We share a friendship that thrives on spontaneous outings—like grabbing manicures in a hurry before school pickup, or having family dinners and fun at trampoline parks. We’ve even spent a long weekend together at a water park, creating lasting memories amidst the chaos of family life.
We genuinely enjoy our time together, even when the kids are being, well, kids. Your children get along wonderfully with mine; you’ve seen my son’s playful antics and my daughter’s sweet nature. Yet, amidst this camaraderie, there are certain peculiarities in our routine that may leave you puzzled.
You might notice our early bedtimes or our reluctance to join in on events we often explain with “she’s not feeling it” or “she needs some downtime.” It might seem odd that my nine-year-old, a little girl in third grade, opts out of joining her friends at the annual Labor Day carnival because she finds it “too loud.”
I understand you may perceive us as strict or overly cautious, the quintessential “helicopter” parents. And that assumption troubles me more than you realize, as I never planned to be that kind of parent. But the truth is, I didn’t foresee raising a child with bipolar disorder.
I imagined a life filled with carefree moments—carnivals, popcorn-filled movie nights, and family vacations with laughter echoing through our home. I envisioned endless playdates and the sweet sound of giggles from my daughter and her friends. Instead, our reality is anything but carefree.
We often find ourselves leaving movies prematurely when my daughter feels overwhelmed, struggling with feelings of being “trapped.” Family vacations are out of the question; the structure we require would likely frustrate even the most patient friends. Playdates are rare, as she struggles to interpret social cues, often coming off as defensive before friendships can even blossom.
Sleepovers are off the table as well. The thought of her friends discovering her need for medication or witnessing her elaborate bedtime rituals is daunting. And that’s assuming she can even fall asleep without succumbing to anxiety.
So, while our lawn remains free of bicycles and our pantry is stocked, the metaphorical eggshells crunch beneath my feet as I tiptoe around this reality—both for her and for you.
During our chats at PTA meetings, coffee outings, or dinners, I often find my mind drifting to the tumultuous hour of crying and panic that I just witnessed at home. I feel the weight of worrying whether the babysitter can manage my daughter’s emotional needs, as well as the fear of receiving that dreaded call from school.
We are friends, and I yearn to share this secret with you—to explain why we seem so regimented, so inflexible. I want you to understand the reasons behind my frequent “no’s” that might appear illogical. But I hesitate. What if you don’t understand? What if revealing this truth drives you away?
I fear that if I tell you about my daughter’s bipolar disorder, you might suddenly view her differently or pull back from our friendship. The thought of isolation, both for her and myself, is paralyzing. I worry that your little girl won’t be invited over, that my daughter will feel the sting of loneliness on the bus, or stand alone at recess, longing to join the laughter of her peers.
I don’t know what it’s like to be nine and face bipolar challenges, but I know the crushing weight of concealing who I really am. I often wonder if I’ll ever gather the courage to share this part of our lives.
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In summary, the journey of parenting a child with bipolar disorder is fraught with challenges and isolation. The struggle to maintain a semblance of normalcy while navigating emotional hurdles can be overwhelming, yet the desire for connection remains strong.