For decades, I went to great measures to hide my bipolar disorder — now I view it as a badge of authenticity.
Before the global health crisis, back when we were having parties, I had a pre-party ritual that I felt was necessary for my survival. Before a soiree, I would remove my psychotropic medications from my medicine cabinet so that partygoers couldn’t snoop into my psychiatric status.
Once the party days returned and gatherings felt possible again, I didn’t hide my medications anymore. Several things have changed in the way I look at my bipolar disorder.
Reframing My Relationship With Medication
Quite simply, I don’t care anymore if people know that I live with bipolar. I’m in my sixties. I’ve paid my dues.
Besides, a lot has happened in terms of public awareness since I was diagnosed in 1991. In the decades since, we as a society have grown a little more accepting of mental health challenges — especially after pandemic-related stress triggered anxiety and depression in so many people.
Accepting a Bipolar Diagnosis
And the most important thing: I’ve grown to completely accept my psychiatric status. Living through a period of social isolation gave me time to think, to reflect on my humanity. That gave me the courage to accept myself “as is.”
Now my condition is like a worn, holey, paint-stained pair of old jeans — something that I’m comfortable in and would actually wear to the grocery store.
What’s it like to accept that you’re a bit atypical? It’s liberating because you can move on with your life. You realize that, like the song from Bye Bye Birdie says, “There’s such a lot of livin’ to do.”
Combating Stigma and Discrimination
Let me share an anecdote that showcases my new emancipation. In 2021, I taught a writing course with the theme of disability. In my research to prepare for the course, I discovered a whole movement in academia within disability studies: Mad Studies. (To anyone who finds the term offensive, adopting the word “mad” is seen as a way to reclaim ownership of a stigmatizing expression.)
According to Canadian journalist Alex Gillis in his article “The Rise of Mad Studies,” this discipline “is based on a simple idea: Listen to mad people and look at madness from their points of view.”
I also recently learned the term “saneism,” meaning discrimination against people who have been diagnosed with a psychiatric condition.
Opening Up to My Child About My Bipolar Disorder
Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable casually discussing anything related to my bipolar — especially not with my child. Yet one Sunday, I found myself on the phone sharing what I’d been discovering with my brother. My 16-year-old son was nearby, listening intently.
It was so good not to have to hide these topics from him. Or from anyone who happened to hear — it was warm that day, and our window was wide open, and sound travels well in my neighborhood.
I was struck with a positive perspective on having bipolar disorder: It makes my life complex and gives me new concepts to chew on. My son was gaining new knowledge along with me. Our stuck-at-home Sunday was lively again!
Celebrating Authenticity and Connection
When I had my first big party after the global crisis, I invited neighbors, work associates, old friends, friends from my son’s school, and church friends. I invited them all. My husband made a huge pot of jambalaya, with countless shrimp, and we had a well-stocked bar and appetizers, including finger foods and things on toothpicks. We even had special napkins and plates, and we played the perfect music.
And I didn’t hide my bipolar medications. I’m a new woman. And as Nina Simone sings, “It’s a new day.”
UPDATED: Originally published as “No More Hiding,” Spring 2021
