6 Ways the Pandemic Helped My Bipolar

I am one of 2.9 million American women living with bipolar 11 disorder. Many of us have had the experience of having been told by others not to have children before we decided forge ahead. For me, it was a psychiatrist who told me, “You know you shouldn’t have children, right?” She told me bipolar was genetic and incurable. She insisted I wouldn’t be able to care for my child through episodes. She suggested it would be irresponsible to pass on an illness like this, known to have a genetic component, to my unborn children.

Since my husband and I decided to try for a family despite her judgment, I’ve long felt that I have something to prove. When someone tells you that you shouldn’t have children, you internalize the criticism and second-guess your every move as a parent. And so it’s been a constant struggle since my two daughters were born between managing my illness and trying to be the best mom I can be to them.

Pre-pandemic, you’d find me rushing from one obligation to the next with my children—drop-offs and pick-ups and piano lessons and soccer games and play dates and dance class and science club and art class and dentist appointments and doctor appointments and theatre club.

I struggled and compared myself incessantly against other moms who looked so casual making sure their kiddos were at the right place at the right time. They made it look effortless and I wanted to keep up, wanting to fall in line despite the battle I fought in my mind. I wrestled the racing of my mind that brought forth anxieties, I took anti-anxiety medications in the event of my uncontrollable racing mind and heart palpitations to get through some of these days. I could see them looking at me, and that I was coming up short. I imagined all the things they were thinking about me and those voices ran through my head like a freight train not able to stop, many times bringing my body to a halt in sweat and tears for irrational fears of taking my children to the activity, incongruent thoughts of how I was being judged or even the fear of the activities themselves being the wrong thing to do for my children.

What I struggle with during my bipolar episodes is hypomania, a milder form of mania that still comes with surges of uncontrollable anxiety, and it takes a great force to keep up the momentum, the wind of strength and conviction that propels any of us through a given day. I pushed through ants crawling in my skin sitting there around the other happy parents cheering on their children, I wanted to feel that excitement, too, but the ants though, they tore my skin forcing me to chase time, counting down to the time it was for us to leave, participation medals in hand.

With hypomania, there’s always a crash that follows and its name is depression. In the times of depression, the weight on my chest bars me from doing all the things my hypomanic mind has entrusted me with. I weep, I wallow, I grieve the inability to be there for my kids in the way they deserve. On these days I think that psychiatrist was right, and that perhaps I was in fact incompetent and irresponsible for making this decision to be a parent. When I’m in a bout of depression, there are days that I am melded to my sheets, unable to free myself from the tears that bond me to the pillow. I curse myself on these days, racked with guilt about not being able to do the things that other moms can do with such ease. I do the bare minimum, leaning into the support of my husband to take the girls to their classes and practices. Me and my bed build a stronger bond until there is a dent the shape of my body from where I lay day after day. My depressive mind takes charge and renders me devoid of joy in any of these events during the episode.

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit in March 2020 and turned our world inside out, the first wave of emotion I felt was panic and increased anxiety. So many people were dying, and my empathy and sympathy ran so deep I whirled into a mixed episode of uncontrollable anxiety over the safety of my family, those around me, and the world at large. I was inconsolable at first, feeling like a wrecking ball hit our world. Everything around us was changing and I found myself in a rollercoaster of moods trying to adjust.

My children were doing distance learning, my husband was working from home. We were cut off from the outside world. The virus was out of control and I couldn’t do anything but protect my family by virtually barricading ourselves in our home. That loss of control, with full effect of life and death, in the past would have taken a toll on me and triggered bipolar episodes. However, with the measures we were taking and the removal of standing stressors in my life, I took a step back to understand our new reality and it had an almost opposite effect on me.

The pandemic forced me to have a smaller focus, my family and our life together, and this gave me an unexpected sense of calm and control. Anewfound enjoyment in my baseline where I had all the things that gave me joy. I had my children with me all day, cuddles and snuggles whenever I wanted. Whereas other moms I talked to struggled with the demands of their kids being home from school, I was surprised to discover that I enjoyed helping my oldest with school and engaging in activities with my youngest. We went for walks together, hikes, trips to secluded cabins, we jumped on the trampoline, had pajama dance parties and baked together too. I was ecstatic just being with my family all day every day.

