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parenting
  • Children, Resiliency and Mental Illness in the Family Unit

    I was away presenting at a nursing conference last week. I was discussing the provider as a patient in the context of both serious mental illness and the need to bring nursing practice back to the basics. If we, as providers, focused on the core of what we do as nurses, creating a consistent therapeutic milieu in interaction with both patients and colleagues alike, it will make it easier for colleagues to seek assistance when they need it. Essentially allowing the provider, the “hidden patient” if you will, to feel safe enough to be provider one day and patient the next. 

    I used my story as a case study named Carly interwoven throughout the presentation. At the conclusion we discussed her remission and I did choose to share that her story was actually that of my own. While I had hoped the question and answer session would be more of conversation regarding how we can focus on these “hidden patients”, I understand the audience seeking more history and questions regarding the case study presented. 

    The question I struggled with the most was how much support my kids had throughout the process and the impact my disorder had had on them. I answered truthfully in that they have received a tremendous amount of care and support from husband and were protected from my illness. I shared that they are incredibly resilient little guys. 

    The truth is there is a lot in what I also did not say. They are getting older. My husband and I won’t always be able to protect them. I live with so much guilt sometimes over having children to begin with. Which is ridiculous when you think about it, since my symptoms and diagnosis came following my final pregnancy. We were done having children at that point. No one had that kind of foresight and if they did, they failed to share it with us. I have guilt because of social media keyboard cowboys who from time to time have taken to telling me via this blog that people with bipolar disorder shouldn’t be parents. Fortunately they have not been as cruel to me as they have to other bloggers I know.  I have guilt because I am not always the type of mother I envisioned I would be when I first learned I would be having my oldest. I have guilt because I think I live in a perpetual state of role strain regarding the family unit. 

    My children will eventually start to ask questions about why I might be isolating. They might start to ask questions about why I am excessively irritable. They already fail to understand my noise sensitivity, which does affect them. Have you ever tried to explain to elementary school boys that they are too loud? Successfully getting them to lower volume is an Olympic feat.

    My oldest has already started to explore basic principles of neurobiology and mental illness to “better understand you, Mommy” as he puts it. He put together a PowerPoint presentation on this topic, presented to his second grade class in May 2016, which caught the attention of the International Bipolar Foundation. I didn’t discuss that in answering the question of the impact my disorder has had on the children. I didn’t discuss that because it makes me insanely proud and incredibly guilty all at the same time. It leaves one feeling conflicted. Is my child growing up too fast because of me?

    In the end, there is no right and there is no wrong. Parenting is a matter of feeling out what fits for each family whether mental illness is present or not. 

  • Is it me or Isn't it me?

    “It is you. Not everyone has your diagnosis.”

    We go back and forth in the mental health community about language all the time, how it can hurt, how labels matter (or don’t for some). One infallible truth however is that words do hurt and we can’t take them back. I did an exercise with my children on the day prior to school starting to demonstrate this very point, taking a tube of Aim toothpaste, squeezing the entire tube onto a plate. I asked the kids if they thought they could get the toothpaste back in the tube exactly as it been previously. They laughed and told me “no way!” We reviewed that once words are out there, you cannot put them and some people will never be the same. We took the time to talk about being kind, thoughtful citizens of the school community. I do not know three days into the school how long the toothpaste experiment will last, but we are working on it.

    “It is you. Not everyone has your diagnosis." 

    Not everyone has my diagnosis. It’s true. As of 2014, there are an estimated 5.3 million adults in the United States with bipolar disorder. This statistic does not differentiate between bipolar 1 and 2 disorder. (www.treatmentadvocacycenter.org/resources/briefing-papers-and-fact-sheets/159/463)

    I somehow do not believe words like this can be slung so carelessly at someone however in my situation. Those eight words leave someone, including me, with the impression that my disorder and my symptoms are my fault. I’m 41 years old. I know when I am being a jerk for the sake of being a jerk. I also know when I feel utterly helpless and cannot control my swirling tornado of emotion, thought and word due to a mood episode and resurgence of symptoms. Thus begging the question, is it really me?

    There is nothing I dislike more than my diagnosis and the impact it will wreak on my daily life from time to time. There is nothing worse than hearing your child ask you where Mommy went because “this isn’t my Mommy right now” when you are in a manic rage. It stops you in your tracks, kicks you in the stomach and renders one unable to breathe. It hurts because I didn’t ask for this. I did not ask to become ill. My children didn’t ask for an ill parent either. All of us (the kids and myself) asked for love and some understanding of our behaviors. The kids, because they are immature with developing brains and will do obnoxious things at times. Me, because I cannot achieve remission again without love, patience, time and a solid treatment team.

    “It is you. Not everyone has your diagnosis.”

    Not everyone has my diagnosis, and the things I CAN control are simple: putting down the phone and staying away from social media when it’s bothersome to me and liable to set me off. Sitting down every single night with the kids for dinner. Instituting family time every single night regardless of how tired I am. Bedtime snuggles and hugs. I can show my kids how much Mommy is always there, even when my brain is misbehaving, neurotransmitters have run amok and makes it physically impossible.

    I can’t put the toothpaste back in either. All I can do is work as hard as possible every day to make sure I never squeeze it out in the first place.