PART 1 When I Was First Diagnosed With Bipolar Disorder

When I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder, it felt like the ground disappeared beneath my feet.

I remember sitting there while the psychiatrist spoke in careful, clinical language — chronic, lifelong, mood instability, risk management. The words landed heavily, one after another, as if my future was being reduced to a list of warnings.

And while none of those words were wrong…

they weren’t the whole truth.

What no one told me was this:

You can live a full, meaningful, peaceful, and even bliss-filled life with bipolar disorder.

No one said:

“You’ll still laugh — deeply and often.”

“You’ll still love — fiercely and tenderly.”

“You’ll still grow in ways you never imagined.”

Instead, I was left to fill in the blanks myself — and in the early days, those blanks were filled with fear.

This Is for You

This post is for anyone who has just been diagnosed.

For anyone trying to make peace with bipolar.

For anyone who looks “fine” on the outside but feels completely alone inside it.

It’s for the version of you who is quietly wondering:

Is my life over now?

And it’s for the version of me who wishes someone had sat beside her and said, “You’re going to be okay — not in a small way, but in a real, living, breathing way.”

The Diagnosis Feels Like a Storm

Let’s be honest — being diagnosed with bipolar disorder is not a gentle experience.

It can feel like your life suddenly splits in two:

Before bipolar

and

After bipolar

Nothing looks the same anymore.

The diagnosis can stir up fear, shame, confusion, and a deep sense of grief — all at once.

Fear of losing relationships.

Fear of being misunderstood or judged.

Fear that people will see the diagnosis before they see you.

And then there’s the grief.

Grief for the version of yourself you thought you were supposed to be.

Grief for the life you imagined — the “normal” one you assumed would unfold if you just tried hard enough.

No one really talks about that grief.

But it’s real. And it deserves space.

What I Wish Someone Had Told Me

I wish someone had told me that bipolar disorder doesn’t erase who you are — it reveals what you need.

That learning your moods doesn’t make life smaller — it makes it more intentional.

That stability isn’t about never struggling — it’s about building systems, rhythms, and self-trust that support you through the struggle.

I wish someone had said:

“You will learn your patterns.”

“You will find your people.”

“You will create a life that works for you — not in spite of bipolar, but alongside it.”

Because that has been my truth.

There Is Still So Much Life Ahead

Living with bipolar disorder has asked me to slow down, to listen inward, to care for my nervous system, and to build my life with more gentleness than I ever thought necessary.

And in doing so, it has given me depth.

Self-awareness.

Compassion — for myself and for others.

Bliss, for me, doesn’t mean perfect happiness.

It means peaceful moments, safe routines, honest relationships, and the freedom to be human without punishment.

If you’re at the beginning of this journey, please hear this:

You are not broken.

You are not doomed.

You are not alone.

You are learning a new language — the language of your own mind and body. And with time, support, and self-kindness, that language can become a guide rather than a threat.

This is not the end of your story.

It’s the beginning of a more conscious one.

And there is still so much beauty waiting for you here.