Bipolar Mommy Remembers She's Also a Beloved Child

I never planned to be a single mom with bipolar disorder. Who does?

Yet, here I am— 32 years old with bipolar type 1 and a beautiful 16-month-old daughter. Most of the time I feel like I’m rocking this single mom thing. And I’m sure that’s what it looks like on the outside. 

But today I want to share what my bipolar mommy life really looks like. If you were a fly on the wall of our apartment you would see lots of hugs and giggles. You would see story time, bath time and bed time. 

You would see lots of love, but you would also see piles of laundry — some dirty, some clean. You would see a sink full of dishes, a scattering of mega blocks in the living room floor and an overflowing recycling bin in the laundry room. 

If you listened you would hear lots of giggles and I love you’s, but you would also here the occasional f-bomb that I accidentally drop— despite the fact that my daughter clearly says words. 

Just this week I was having a conversation about dating, via text message, with one of my friends. He shared some impressive stats about a women he was thinking about asking out. Her match.com profile seemed ridiculously perfect. 

I responded to his text message audibly by saying, “fuck.” As in, “fuck, is she a robot?” My response was as automatic as a reflex.

Althea heard me and started to giggle.

She replied, “nana.” 

Clearly she planned on telling on me. Or maybe she said nana because, let’s be honest, her Grammy has a potty mouth too. 

This incident, which I’m referring to as fudge-gate, is just one of many times where I feel less than ideal as a mother. 

It’s hard when you are the only parent home— when you are ALWAYS the only parent home. There are times where I just want 10 minutes to pick up the living room or put some dishes in the dishwasher. 

When bedtime happens on time I seem to do fine. But try explaining that to a teething toddler who just wants to be rocked for a couple hours to wind down. 

“You know mommy,” she reminds me, “This teething business isn’t easy for me either.”

Sure, her speech hasn’t progressed to the point where she can actually say that, but her eyes say it all.

This morning on my way to take Althea to her weekly visit with her dad, I felt hot tears streaming down my cheeks. Some days I feel like I’m nailing motherhood, and other days I just feel like I’m just trying to keep my head above water. 

I realized, amidst my tears, that I had forgotten to pick up my lithium the night before. So, I had missed two doses. 

The truth is, I am not a perfect patient and I am not a perfect parent. But with everything in my being, I do believe that I am a perfect child of God. And that thought brings me to tears. Every. Single. Time.

So, I guess the point of this blog is not to point out how flawed I am. Rather, the point is to let you know that no matter how long your list of imperfections, I believe that the divine cumulation of all goodness looks upon you and calls you beloved. Because you are. 

How to Handle Bipolar Triggers

When it comes to recovery, you have to know your triggers in order to overcome them. Last week I wrote a blog about bipolar being a deadly disease. The blog brought up a lot of triggers for me. After I posted it, I felt emotional drained and depressed. I found myself sobbing as my mind raced with fear.

Bipolar suicide is the source of this trigger. And there is a huge part of me that never wants to hear or think about people who have bipolar disorder and die by suicide. I don’t even want to hear or think about the people with bipolar disorder who attempt suicide, or partake in suicide behavior, or commit acts of self harm. In fact, many days I don’t want to think or hear about bipolar disorder at all.

That may seem like an odd thing for someone who has chosen to make a career as a mental health advocate. But the truth is I live in the tension that exists between my desire to live in a state of blissful denial, and my desire to fight for recovery and change.

When I choose to face my recovery head on, I’m forced to see that I’m only two weeks of missed doses away from hospitalization. I am strong. And determined. And smart. And kind. And all of the things that I want to be, but I’m also 100 percent reliant on mood stabilizers.

Reading about people who have died after getting off their medication scares me because I wonder if I’m only a couple of weeks worth of bad choices away from that fate. I can’t ignore these stories and statistics because they are real.

I also can’t ignore them because I want to live a world where people take this illness seriously. Somebody has to be a voice shouting out in the wilderness— declaring that bipolar disorder is not some cleaver adjective to describe your moody step sister. Bipolar disorder is a real illness that kills people.

But bipolar disorder is also an illness from which you can recover. I want people to know that as well. I love my life. With the right dosage of lithium, I’ve been able to do all things I wanted to do. I have a job that I love, a beautiful daughter, the best friends that anyone could ask for, and tomato plants growing on my deck. Sometimes I have to pinch myself.

So, how then should I deal with these triggers?

My coping mechanism thus far is to first and foremost let it bleed. I enable myself to cry and acknowledge my fears. Then I slowly talk myself off the ledge. After that I surround myself with friends who love and support me. And I listen to Touch of Grey by the Grateful Dead.

I will survive. And so will you.