“You’re not depressed, you just need to spend more time in the sun”

Summary

A young adult grapples with their father's dismissal of their depression diagnosis as mere "sadness" curable by sunlight, reflecting on the cultural and generational differences in understanding mental health.

Abstract

The author recounts their journey of coming to terms with a depression diagnosis at age 20, initially attributing their symptoms to personal laziness. Despite relief from medical validation, their immigrant father struggles to accept the condition, suggesting more sun exposure as a remedy. The narrative delves into the father's background, highlighting his focus on survival over mental health awareness, and the cultural stigma surrounding mental health in South Asia. The author learns to navigate their father's lack of understanding, finding value in the evolving conversation about emotional well-being that their diagnosis has prompted, and the impact this has on their relationship.

Opinions

The author initially internalized their symptoms as personal weakness, reflecting societal stigma surrounding mental health.
The formal diagnosis of depression provided a sense of relief and validation, distinguishing the condition from simple laziness or sadness.
The father's response, while well-intentioned, minimized the severity of the author's depression by attributing it to a lack of sunlight.
The author acknowledges the privilege of addressing mental health, recognizing their father's background in poverty and immigration as influencing his views.
Despite the father's limited understanding, the diagnosis opened up new avenues of communication between him and the author.
The author believes that sharing their mental health struggles, despite the challenges, has positively influenced their relationship with their father.
The author advocates for open discussions about mental health to normalize such conversations and garner support, even if understanding is lacking.

“You’re not depressed, you just need to spend more time in the sun”

That’s pretty devastating to hear in the midst of a major depressive episode, right after receiving a formal diagnosis at the age of 20.

Obviously, it started far before 20, but I just thought I was lazy. Everyone feels the crippling weight of an elephant on their chest 24/7 — they’re just better at handling it than I am.

Eventually, I realized it was a problem. Not everyone skips weeks of class because they simply cannot get up and dress. It still felt like a personal failing, but I could finally admit that it was more than clinical laziness.

And that was when I saw a doctor and was finally diagnosed with depression. Not a great day for most people, but I was honestly relieved. I wasn’t just bad at being a person — I had a legitimate medical condition. There’s a level of validation with a diagnosis; your suffering is real, it’s recognized, and you’re not simply weak.

That is, of course, until my immigrant father joined the conversation.

Let me preface this by saying that I have never, in my life, doubted that he only wants the best for me.

However, this “diagnosis” was not within his comprehension. He sat me down and told me that I have so much to be happy about. I probably wasn’t getting enough sunlight, and that would fix my “sadness”.

And look — I’m the first to admit that we’re all just glorified houseplants, and I don’t doubt that I have a vitamin D deficiency. In the winter months, my only source of light is the glow from my laptop screen. But, this was definitely not seasonal. This depression thrives just as well on the beach. It’s pretty damn resilient.

So, did it suck to hear the diagnosis that made my life make sense reduced to a lack of sunlight? Definitely. Can I blame him? Not at all.

My father grew up in poverty in India. It’s not a unique situation, but one that shaped who he is and his opinions on mental health.

Something I realized over time is that, in many ways, addressing mental health is a privilege. My father grew up in a situation where his main focus was survival — focusing on gathering enough money to immigrate to the states and provide for his family. Pursuit of that magnitude leaves little space to even begin to consider the importance of a healthy mental state. So, even before factoring in the taboo nature of mental health in South Asia, the odds are stacked against him to fully accept the situation.

Realizing these things about him made it much easier to hear his dismissal of my condition. He spent his life focused on making sure I had everything I would ever need, and I can’t imagine how jarring it was for him to see me sad. The key point here is that I think he still struggles to differentiate between depression and simply being sad.

However, another thing I’ve learned with time is that not everyone needs to understand you to support you. Yes, it was uncomfortable discussing my diagnosis with him. Yes, it still sucks that he doesn’t really get it. But, it opened a line of conversation between me and my stoic Indian father that we previously didn’t really tap into: how are you feeling?

Sure, the precursory question was thrown around, always answered with a mono-syllabic “good”, but the conversation always died there. Even acknowledging that the answer could be anything other than just good opens up a level of conversation that isn’t always easy to access.

For that reason, I never regret sharing what I was going through with him, even if it was demoralizing at times. Being able to discuss how I feel, and giving him space to do the same, has had a quiet but significant impact on our relationship.

What does this all mean? I guess you shouldn’t be scared to tell people what you’re going through, even if they may not understand what it means. People who love you will be able to support you, even if that doesn’t look like what you expect. And always, discussing mental health openly is always a step towards normalizing these conversations and making them easier for yourself and those you share with in the future.