First Comes Acceptance

I just spent three days with the most amazing people at a NAMI training event. People who are diagnosed with bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, severe depressive disorder, PTSD, and other life-altering illnesses. And we all spent three days together, learning how to help others like ourselves.

The amazing part was how much most of them had accomplished with their lives, despite their illnesses. It was easy to forget I was working with a group like myself, because everyone seemed so "normal." And it made me realize something: I still hadn't fully accepted my illness. I still feel like I'm my illness first and myself second.

There is a part of me that is still ashamed of my illness. That feels like I am less of a person because I have bipolar disorder. That I can't handle being in the real world because I can't do as much as a "normal" person can. I want to hide it still, even from myself. I want to deny that I have it, and because of that I turn away from opportunities that may reveal my weaknesses.

I am afraid of being judged when I say I have bipolar. One women summed it up fantastically when she said, "When we have a physical illness, people are afraid for us. When we have a mental illness, people are afraid of us." I don't want people to be afraid of me. I don't want to see that look on a person's face after I say I have bipolar disorder, because it's a cross between fear and pity.

We as a group were able to laugh and share war stories without the fear of being judged or misunderstood. There was no risk of being rejected. Others understood when I talked about the crushing weight that just holds me down in bed and makes me unable to move. The shared fears that our kids will end up with a mental illness and we'll have to watch them go through what we have to live through. The crazy things we do when we're in a manic high that we'd never consider doing when we're in our normal minds. The alone feeling you have, even in a group of close friends, because you are somewhere they've never been and (hopefully) will never go.

But in those three days I opened up a little more, realizing that having bipolar doesn't define me. It still scares me to be out front about it, but I'm becoming more comfortable with it. Just writing this blog helps to peel off the layers of fear the envelope me and slowly reveal my confident self that's been hiding there all these years. I am Victoria first, I have bipolar after that. I am a mom, a wife, a Christian, a daughter, a sister, a volunteer, and a friend, and I have a diagnosed illness.

I am me.