Alright, let’s get real for a second. Parenting is hard enough when you’re a fully functioning adult who remembers to put the bins out on the right day. Now, throw in a dash of bipolar disorder, and you’ve got yourself a real adventure—one minute, you’re planning to homeschool the kids, raise goats, and grow organic vegetables, and the next minute, you’re crying because someone ate the last biscuit.
My long-suffering, mentally stable husband is a human Xanax in the form of a man. While I’m off riding the highs and lows, he’s the one calmly steering the ship (or at least trying to, while occasionally muttering about life jackets). Between the two of us, we’ve somehow managed to raise a wonderful daughter who is still relatively sane despite her genetic odds.
Ah, infancy. That glorious phase where babies don’t sleep, parents don’t sleep, and everyone’s crying. Now, for a parent with bipolar disorder, this stage comes with an added complication: sleep deprivation and mania go together like Vegemite and toast—you’re not quite sure if it’s good for you, but it’s definitely intense.
I remember watching our daughter sleeping at 3 a.m. wide-eyed and buzzing with ideas about starting a home business selling baby blankets. (Spoiler: no baby blankets were ever made.) Other times, my bleary-eyed husband would need to gently remind me of the hour and that maybe now isn’t the time to redecorate the nursery.
Then came the toddler years—when everyone’s emotional regulation was non-existent. We have all seen a two-year-old melting down over not getting what they want. Some of those days, instead of being a rational, consistent parent, my moods swung so wildly that I would respond with my own toddler tantrum -physically and mentally – not caring who sees. Fortunately, my husband would step in, often with a calmness that made me wonder if he was even human. He’d take over, giving me space to breathe, nap, or just… exist for a while. We discovered the hard way that parenting with bipolar means learning when to tag out before things spiral.
Once our daughter hit school age, we thought things might get easier. But no, you’ve got school projects, playground politics, and parent-teacher meetings. Now, I don’t know about you, but nothing screams “emotional roller coaster” quite like sitting in a room with a teacher who’s just told you that your child “has potential” but maybe needs to “focus more.”
Cue the inner monologue: Are they saying I’m a terrible parent? Is this because of me? Do they know I once cried because the cat ignored me?
After some rather poorly ended meetings between myself and the teachers, we found it was more productive when hubby joined these meetings, offering his calm, collected demeanour while I nervously tapped my pen and made mental lists of either all the parenting books I should read (but never actually did) or the number of ways I could inflict severe pain on this person who in my mind, was saying we were terrible parents.
The teenage years are something else when you’ve got bipolar disorder. You’re navigating your own moods while trying to deal with the hormone-fuelled drama of teenagers. Honestly, it felt like the universe had created the perfect storm: teenage angst + my mood swings = emotional chaos.
While I was on high alert for potential emotional landmines, it was my husband’s job to be the teen whisperer. I’d be ready to jump in with a lecture, throw her computer in the bin or take her door off its hinges. He’d calmly talk our daughter off the ledge with a patience I’ll never fully understand.
It wasn’t always smooth sailing, mind you. There were definitely times when I felt like I was failing at everything—parenting, managing my mental health, packing ‘acceptable’ school lunches. It was difficult for me to accept that we are a team and that families aren’t supposed to be perfect. (Though I still think my husband might be superhuman.) Accepting that I am not alone with bipolar is still something I am working on to this day as I strive to work to my strengths and outsource my weaknesses at the time.
Eventually, our daughter grew up. Well, mostly. She is an adult living at home due to the current economy, but bipolar or not, adult or not, I’m still her parent. There are days when I look back at the chaos and feel terribly guilty. It was hard. Really hard. But it was also full of so much laughter and moments where we just sat down and realised we were all in this weird, wonderful mess together.
And through it all, we have learnt to create balance through flexibility. My husband and daughter step in when I need rest, let me cry when I need to cry, and ensure that when the mania hits, I am not suddenly buying six alpacas to start a farm on our small suburban block.
In our experience, raising children while managing bipolar disorder is a balancing act. Some days, it’s about recognising when you need help—whether from your partner, a friend, or a therapist. Other days, it’s about laughing at the absurdity of life, like the time I seriously considered homeschooling our daughter because I’d convinced myself (in a manic state) that I could do a better job than the school system despite having dropped out of school in Grade 8.
The real secret? You don’t do it alone.
If you’re parenting with bipolar disorder, my biggest piece of advice is this: lean on the people who love you, forgive yourself when things get messy (because they will), and never underestimate the power of a good laugh at life’s chaos.
Oh, and maybe don’t start a home business at 3 a.m. Trust me on that one.
Remember, parenting with bipolar disorder can feel overwhelming. Still, it’s also full of moments that make you realise you’re stronger than you think. With the right support system, you can navigate this journey one mood swing at a time.