Although I was nervous and embarrassed, I was able to tell my story with confidence and clarity. She listened quietly, stunned at what she was hearing — could it be that this self-assured, happy bochur she was dating had depression and anxiety? For a while after I told her my story, she sat there in silence.

After we drove back to her house, I turned to her with a smile and said softly, “So, how are you doing?”

She smiled back. “I’m doing okay.” A pause. Then, she said, “I think you’re a very special person.”

I proceeded to escort her to the door, my heart soaring.

After I dropped her off, my anxiety came over me like a tidal wave. What’s she going to say? What are her parents going to say? I tossed and turned the whole night.

The next afternoon, the shadchan called. “The parents said no already last night, right after the date,” she informed me, “but I didn’t have the heart to break it to you until now.” I was shocked. The girl had told me that I was a very special person, and that she had never gotten so far with anyone — yet they threw me out without making even a single phone call? I was furious, but I still held out hope that they would come to their senses and get back to me with an apology.

A few days later, it hit me: They weren’t coming back. I lay down on my bed and started crying bitterly. My fears of shidduchim had been confirmed — I could be spurned just like that, no questions asked, as though I was somehow toxic and totally unsuitable for marriage. None of my maalos mattered; people could not see past my condition to view me for who I really am.

It took a while before I could build up the courage to go out again.

I did not ask for this nisayon, nor did I bring it upon myself. I was born with a very sensitive nature, and as a child, I craved the love and approval of my parents, who were sparing with expressions of affection and words of affirmation. If you recall, I noted at the start of this story that I come from a nice family, and that’s the truth. My parents are wonderful people, pillars of the community, and they were not abusive or neglectful. They themselves were raised in the old model, by parents who did not express affection or give praise, and they simply replicated that model in the next generation, not realizing that warmth and affection were as vital to my development as food and water.

Some teenagers externalize their emotional pain by going off the derech or exhibiting unhealthy behaviors, such as substance abuse or self-harm. I kept it all hidden inside, pushing myself incessantly to achieve more, learn more, do more, in the hopes of seeing that my parents were proud of me for being a ben Torah. But this affirmation never came. Eventually, in high school, I started to feel extraordinarily tired and weak all the time, and I could barely drag myself out of bed. My symptoms were purely physical, so it took months before anyone realized that the underlying issue was emotional.

I spent years and years in frustrating therapy, while pushing myself relentlessly to learn and function. Many times during seder I hid my face in my shtender and cried, not even knowing the source of the pain I was feeling. The first few therapists I saw did not help me; all they did was cause more pain and frustration. Finally, I found the right therapist, who helped me to access the core issues that were causing all the emotional pain I was experiencing.

When I finally began working through my innermost feelings, my symptoms shifted from depression to anxiety. In my case, depression was merely a mask for my emotions; once I started to deal with them, my main problem — anxiety — began to surface. In the process of confronting my anxiety, which manifested as a terrible, debilitating pressure to constantly do and accomplish, I realized that my relentless quest for achievement was really a desperate attempt to feel good about myself and fill the void of self-esteem that hadn’t been filled in my childhood.

I’ve worked through these issues with the help of caring rebbeim and professionals, and I don’t have any gripes against my parents; I understand that Hashem chose these parents for me and that the circumstances of my upbringing were tailor-made for my own avodah and growth.

My rebbeim have told me many times that adversity builds a person, and that my struggle with mental illness (ouch, the term itself stings) has made me into a stronger, better human being. I know myself that this is true. Because of what I’ve been through, I’ve become much more sensitive to the needs of others and more compassionate toward people who are struggling. I was always at the top of my shiur in learning, but it was only after I experienced what it’s like to struggle that I became a real leader. In the past few years, I’ve become an address not only for bochurim’s questions on the sugya, but also for bochurim to discuss what is weighing on their minds and receive guidance, empathy, and support.

I have to hide the fact that I suffer from this condition, because as long as people don’t know about it, I can still be a normal bochur, a great guy. The minute my condition would become known, I would be transformed into a nebach: “the bochur with depression” or “the bochur with mental problems.”

Still, despite the pains I take to keep my condition a secret, word seems to have gotten out. Once, I was redt a shidduch with a girl in her late 20s from out of town. Somehow the girl’s parents found out something about my condition and would not agree to let their daughter meet me. My rebbi, who is a well-known, chashuveh rav, told the girl’s parents that I am a great catch and will make a good husband and father, but the moment they heard the word “depression,” they said no to the shidduch.

“When was the last time your daughter got a yes from someone?” the shadchan asked the girl’s father.

“Months ago,” the father said sorrowfully.

It’s more than a little painful when a girl in her late 20s from out of town who hasn’t had a date in ages turns you down without even meeting you, for the sole reason that you have a condition that you have learned to manage and is not obvious to anyone.

