Healing through Forgiveness: Bipolar in the Family

The author chooses to remain anonymous out of respect for the author’s family. For resources on dealing with bipolar disorder and relationships, click here.

Perhaps I was fortunate to grow up in a time when mental health issues were kept a bit hush-hush. For me, it meant that my mom’s bipolar was normal – she wasn’t labeled as sick or wrong – in our family. There were times when she was different and therefore we needed to act accordingly. There is some great benefit to living like this; I can read my environment and figure out solutions at the drop of a dime. I tend to take a breath before reacting and take very little personally.

I did not learn until college that my childhood wasn’t typical. My mom was diagnosed with bipolar, anorexia, and lives with PTSD from a horrific childhood. I am fortunate to have a dad who provided balance and loves all of us without conditions or judgement. In hindsight, I am in awe of his tolerance. Through him, my brother and I learned tolerance, too. When mom was good, life was loving and kind. When things were rough, it was abusive, neglectful, and often violent. Her pattern continues; however, the ups and downs have subsided a great deal with age and proper medication.

As an adult, having to process the issues that come along with being raised by someone who has a severe, persistent mental illness has been a challenge. Although I better understand the circumstances of my childhood, I also lived in fear of developing a mental health issue during my 20s and 30s. When I had children I was terrified of repeating patterns. Because my mom’s abusive behaviour was so sporadic and could be triggered without notice, I had to spend a lot of time evaluating my own actions and watching for patterns that I did not want to repeat. Not having a role model on how to be a healthy mom challenges me as a mother – I work very hard and had to grieve my own childhood while at the same time forgiving my mom.

There was a great deal of resentment on my part. Like our idea of having a perfect child, we want perfect grandparents. My friend’s moms couldn’t wait to meet their grandchildren – my mother wasn’t that interested. I don’t know why — I can guess that it follows other patterns of jealousy or angst over not being able to control the situation. I cried a lot of tears and had many, many sleepless nights trying to figure out why she didn’t love my children. When my older son was five, we were having a regular phone call of her telling me what I was doing wrong and the type of children I had (she’d only spent four days with my oldest and never met my youngest who was three at this time) and I lost my patience. I was back to being a kid feeling helpless. This was the impetus for me to take ownership and accept that what I wanted was not possible and to figure out what was enough and within her capacity to give.

That has been a true challenge; however, there is freedom that comes with age and I realized in my 40s that she truly did the best she could and my childhood was better than hers. So for all her limitations, and battles she fought every day, she did better than what was done for her. I will never forget the day I told her I forgave her: It was about three years after me losing my patience – I reminded her of the phone call and how that day something changed in me and that she was okay, I understood, and forgave her … She cried – it was so raw.

I think the greatest challenge I continue to face is learning how to be vulnerable. My own children have given me the freedom to love unconditionally. I have also been able to navigate their relationship with grandma so they experience the best of her and learn how to accept those parts that are a little different. My relationship with my mom is okay – I understand her and we keep our emotional distance. She is on a stable medication regime which helps and I truly respect her strength of character. To face her struggle every day with dignity and grace is incredible and a true survival story.