I first received an email from Pam after she ran across an I Am More exhibit in a mall near her home. She was very struck by Seth’s essay about his bipolar disorder, and suggested that if I’d ever like a perspective from a different stage of life, she would be willing to share her journey. We met for the first time earlier this year, and she explained her history of treatments with honesty, warmth and humor, much like Seth. She said she would love to have her portrait set near the water in Gloucester, if possible. Reader, she did not know I live in Gloucester, so she was thrilled to have me escort her to my sunrise dog walk spot on the back shore:

Running shoes…They’ve never let me down, and have always been my first line of defense against the daily symptoms of Bipolar Disorder.  It’s such a relief to give myself over to the clear mechanics of running by simply putting my body in motion until I cover my training miles for the day. My mind clears, my shoulders relax, I breathe the air in deeply and return with some semblance of a person who has competently accomplished her goal.

 Running has been my ticket out and away from chaotic thoughts and emotions while also giving me a sense of control.  I can run away from things that I’m not ready to confront in life, or run straight towards difficult training and racing goals. Either way, there is hope in knowing that I’m physically strong even when my mind is fragile.

Over the past 30 years of living with Bipolar Disorder it’s often been easy to forget about the many cumulative layers that make up my true core self. I am a mother, grandmother, wife, sister, marathon runner, sport psychologist, coach, business owner and friend. I am a lover of music, books, movement and the great outdoors. Yet when struggling with the symptoms of a mental illness, my brain often feels like nothing more than a collection of failing cells, leaving me lost, unmoored and ‘less than’ the person I knew myself to be. At times I am left with a sense that many of my vital roles in life have evaporated and rolled off into a fog.

Many of the losses surrounding my sense of identity occurred gradually, quietly slipping in under my radar, while others suddenly crashed in loudly, demanding to be heard. Decades of therapy sessions, medications, invasive treatments and hospitalizations targeted the worst of my symptoms, until I saw myself solely as a Bipolar patient.

 When in a depressed phase, I feel worthless, hopeless, pessimistic, exhausted, apathetic and filled with self-loathing. The bleakness of any type of future feels unbearable. When ignited by the highs of a manic episode I become unstoppable as racing thoughts of new projects and ideas along with my impulsiveness and heightened self-confidence crowd my mind like the inside of a pinball machine. I can be volatile, impulsive, irritable and impatient, and driven by an overwhelming sense of urgency. And yet with age, I have finally come to see that none of these symptoms or behaviors actually define me.

I wanted to believe that the love and loyalty my family had shown me prior to my diagnosis would always hold strong, but I often feared that it simply couldn’t be sustainable for them. My family never did give up on me completely though, despite being consistently swept up into the pain of many dark and distressing years. My children, husband and sisters, along with a handful of friends held a space in their hearts for me, patiently waiting until I could return to them whole again. Because of them, I was able to collect evidence of the love shown me, and it taught me how to take this gift and offer it back out into the world. They taught me my most valuable life lesson: That I am so much more than my worst Bipolar symptoms and behaviors. I am more than the part of myself that harbors the cells of this illness inside of me. And by living with the daily struggles of Bipolar Disorder I learned to be more compassionate, empathetic, open minded and kind to others who may also be struggling in any way.

I will continue to struggle with my symptoms, but I can also try to emerge from each episode with fewer scars every time. Now at 70 years old, I’ve learned how to use my own life experience and self-awareness to help become a stronger participant in my own care and to come to peace with the reality of my life. I’ve learned how to be my own best mother and my own best friend. Being familiar with loss, I’m now well versed about some of the vital components of life: love, family, survival, resilience and strength, and that there is never any shame in trying to deal with loss and fear by simply saying “Begin Again”.

 After all, for everyone who has ever stood beneath the night time sky, we know that darkness too, can be a gift. So, I send this lifelong love letter out to all of my loved ones…Thank you for showing me that ‘I Am More’.