I stared out the window, trying to hold my world together while happiness felt just out of reach. I was a superhero without the courage, a martyr lacking evidence of my struggle. I fear I might forget the scent of bravery—what my life is truly meant to look like. As I oscillate between fleeting moments of joy and retrace my steps, I struggle to identify where I end and the better version of myself begins.
Anxiety has always been my companion in chaos—an imaginary ally with a cape and sword, ready to rescue me while simultaneously threatening my peace. Tension lurks within, prepared to unleash its madness at any moment. Yet, strangely, anxiety has become a familiar place to rest my head. The fight-or-flight response propels me to achieve more than most, albeit at a tremendous cost.
But it’s the aftermath of anxiety that leaves me disoriented. One day, as I was driving to run errands, I imagined veering off the road to escape the pain. My grip on the steering wheel tightened as my mind leaped between possibilities. After three long years grappling with postpartum depression, I felt like a stranger in my own life. I tried medication, yoga, and even invested thousands in mattresses, hoping restful sleep would bring relief, but it never arrived.
There were countless evenings spent listening to my family laugh downstairs, convinced they would be better off without me. I often envisioned running away or starting anew, plagued by panic attacks that made me feel as if the world was unraveling at the seams. Despite my best efforts at home and work, nothing seemed to meet the expectations I had set for myself. Even trivial triggers—a song on the radio or a few sleepless nights—could send me spiraling.
I recall nights of shouting at my husband, Mike. “How could you possibly love me?” I would cry, questioning my own sanity. I often felt on the brink of losing my mind, yet morning would arrive, bringing a momentary calm that allowed me to function—preparing frozen breakfast for my kids and rushing to work, all while hiding the extra weight I had gained from emotional eating and antidepressants.
After trying fifteen different medications, my psychiatrist reassessed my condition and diagnosed me with bipolar 2—a form of manic depression without psychosis. The realization struck me hard. How could I be as broken as my grandmother? They offered me Lithium, but I refused, fearing it would turn me into a mere shell of my former self. “You may gain weight and suffer side effects,” he warned, “but at least you’ll still be alive.” To me, a life on Lithium wasn’t worth living. I wanted my quality of life to mean something, even if my current existence felt stale.
That was my choice. Others may opt for medications like Lithium, and that’s entirely valid. I pushed myself to exercise and eat healthier, testing whether I could manage this new diagnosis alone. The weight from medications compounded my anxiety, leaving me questioning how I could possibly manage an additional twenty pounds.
Some days are bearable, and to the outside observer, I appear to be functioning well. But therein lies the issue—my internal battle often goes unseen, leading others to dismiss my struggles. Yet, I fear that if I share my truth about being bipolar, it may overwhelm them.
This journey with bipolar 2 has been long, but it’s the first time I’ve openly shared my story. I’m weary of feeling shame for something beyond my control. I find comfort in the stories of others who have stepped forward with their struggles, but bipolar remains a stigmatized term. I’m done staying silent; it’s a part of who I am—as a mother, wife, and friend. If you experience the soaring highs and crushing lows, I hope you find the support you need and your own tools to navigate this journey.
We are mothers—a diverse group of strong women united by our experiences. We are more than just moms; we are partners, daughters, sisters, and friends who need a space to discuss our lives beyond motherhood. For those navigating the complexities of family life, check out our resources on home insemination here and explore fertility options at Make A Mom. If you’re seeking guidance on procedures like IUI, this resource is invaluable.
In summary, my battle with bipolar 2 has been challenging, but I am learning to embrace my truth and seek support. It’s time to shed the shame and connect with others who understand this journey.