My first reaction, upon receiving this no, was fury. How could you invalidate me without even giving me a chance to show you what kind of person I really am? But the anger quickly morphed into guilt and self-hatred: Why can’t I just be normal? Everyone else manages to get married. I really am a loser

Eventually, I mustered the courage to let myself feel the awful pain of rejection, which was the true emotion I was experiencing, beneath all the fury and self-recrimination. I found a quiet place and wept, begging Hashem, “Please, just help me get married!” I wiped away my tears, pulled myself together, and went back to seder.

But for the next few weeks, I couldn’t help wondering: There are only a handful of people who know about my condition — my close family, a few trusted friends, and some rebbeim. All of them know about the psak I’ve received to disclose the information once the dating becomes serious, and they trust me enough to know that I would never keep such a secret from my future kallah. So how in the world did this girl and her parents find out that I suffer from depression and anxiety? I wouldn’t dream of hiding this information from the person I marry, so why would anyone offer this information early on in the shidduch process, when it’s guaranteed to kill any promising match?

Now, with the information out there in the hands of strangers, I have no way of ensuring that it remains confidential. I feel as though I have become a reshus harabbim, open season for anyone to find out my most personal and sensitive information and label me passul as a result.

Have I mentioned that I suffer from anxiety? Yes, I have it under control, but it doesn’t help when the shidduch parshah becomes so much more complex and emotionally laden than it has to be. Shidduchim are anxiety provoking even in a regular situation, and even when the person in question is easygoing by nature. Kal v’chomer when a person’s history is complicated and he struggles with anxiety to begin with!

By saying yes to a shidduch, I am giving the girl’s side carte blanche to uncover my baggage and write me off because of it before they can possibly view me as a whole person, not just as a name and a resume. My depression ceases to be a condition that I have; it becomes the definition of my essence. In meeting a girl, I’m essentially opening my shirt and saying, “Shoot me!” That’s one of the reasons why I’m so reluctant to date.

When I submitted my story for publication, I was warned that in the aftermath of its appearance in these pages I will likely be inundated with shidduch suggestions, presumably with girls who have “baggage” themselves. I have no problem meeting a girl with baggage, as I believe that such a person will likely have depth of character, empathy, maturity, and perseverance, as well as a real relationship with Hashem. But I would rather not know about the baggage before I meet the girl, as that would deny me the opportunity to see her as a person. And I certainly do not want to be redt shidduchim primarily on the basis of baggage: He’s depressed, she’s depressed, perfect shidduch!

Let’s face it — everyone has issues. It’s just that some people’s issues have clinical diagnoses and some people’s do not. People who are stingy, selfish, callous, irritable, or superficial feel no obligation to disclose that information while dating. I see so many bochurim who have mediocre middos, minimal self-discipline, and questionable commitment to Yiddishkeit getting snapped up in shidduchim simply because there is no stigma attached to their particular chisronos.

Baruch Hashem, I recently had a very heartening experience. I went out several times with a great girl, and things were starting to get serious. She was everything I was looking for — sincere, sweet, understanding, intelligent, authentically frum, and looking for a future marbitz Torah with whom to share a life of ruchniyus. Thinking that this was a person I could see myself marrying, I told her about my condition and gave her some background. She listened calmly and seemed totally unfazed by the information.

After that date, she broke off the shidduch. No surprise. But then something interesting happened. The shadchan told me that the girl had asked her to give me a message. “She wants you to know that the reason she said no had nothing to do with what you told her about yourself on your last date,” the shadchan informed me. “She thinks you are a phenomenal person, and she really wanted the shidduch to work. The reason she broke it off was that she never felt enough chemistry and couldn’t see her feelings changing.”

I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed to hear that, but it was also a big relief. Finally, someone rejected me for a normal reason, not because of our society’s baseless prejudice toward people who have mental illness! The pain of rejection never felt this good.

Hashem makes shidduchim, and I fully believe that no one can rob me of my bashert. It’s just ironic that the thing I should be the most proud of — the work I have done on myself to conquer depression and anxiety — is something I have to hide from the world and act as though I’m ashamed of.

Having to fight for my mental health has taught me a lot about what’s important in life. Unlike many of my peers, I recognize that what matters in this world is not looks, or money, or having a good time — it’s avodas Hashem and good relationships and a healthy mind, body, and soul.

My struggle has spurred me to deepen my relationship with Hashem and forge a personal connection with Him, something that many people my age have barely begun to do. There is nothing like difficulty to force a person to recognize his own powerlessness and acknowledge Hashem’s ultimate control, and I have learned to place myself in Hashem’s hands, feel His love, and accept what He has in store for me. This, I think, is a priceless ingredient in building a home that will be a sanctuary for the Shechinah.

And I’m confident that the girl and family who are right for me will not merely accept me despite my baggage, but will actually admire and value me because of it.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha 647)