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. 

The facade of having it all together

I wanted to write a blog to kick of Mental Illness Awareness Week, but I couldn’t decide what to write about. I’ve been thinking a lot about the ways mental illness is simultaneously stigmatized and trivialized, but that’s not what I decided to write about tonight.

As I was getting ready to write, a blog that Erin Brown posted depicting what she “really” looks like popped into my head.

In the age of blogs and social media, we posts our best self. The us where our tummies are tucked in, our blemishes are hidden with concealer, and the coffee stains on our teeth are photoshopped out. We present our best self, our tidiest houses, and well polished ideas.

Even when I share a vulnerability or weakness, I package it in a nice tidy blog with a motivational take away for the reader.

But the truth is life isn’t always nice and tidy. And neither is my apartment.

This is what motherhood really looks like.

That is what my sink looked like when I got home from work. And there is no excuse for the situation going on in my bedroom corner.

I likely need an intervention, but it doesn't fit into my schedule.

Hoarding is a new diagnosis in the DSM-V. I take solace in the fact that best friend, who is a licensed therapist, assured me that I am not in fact a hoarder by the clinical definition.

What I am is a new mom, who happens to have bipolar disorder, and has a lot on her plate. I’m juggling a lot of balls these days and if something is going to drop you can bet your ass it won’t be my daughter’s bedtime story.

I share these pictures of my messy home not because I’m proud of them. (I was actually serious when I asked my friend if she thought I may be a hoarder.) I’m sharing these photos because the truth is no one has it together all of the time, including me.

When you have a mental illness it’s important that you prioritize your health. Sometimes that means letting the dishes go and that’s okay.

I did end up doing the dishes tonight.

Ahh, serenity.

I actually wrote this blog in my head while I washed the dishes. And the take away is this: Sometimes life is messy. You do what you gotta do. Apparently posting a photo of my dirty dishes is what it takes to motivate me to clean the kitchen. Whatever it takes.

These boots weren't made for walkin'

I’m convinced that I gave birth to the happiest baby alive. This week she’s teething and has an ear infection but you would never know based on the bright smile that beams from her face.

Before I gave birth to my daughter I worried that I wouldn't be able to handle the challenges of motherhood, particularly as someone who has bipolar disorder.

What I worried about most was my sleep schedule. I've done extremely well on Lithium, but it’s always been combined with 8 to 9 hours of sleep a night and biweekly therapy sessions. As a new mom I knew I wouldn't have time for as much sleep or therapy as I was used to.

But when I held my daughter for the first time all of those fears melted. And my daughter turned out to be one of those easy babies. She’s happy nearly all of the time. She follows a schedule that she set for herself and she follows it to the T. Up until this last week she slept from 9 p.m. to 7 a.m. most nights. She crawls to me to let me know when she needs her diaper changed. She coos and babbles and gives sweet kisses. In a nut shell, she’s perfect.

But even perfect babies face obstacles, such as teething and ear infections. This week these obstacles came to life at bedtime. And then again at midnight, 4 a.m. and 6 a.m.

By 7 a.m. when I got up for the day I felt worn out. Beyond worn out.

On Tuesday morning I fed my achy, teething baby. I rocked her back to sleep and she napped just enough for me to take a shower. But not long enough for me to get dressed. Thank God she likes her swing. Running late, I threw on a dress and realized much to my demise that I had accidentally given away one of the boots that I had planned to keep to the church garage sale. I didn’t accidentally give away the wrong pair of boots, rather I gave one boot of the pair I intended to keep and kept one boot of the pair that I intended to give away. So, I’m now the proud owner of a mismatched pair of tall black boots. Frustrated as my little one started crying again, I ripped off my mismatched boots and slid on my black Toms.

After dropping my daughter off at daycare I had to rush off to a downtown boutique to get some cutline information for my column about boots. Even in my frazzled state, I had to smile at the irony. I showed up at the store with no makeup and half dried hair.

I offered up an explanation for my disheveled appearance.

“My baby is teething and has an ear infection,” I said to the store manager as she gave me the information I needed.

“Oh, I’m a mom I totally understand,” she said. “I have two little ones so I've been there and am still doing that.”

By “still doing that,” she meant surviving on less sleep than seems humanly possible. For me becoming a mother seems a lot like becoming a super hero. I've found myself capable of things I never knew possible. There are no depths to the love I have for my daughter. But some mornings my superhuman mom powers don’t kick in.

As I said goodbye to the woman in the store she turned to me and smiled.

“Have a good day,” she said. “We appreciate you.”

Those three words “We appreciate you” spoke volumes to my soul.

To live a life of gratitude, sometimes it’s important to see that others appreciate us. In my sleep deprived state, I needed to hear that I was appreciated. This woman’s small act of kindness in sharing her gratitude to me enabled me to face the day with a spirit of gratitude instead of a spirit of defeat.

We appreciate you. Who can you share those three powerful words with today?

No time for shame in this mommy game

It’s been 11 weeks since I gave birth to my beautiful baby girl. And in that 11 weeks I have became one of those mothers who doesn’t make time to read, write blogs, or go to the gym. I seem to have become one of THOSE moms who spends any extra time she has cuddling her little one, smelling her hair, kissing her cheeks, and telling her just how much I love her.

