Over the last 5 years, I have shared a lot. About fun stuff. About confusing stuff. And about hard stuff. Sometimes, really hard stuff.
Mental illness, first as postpartum depression, anxiety and psychosis and then as bipolar disorder II has been something I have talked a great deal about. I often walk away from various blog posts raw, wondering what I am thinking sharing so much of myself. Most of the time, I continue on with the post.
Sometimes, things get held in tight.
So, why do I do this? Why do I share the hard? Why don’t I just stop whining and move on?
Today, I was reminded why.
Someone in my day-to-day life noticed a change in me, noticed that I seem to be moving slower. And she’s right. I feel like I am often in a dream, stuck in slower motion. I told her it was because of medication I was on. She surprised me by asking what medication–so I told her, bipolar disorder. She took it in stride and didn’t totally weird out on me.
But I walked away wondering why I had told her so bluntly. Why did bare a part of me that many people would hold in close. I puzzled over it awhile. And then it hit me.
It’s the only way to get rid of stigma. I have to be able to show that I function and live well with mental illness if I want people to some day accept it as okay, as not quite normal, but not a monster to be feared. If I want that day to come, I have to do my part of usher it in.
I have to live it out loud.
Grace is 5 years ago this little bundle screaming her head off as we put her up to the slide (not down the slide), while her very sick mama battled postpartum depression, anxiety and psychosis in the background.
Grace is a mama still be here, homeschooling, her three beautiful daughters that 5 years ago today she tried to surrender them to her midwife during a psychotic break.
Grace, grace, Gods’ grace is this little girl, who was screaming on that slide 5 years ago while her mama battled for her mind, now wrapping her arms around her mama and telling her she’s the best mama ever.
