Yes, I know how harsh that title sounds. I know how hard and cold the words seemed when I said them to someone I love deeply. It didn’t change the truth behind them. This person is bipolar, and I have been there through every struggle, every manic episode, and every inevitable crash. I know just how hard he has worked to manage his illness and find his way to being a productive member of society. I have lost track of how many times I have said those words to him over the years. He has Bipolar Disorder.

I will never forget the terror of the diagnosis. Half of all people with BD attempt suicide. At the time of his diagnosis, there were many childhood cancers with a better rate of survival. Other comorbidities go along with the diagnosis, as well. Not the least of these is the hazardous behaviors common during manic states. Our fear, the learning curve, and the fact that this would be something he dealt with for the rest of his life were more than I could wrap my mind around.

I am not proud to admit this, but I moved into a state of denial for a long time. He was too young, and there was no way they could be sure about his diagnosis. I also had some delusional thoughts of my own. He was smart, charming, gifted, and creative. He was just wild and free-spirited, and doctors needed to stick a label on anyone who didn’t fit some pre-defined mold. Then the rapid cycling began, and my delusions couldn’t withstand the reality we were living.

Once we accepted the diagnosis, then we had to decide on what treatments to pursue. That isn’t the purpose of this article, and I won’t go into the details of the ups and downs of that time. We also had to make some crucial decisions about how we, as a family, would handle this. We are supposed to protect our kids; it is something every parent feels to the deepest part of their core. But we were powerless to protect him from this.

Early on, we decided that we would never let him define himself by his diagnosis. We would also not change our expectations of acceptable behavior or the dreams we held for him. There was no escaping that some things were going to be harder for him. I hated that with every fiber of my being, but I knew we would be doing him a disservice by trying to make it easy. While we had some power to make some parts of his childhood easier, that would only make him less prepared for adulthood.

The cold fact remains that there is no box on a job application that asks what types of accommodations you will need to help you thrive in a job with your mental illness. Landlords do not care if you couldn’t go to work because you couldn’t face your anxiety or because depression had you glued to the bed, unable to face basic tasks like showering, never mind driving into work. The world would not make accommodations for his BD. He had to learn to live in this world successfully with BD.

I am a very vocal proponent of removing the stigma around mental health issues. I hurt for those who struggle in the darkness because they fear the stigma that still surrounds mental health problems. It is absurd that in this time of everyone proudly proclaiming to be finding their truth that those left hiding are the ones who most need our help. I work with the mental health community to reach those that are falling through the large, gaping cracks in a broken system.

I want so much more for my kid than to be capable of surviving in this world; I want him to thrive. I want him to experience all the things that this big, beautiful, crazy, and chaotic world offers. I do not want to see him limited or defined by a diagnosis. I would want the same things if he had a physical limitation. If there were things his body wouldn’t let him do, I would want to see him find a way to conquer as much as he could. The world is more forgiving of visible physical limitations. It is very unforgiving of invisible illnesses.

When a child is diagnosed with a mental health issue, the parents are walking a tight-rope. We know the realities of their illness and hurt for every struggle and every bad day. But as parents, we still have to teach them to live in this world and that the world will not bend to accommodate them. Even navigating school accommodations can be a nightmare. We refused an IEP because, at the time, having an IEP in place would mean lowered expectations and too much help. Our child was smart, seriously smart. We knew he would quickly figure out how to game that particular system to mean never having to turn homework in on time, not being held accountable for outbursts and manipulating teachers and aids.

Let me also throw out all the caveats. Each person, each diagnosis, and each family is different. I can only speak from our experience, and there is zero judgment for parents who make different decisions for their children. We have second (and third and twenty-seven) guessed ourselves on many choices we made. All I can say is that we made the best decisions we could, based on desperate love and a desire to see him succeed. Our definition of success was to see him have the tools to chase whatever dreams he wanted without being restricted by his diagnosis.

The teenage and young adult stage found us living in perpetual fear. Every phone call was a potentially life-changing disaster. At the same time, it was filled with so much promise. He was ready for college at barely 16. He was and still is one of the most compassionate people I have ever known. He has, on more than one occasion, literally given away the shirt off his back and the shoes off his feet.

He didn’t make it through unscathed. This story isn’t a fairytale, and we are blessed beyond measure to have him still here. What I can say is that Bipolar Disorder now lives on a backburner in his life. It will always be there, but it is only a fragment of all that he is. He manages his diagnosis and is working hard to build a life for himself. We all have challenges and gifts. In the end, it is what we do with those things that determine who we are.

I asked his permission before writing this story. He never hesitated in giving me consent. In that, we have succeeded. He carries no shame in having a diagnosis of a mental health disorder.