Yes, I am indeed one of those moms. But underneath all the warm fuzzies that come with giving birth to such a perfect daughter, I am still me. I still think and feel and write, although lately most of my words don’t make it from my head to my computer. But I decided it’s time to let those words out. So, today I am going to write a blog the only way a new mother can- quick and dirty. Quick, because I really don’t have time to write long thought out prose. And dirty, because I likely won’t have time to copy edit this either.

Been wondering what’s on my mind lately? Here goes.

Who has time for mommy wars?

Before my baby was born I worried about what other moms would think. Being bipolar I knew that I would have limitations that other moms might not. I knew that I would have to stay on my medication and would need to make sure I got enough sleep to avoid a manic or depressive relapse. Would other moms judge me for not breastfeeding? Would other moms judge me if my husband helped out with night feedings so I could sleep? Would other moms judge me for putting such a high priority on my own mental health?

And then what about when I decide to go back to work? Would other mom’s judge me for that?

What I learned rather quickly after giving birth is that motherhood has a way warping time. When you spend all day caring for an infant the endless feedings and diaper changes make time disappear at a speed much faster than you ever thought possible. Sure, sometimes the days drag on, but then you look back at weeks and months that seem like a blur. In many ways it seems like my daughter has been with me forever, yet at the same time it seems like she just got here.

When you are a mother, time goes by too fast to worry about what other mothers think. I admit before I gave birth I judged a lot of Facebook friends for their obnoxious mom posts. (No one cares about your parenting theories or wants to see 20 pictures of your child each day.) What I didn’t realize then, that I do now, is that these moms probably don’t give a shit about what other people think. They are too busy being a mom.

It’s a shame more people don’t watch Shameless.

When you are on maternity leave you spend a lot of time feeding your baby. Whether your child is getting milk from the bottle or from your breast, feedings will consume your days. And there isn’t much that you can do during these feedings. Maybe seasoned moms know how to multi-task during feedings, but the rest of us can only muster enough energy to watch TV. And watch TV I did. I watched more TV during my 10-weeks of maternity leave than I did during the entire year of 2013. Reality TV. Daytime TV. British TV. You name it and I watched it. And my favorite show as of late? Shameless.

If you aren’t watching Shameless you should. It’s on Showtime but you can watch past seasons on Hulu. The writers of this show are brilliant. The characters are so well developed and witty that at times I forget that they aren’t real. And what I appreciate the most about this season of Shameless is that it has shown bipolar disorder in it’s most common form, undiagnosed.

Ian, the mild mannered, sensitive middle child of the family has acted different all season. He went AWOL in the army and now works as a stripper, runs 8 miles after three hours of sleep, fills journals with ideas about video games he wants to create, and is fearless enough to pull a knife on a man more than twice his size.

“Are smoking meth?” Ian’s boyfriend Mickey asked him in the last episode.

No, Ian is not smoking meth. what Ian’s family and TV reviewers have yet to realize is that Ian is bipolar like his mother and is in the middle of a manic episode. I wonder what will happen to Ian. How will his mania end? With him arrested? Or hospitalized?

Sure, I know that Shameless is just a show and Ian is just a character. This story is fiction, but this condition is not. It’s part of my life, something I think about every day when I’m watching TV and feeding my baby out of bottle instead of my breast. I know that the lithium that flows inside of my blood to keep me sane would be too much for her little organs to handle. So each day I feed her donor milk and thank God that my bipolar disorder has been diagnosed and is well managed.

There are things more shameful than not watching Shameless.

When we first brought our baby home I spent every waking minute looking at her, and thinking about her and cooing over her. It’s as though the rest of the world didn’t exist. I started to worry that I would be one of those mothers who stopped caring about society. I didn’t want to be one of those mothers. I wanted to care about the world around me. And I wanted my daughter to grow up to be the kind of person who cares about the world around her too.

About a month after my daughter’s birth news of Kansas House Bill 2453 jolted me back into social consciousness. This bill, which didn’t make it through the Senate, would have enabled Kansas businesses to discriminate against gay and lesbian couples on the basis of “religious freedom.”

Last week I saw stories splashed across Facebook about World Vision’s decision to hire people who are openly gay and in same sex marriages. The Christian global aide organization went on to retract that decision because so many conservative Christians pulled their sponsorships from the organization for making a pro-gay stance. Sorry, Jesus but we can’t feed your sheep if gays are involved in the process.

These stories break my heart because they are so far off from the Jesus that I know. The Jesus that I want to share with my daughter.

We are going to have her baptized in a couple of weeks. On Easter, to be exact. Will some people judge me as crazy for believing a resurrected savior whose name is used for such hate and bigotry?

Sure. But this mom has no time to worry about those judgments. She’s too busy keeping herself sane and teaching her little girl about the God of compassion and grace and love. A God who we will never fully understand, but believe is omni-everything enough to conquer even death. And this is a belief that I will never be ashamed of.