Need to vent. Or process. Or just talk to someone who might understand how I feel.

TW: self injury, suicidal ideation; emotional abuse

My (43f) parents recently found out my daughter (8) is on Zoloft. She is also in therapy, but putting her on medicine has been the best thing for her depression, and she is relieved to be feeling better.

I purposely keep my parents in the dark because they are so judgmental, and are the primary source of all the stigma I feel regarding mental health. For background, my mom is a suspected covert/vulnerable narc, and my dad is her enabler. Mom worshipped Dr. Laura Schlessinger and my dad worshipped Rush Limbaugh. My mom worked in a support staff role at an elementary school, and would come home and proclaim how SAD it was that so many kids were drugged out on ADHD medications instead of being given structure and discipline at home. So as a young teenager when I told them I was depressed, and begged them to let me get therapy, they told me I really didn't want that, because therapists were dangerous and drugs would alter who I am. So I started cutting myself, and when they found out, they threatened that if they found any more razors or cutting implements in my room, they would cut themselves.

I didn't finally go on antidepressants until I was 25, because even after leaving home, the stigma stayed with me HARD. And in hindsight, I went on them much too late. I spent a lot of time floundering, ruining relationships, muddling up my career, and burning myself out, because I was convinced the depression was something that could be solved if I only tried harder or did the "right" things. Not until I was finally dropped off at the ER by my newly-ex boyfriend for suicidal ideation, and then transferred to an inpatient facility, did I finally get the meds I needed.

For the past couple decades, I've kept them at arm's length. We maintain a superficial relationship of seeing them maybe once a month when they come to one of the kids' activities or meet us for dinner. We strictly maintain a level of conversation that is light and positive... what the kids have been up to, funny anecdotes of family life, etc. There've been times they've pushed at this unspoken boundary, and tried to voice "concerns" over something we're doing, or not doing. But they've learned we're not open to this from them. They've learned I'll just stop answering their texts. Or stop being available to see them. And they want to have a relationship with their grandchildren, so they generally restrain themselves.

But now they found out my daughter is on Zoloft. I hadn't wanted them to know, but my dad sniffed it out, and then kept asking until he got a direct answer, and my daughter happily volunteered the information, because I've raised her to not feel like it's anything shameful, and I'm glad she feels that way. But I'm devastated that they know. I would bet a thousand dollars that as soon as they left our house, they were talking about it the whole way home, and thinking how SAD it is that we've done this to our granddaughter. And how YOUNG she is. And how much it will, to them, look like my husband and I have failed as parents. Failed at providing a life that would make my daughter happy. Failed at instilling in her the strength of character to not fall victim to such traps. Failed by letting the evil pharmaceutical companies have access to their granddaughter's growing brain.

I know we haven't failed. I feel proud to hear my daughter say in therapy that she feels supported and cared about. I feel proud that I've protected her from the shame I felt. I feel proud that she will benefit from the best standard of care that is available. But as much as my prefrontal cortex is repeating these affirmations, my lizard brain is squawking just as loudly about danger and shame and feeling caught out and exposed as vulnerable in front of the two people I wish would never seem me as vulnerable again.

They know better than to dare to say anything to my daughter. And they don't have enough access to her that she'd ever really have a chance to be exposed to their opinions on things. As for whether I'll receive a "concerned" text over the next couple days, I don't know whether they'll be able to help themselves. And truthfully, it's not the text that would bother me. It's knowing what they're thinking. It's the judgment. I shouldn't care. Why on earth should I care when I know -- logically, I know -- how badly they effed up my upbringing. How dated and prejudiced and backward their beliefs are. But I can't keep it out -- that slow seep of toxic chemical that just leeches into me despite all my best efforts. It's like having no skin.