Today marks the 29th day of our new normal. Last night marked the third night Knox slept paci-free— AND in his own bed which, you guys, I thought the day would never come!) Today is the 5th Monday that hasn’t felt like a Monday, setting the tone for all the days that follow in the week to not feel like the days they’re supposed to be, too.
I spent the first two weeks of this shit storm obsessively watching the news and reading the internet and researching the fuck out of COVID only to come to the conclusion that few know what they’re talking about and, sadly, the ones who talk the loudest usually don't fall into the category of people who have even an ounce of a clue. And, so, I made a decision to stay off the internet and not watch the news. Being uninformed doesn’t feel good. It’s like FOMO but, unlike what I was convinced would happen to me freshman year of college if I missed a single party or opportunity to make an ass out of myself, this lack of mental and physical involvement could literally be a matter of life and death.
Man, you know things are bad when in order to protect your mental health, you have to possibly endanger your physical health. How the fuck did we get here? No, like, really. HOW THE FUCK DID WE GET HERE?! I have no answers, no solutions, nor any spiritual advice for how to mentally navigate this because I, too, am sitting in the crosshairs of where COVID and fragile mental health meet.
Which brings me to this: It was recently made official that I am bi-polar. While it may sound dramatic to be read by someone who doesn’t see the nuanced ins and outs of my everyday mental shifts and baselines, It’s a diagnosis I’ve long feared yet known deep down in my bones to be true for years. Unlike depression and anxiety, for whatever reason, I allowed myself to be shamed by a socially-instituted stigma and ignorance, leading me to avoid my truth for most of my adult life.
As many of you reading this know well by now, I’ve always been very dedicated to transparency and candor where my mental illness is concerned. However, like as is with most situations in life, I have only come to better understand my mental health and who I am at my darkest hour through the lens of hindsight. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, because of the rampant uncertainty we experienced the first couple of weeks of living this new way of life became a ferocious catalyst, giving me no other option but to aggressively address what I was capable of handling on my own and what I was no longer able to manage without professional help no matter what natural or medicinal avenue of treatment I’d previously explored.
For the last three or four months, I’ve been completely off of all medications and I honestly felt pretty good. I had my moments, of course. But those moments could almost always be justified as a situationally appropriate reaction and I made sure to fit those moments into the box labeled NORMAL. But here’s the things: nothing about COVID-19 or the times we find ourselves living in is NORMAL. We, as soulful human beings, weren’t built to adequately handle this level of stress without it having an affect on our mental, spiritual, and physical wellbeing. Which is to say that while my mental unraveling could be deemed an appropriate response to the circumstances we’ve found ourselves in, I’d argue (and so would my doctors) that this was merely the straw that broke the camels back.
I’m not quite ready to go into the exact details of how my mania and depressive cycles presented themselves and evolved because, the truth is, I’m still making sense of it all and trying to give myself the grace and compassion to not hold certain parts of the road I traveled against myself nor make excuses for it just because there is now something tangible to blame instead of myself. Looking back, it goes without saying that my diagnosis has impacted every single area of my life for nearly ten years which is the precise part I'm struggling to come to terms with.
What if I’d leaned into this truth earlier? Would I have been as miserable as I’ve been for so long? Would I have found it easier to find joy and to maintain it? Would I have been a more patient, affectionate mom? Would I have not cried for days on end less often? Would I have been a less argumentative, more supportive wife? A less judgmental, self-absorbed friend? Would I have floated more easily through the last third of my life instead of just trying to fucking survive it? Would I have been happier and laughed more? Would I have been able to maintain better perspective for my own sake when times felt particularly dark or messy? What if life would have been easier to live on a daily basis simply because I wouldn’t have been confined within the compromised trappings of my own mind?
Which brings me to today. Day 29. And I’m feeling better. Not better than good but better than I have for a very long time. As my personal baseline recalibrates itself thanks to the very effective mood stabilizer I’m now on, I find that I’m not even remotely concerned with life feeling perfect as much as I am with being proud of myself for the progress I continue to work so hard for and appreciating that I have a chance at a new normal going forward. Maintaining balance will likely continue to require more work of me than it does for others and I’ve come to grips with that.Though I likely shouldn’t admit this, in the past I often found myself resenting those whose mental wellness— particularly those whose postpartum mental wellness— requires little to no effort or came to them easily. As the saying goes, hurt people, hurt people. Being a witness to others’ joy and happiness once felt like insurmountable evidence proving my lack thereof. I’m not sure what to call that but I am completely certain that no matter its’ name, that resentment is rooted deeply in pain. And pain is a heavy, burdensome load to bear no matter your circumstances.
All of this to say that, as always, I continue to be a work in progress. I refuse to feel shame nor do I worry what others will think of me now that I wear the Bi-Polar label boldly on the imaginary neon sign sitting above my head that follows me everywhere I go. No matter my reluctance to embrace my diagnosis, being bi-polar is only a colorful detail in my story and one little medical label will never have the power to overshadow the life affirming roles I embody every day: MOM, WIFE, DAUGHTER, FRIEND, WRITER, DESIGNER, AND ALL AROUND SORCERER OF MOTHER FUCKING DIVINE FEMININE LIGHT.
Let’s keep on keeping on because the only way out of this bitch is through it.
Here’s to the good fight, guys.
Love + Light,
C