Last week, my little girl celebrated her fourth birthday. With her delicate, long blond hair still untrimmed, she chose an experience over a gift from Mom and Dad. We visited the newly opened “Princess Salon,” where she got a fabulous haircut and updo, complete with sparkly hairspray and a glittery heart tattoo to complete her royal look. She enjoyed every second of it—almost as much as her themed “Pink and Purple Elsa Heart Party.” Grandma wowed us with a stunning homemade heart-shaped cake adorned with pastel pink and purple icing, topped with Elsa and Anna candles.
One day, I’ll have to explain to her why I get emotional when Demi Lovato’s “Let It Go” plays on our iPad. It stirs so many feelings within me.
Nine years ago, I spent Christmas in a mental health facility. At just 26, I was blindsided by mental illness, leaving my family feeling helpless and terrified about my future. Questions swirled in my mind: What would happen to my marriage? Would I ever return to work? Would I ever regain a sense of normalcy?
We lived in silence, speaking in hushed tones, as if the world outside might shatter if they discovered I had bipolar disorder. The shame weighed heavy on me, muffling my cries into my pillow at night. Why did this have to happen to me? Life felt overwhelming, and I struggled to see a way forward. The burden of my illness felt too heavy to bear. I often thought that giving up might be the easiest option.
I adhered to the “conceal, don’t feel” mantra around friends and family, terrified of being labeled or judged. Yet, despite my attempts to keep my struggles hidden, there was an inner voice urging me to share my experiences. I realized that expressing my pain could be healing. Keeping secrets can make it hard to feel whole, so I decided to stop hiding. I opened up about my journey on my blog, and everything changed.
The reality is that not every holiday season is filled with joy and sparkle. Some are spent in a mental health facility, grappling with the shock of it all. But as the medicine began to work its magic, I found relief and took the first steps toward genuine healing. Christmas will never be the same for me, as I am no longer the person who entered that hospital.
In my nine years of navigating life with bipolar disorder, I’ve learned that perfection is a myth. Everyone has their struggles and hidden battles. Since sharing my story nearly two years ago, my relationships have deepened in ways I never imagined possible. I’ve formed new friendships and strengthened existing ones by discussing the tough challenges I’ve faced.
When we share our scars and imperfections, we free ourselves. The door to our wounded hearts can only be opened from within. Although it’s challenging to find the key and turn it in the lock, the outcome is worth the effort.
As the holiday season approaches, I pray that if you find yourself in darkness amidst the festive lights, know that it’s okay to seek your way back to the light. Don’t let secrets imprison you. Help is available, and when we open our hearts to others and release our shame, we can allow love to flow in and begin to heal. For more information on various aspects of pregnancy and home insemination, check out this great resource from March of Dimes.
Remember, you’re not alone in your struggles.