Having struggled with depression on and off throughout my childhood, I want my 12-year-old daughter to inherit my values and fashion sense, not my shaky relationship with mental health.
While doing research for my upcoming book about how to live a spiritual yet secular life, I came across the work of psychologist Lisa Miller and epidemiologist Myrna Weissman, which changed the way I thought about parenting.
In the 1970s, Weissman began studying depression across three generations: She found that children of parents living with severe or recurrent depression were two to three times more likely to experience depression than their peers.
The news was, well, depressing.
I began looking for protective factors to create a buffer between my child and the “black dog” and came across research by Columbia University psychologist and professor Miller on the benefits of “shared spirituality.”
Miller defines spirituality as an intimate, personal relationship with God, nature, the universe, or whatever words people use to refer to something bigger than themselves. For me, as a secular, interfaith pastor, that word is “mystery” — everything I cannot know.
Miller’s study showed that a “spiritual orientation” could act as a “protective factor” against the onset of depression.
So how can I help my daughter, Ellie, navigate the rough waters of adolescence?
I invited her to join me in an interfaith practice adapted from the religious traditions I studied: I practice a form of prostration for people with bad knees, and chant my own interpretation of Buddhist teachings. Metta Pray and develop compassion for yourself and all living things.
I told her about my beliefs, based on Tao, Kabbalah, and the philosophies of the Geuw women’s group of the Yorn region of northeast Arnhem Land: that we live in a universe that is benevolent towards life and creation, and that it is our job to co-create goodness.
Around the time she was born, I was confirmed into the Catholic faith, a rite of passage in which one declares their faith in God and the church. Without a religion, there seemed to be no way to give a child a formal rite of initiation, so we invented our own.
My child writes “vows” outlining what she believes and promises she will make, we invite three women to be her fairy mothers (not) and I set up a little altar decorated with the four elements: a bowl of clay, a bowl of water, a candle with fire and gum leaves to blow air on us.
I created a booklet for my mother of favorite prayers from my ancestral background because I wanted her to feel part of a community that transcends time and space, and I gave her two statues from these traditions: a blue Medicine Buddha, her family Buddha, and a rose-bordered statue of Mary that came from my father’s Catholic faith.
Ellie, wearing the frilly dress she chose for the occasion, reads her vows. The women hold Ellie’s hands, remind her of what she wants in life, and offer their blessings. We enjoy high tea at a table that her godmother (Les Mother) has decorated, at Ellie’s request, with wildflowers, a cake stand, and lots of cheese.
I may not be religious, but I am spiritually blessed, and I can raise my children to live spiritually meaningful lives, and while I may not be able to “prevent” depression, I can be an example of living ethically in relation to nature, the universe, and all the known and unknown worlds.
I take her on bushwalks where we can feel wonder, surrender, connection, and a sense of being part of a greater whole. I serve those around me and show her that community is a verb and a constant co-creative process. And I share my spirituality and show her that every day can be sacred.
Jackie Baillie is the author of The Eulogy, winner of the 2023 NSW Premier’s Literary Multicultural Award. When she’s not writing, she helps families navigate death and dying. She is an interfaith minister with a Master of Theology and is currently writing a non-fiction book on global spirituality across religions.
