Guest Post by Meghan Dillenbeck of @semicolonmama

Mama, Mommy, Mom, Bruh.

Those are the names that i have gone by over the past 12 years and i couldn't ask for anything better. When we set out to bring a new life into the world, mental illness isn't the first thing we think about. Instead, we prepare for months, reading tons of books, magazines and blogs about how to breastfeed our baby, how to get them to sleep through the night, and how to make sure they hit their milestones.

We spend hours scouring Pinterest and  decorating their nursery, registering for baby shower gifts, and deciding on a name for our new child. Before the thought of motherhood even came to my mind, I was not much older than my twins (Boy/Girl 12), when I started suffering from depression, anxiety, and self doubt. I didn't know what it was or that there was a name for how I was feeling. 

I have a complicated diagnosis that consists of complex post traumatic stress disorder, Bipolar II, OCD and ADHD. It wasn't until about 6 years ago at the age of 30 that I was diagnosed. At this point in my life I had 6 year old twins and a 2 year old. My psychiatrist explained that my diagnosis should not prevent me from living a full life and explained that bipolar disorder is caused by a combination of biological and environmental factors.

As we sat in her office and talked in depth I was slightly relieved that what I was feeling for so many years had a name(s), but at the same time I was terrified for what that meant for me as a mother and wife. Thanks to many trials and errors I am on a strict regimen of  meds, it helps with the symptoms and their severity. There is no cure for any of my diagnoses and there will never be a pill or a magic fix to take them away. Getting and staying with treatment is brave and worth it.

Let’s be honest, raising a child/children is no joke. Living with mental illness is tough on top of that. Scratch that: It is exhausting!  I’m just like all the other moms, just some of the usual daily stresses and struggles are often amplified by my mental illnesses. That’s what complicates my life. Before my diagnosis I felt detached from my reality, in my own world.

There are chunks of time I don't remember with my kids. When I look back (especially pictures) I felt excluded from their upbringing that these illnesses clouded and robbed me of my time with them that I won't be able to get back even though my rational side knows that it's not something I could control.

I told myself that I was failing my children almost every moment. It could be because I forgot to buy fruit or didn’t do the dishes today, having them take their vitamins, using technology to babysit, or eating beige freezer food day after day because I couldn’t summon the energy to cook anything more nutritious. Little things seem like the biggest failing and that makes my symptoms worse. When those days come I have no energy or drive to look after three children who all had different needs which I couldn’t meet in any way.

The needs that needed to be met ranged from basic ones like being fed, to the more complex ones, like discipline and instilling values in my older ones. But how does one do that when you’re sitting in the pit of depression not having any inkling when you might return? You self-confirm that you are a failed parent because of your depression.

I am always hopeful these lows don’t last too long, and that I recover and am stronger than ever. It’s a lot of hope, but the fact that I can hope means I’m not lost. Depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain and does not reflect my love or care for those little faces.

The days where I am manic I am fun, have TONS of energy, we have dance parties in the kitchen and I create super fun creative activities. How do you parent your child when you’re manic: easily distracted, racing thoughts, impatient, rapid change in activities?...

A child’s needs differ across their ages; a child’s personality requires development and their minds stimulate. My son is incredibly empathetic, smart, and full of energy. My daughter is sweet, intelligent, and driven. My youngest has times of being a goofball, loves her animals, and there never goes a day without having us laugh at our hardest.

There are so many times when they have outbursts or say things they shouldn't, and I look at them and remember what it’s like to have no control over your emotions. To be taken over by them. This is when I tap into my patience to work with them, and that is one of the things I hope they always remember of me, that I was patient with them.

As I continue to grow, I started thinking of my life in terms of a book, with chapters and paragraphs detailing my symptoms, my decisions and the consequences. I thought of the book changing with every chapter. I thought of the role my parents and siblings played in my life. I thought of the characters they were in my book–and it hit me. I am a singular character in my children’s book of life. There’s so much more than just me going on in their book. And even if at times I'm the enemy in their life, I'm also the catalyst in their growth.

My life, my decisions shape their book. The point is that they were given to me as a child as much as I, the bipolar parent, was given to  them as their mom. How it impacts them, is their story to tell. The way I feel when I'm in any of my episodes (or other symptoms) does not reflect how much I love my children.

At some of my lowest times suicidal thoughts overwhelm me, despite the fact that I love my kids with every cell in my body. In those times of despair I thought that they would be better off without me.

As I have continued my journey and think of those moments when I contemplate how close I came to leaving them, it tears me apart. As hard and exhausting and the days I could barely get out of bed, it was all for them. My kids have truly saved my life. They are the greatest healers.

A smile and a hug from them can ease my suffering. It's an unconditional love that outshines the effects of my illness. They are my motivation. They are my reason to keep fighting. Part of my journey is understanding my moods and my triggers and I'm learning to understand myself.

No, I will not hide my mental illness from my child. They have seen me cry, they will and have seen me struggle and they will see me overcome. I have been able to use these skills and teach my children to comfortably speak about their feelings and help them to be aware of their mental health. So one day when life gets hard for them, they can look to the struggles of their mama and know that they can conquer whatever life throws at them and that there’s someone out there in the world who will understand them!

I can't advocate for myself or anyone if I don't first admit my own struggles — so I started telling my story to normalize the narrative in which people thrive while living with bipolar disorder. I want to fight for a stigma-free future for the next generations. The good news is that my slip-ups are teachable moments.  And, today, I am doing it. But being a mother with bipolar disorder means I am doing it a little differently.