May 16th marked five years since I received my bipolar diagnosis. It’s been a journey — one filled with highs and lows — but today, I’m grateful to say I’m stable on my medication and, in many ways, doing well.
To those around me, I may look like I have it all together. On the outside, it might seem like I’m thriving — and in some areas, I am. But the reality is that I still struggle. Living with bipolar isn’t a one-time hurdle; it’s a daily balancing act.
Lately, I’ve noticed something: whenever the weather shifts to rain, I start to sink. Not into a severe depression, but a moderate, persistent low. This has been especially true this spring — and as I reflect, I realize this happens pretty much every time it rains. While I do my best to focus on positive things to lift my mood, it doesn’t always work. Some days, all I want is to wrap myself in a blanket and lie in a fetal position on my bed.
But sometimes I can’t. I’m still a mom, and my kids need me. That’s a reality that doesn’t pause, even when my mood plummets.
It’s not just the rain anymore — Mondays have taken on a weight of their own. When it’s a Monday, the heaviness hits harder. I wish it weren’t this way, but this is my current reality.
Sometimes I spiral, thinking of ways to fix this. And often, my thoughts drift back to a friendship I lost nearly three years ago. Some days it feels like a distant memory; other days, it feels painfully fresh.
This morning, as I got into my car, I found myself thinking:
"If M and I were to reconnect, I don’t think things would feel the same — too much time has gone by, and we’d need to rebuild the friendship from where we are now."
With some friendships, you can just pick up again, as if no time has passed. But not this one. The way it ended hurt — deeply. I tried to reconnect, to mend the bond. But looking back, I still don’t believe what M thought I did was significant enough to justify ending the friendship. It hurt even more to learn she cut ties with others close to us as well.
And it makes me wonder: Were we really as close as I thought we were?
We talked every day — texts, voice notes, handwritten letters. It felt real. It was real, to me.
Letting go is hard. There’s no sugar-coating that. But when I feel the pain rise again, I try to remind myself of what I’ve accomplished since. Who I’m becoming.
I am a mom who loves her kids.
I am a woman living with bipolar, doing her best each day.
I am someone who’s passionate about fitness, who fights through the lows and still shows up.
And most importantly, I am a child of God — held, seen, and loved, even during the days I am at my lowest.
I know the rainy days won’t last forever, and with summer on the way, brighter days are ahead. I’m looking forward to family adventures in July and spending more time outdoors. Here’s hoping for more sunshine than showers.
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