self medicates and I am scared the slightest teen experimentation will drag him down her rabbit hole of addiction. I mostly worry that he wont feel love, experience life and live fully.