Deep within the isolation I found much space for self-introspection and reflection that had always eluded me before as I struggled to keep up and feared being judged for falling short.

In August, my therapist pulled out my chart and brought to my attention that I’d hit a remission stage that had lasted four months, the longest I had experienced in years, void of any episodes—hypomanic or depressive. It was the longest period of stability I could remember. II rushed to identify this unique recipe that had brought me such relief. I wanted to remain stable, sane, and productive and in control of this unpredictable malady of my mind. Here’s what I uncovered:

1.     I stayed consistent with my medication.

Staying home and not having any obligations forced a routine where I was consistent with my medications and keeping up with therapy. I was no longer forgetting to take my meds in the morning as I rushed out to take the girls to school. In the pandemic, there was no rushing. I took my time and routines were easier to keep to.

2.     I removed obligations and obstacles to healing.

All the things I committed to in order to be a functioning mother, fighting the guilt of having bipolar and being subpar, seemed unimportant. It occurred to me that in this time I was doing a tremendous job with my children, bonding with them, and that brought to center what matters. I had more time on my hands than I had in years, and I was able to put focus on mothering, but also self-healing.

3.     I spent time with my family.

My family has always been my safe space, where I feel most comfortable, my whole self, bipolar and all. Being with my family allowed me anxiety-free space. I could just be me, without feeling like I had to keep up or prove myself. For the first time in a long time, I stopped fighting the episodes, stopped trying to perform as I felt I was expected to.

4.     I engaged in activities that brought me joy.

Being in episodes sometimes meant that when I did feel like doing something it would have to wait because we had other pressing obligations. In the pandemic, those obligations dissipated, and I felt more in the flow. If was a hike, or camping, or going out for ice cream, we’d all get in the car and go. I got to do things that made me feel better in the exact time I needed it—and that prolonged my stable states.

5.     I stayed consistent with therapy.

I kept up with telehealth appointments with my therapist, something I found I enjoyed more than going in person. At least I appreciated having the option. I never missed or canceled an appointment since I didn’t need to leave home. I processed my episodes with her with ease and comfort. For those of us struggling with our mental health, tele-health has been one of the most effective forms of treatment to come from this time of isolation. I used to have anxiety getting into the car, or anxiety just being in the waiting room around strangers. Now I got to see my therapist in the comfort of my home, a welcomed reprieve. Whereas I used to miss an appointment ocassionally, now I have no excuse, and the consistency of these appointments has been integral to my healing.

6.     I said no.

I see the value in prioritizing my activities and commitments and simply saying no to things outside my capability to give or to do. I’d continue to give, I continue to do, but within my acceptable boundaries, pacing myself.

            Though the pandemic upended all our lives in innumerable ways, it has also brought forward a unique kind of clarity that was outside of my grasp during my previous journey with bipolar. I have been experiencing lesser peaks and troughs and longer remission periods. I had a depressive episode in the fall of 2020, but it didn’t last nearly as long as it used to. How this may change when all of this is over is beyond me. What I know is that I’ve let go of the things that led me to believe I wasn’t as good a mom as my peers, the seed of which were planted by therapists who told me I shouldn’t have children. I will take with me the lessons I’ve learned and focus on what works for me rather than what’s expected of us as mothers—a pace and level of achievement that’s not possible without the result at some point being plunging me into the depths of depression.

We live in a world where whoever does the most, has the most, and is the most wins. I realized how much I absorbed those American values, but also took on the judgments, whether or not they were actually being cast my way. Being in isolation all these months brought clarity and courage for me to just live, managing my illness while raising amazing children unperturbed by the demands of society. I’ve never doubted my decision to have children, but the pandemic helped me to quiet the voices in my head that had me believing that I was a lesser mom. I learned to give myself grace for not living up to the standards I had set in my mind. My frustrations with my own bipolar have taken a backseat during the pandemic more often than not. I’ve caught glimpses of unprecedented healing made possible by slowing down my life. I’ve been able to be hopeful again.