Living Well with Bipolar — Reflections for World Bipolar Day

Vincent van Gogh - Wheat Field with Cypresses

To celebrate World Bipolar Day (30 March, Vincent Van Gogh's birthday, who was diagnosed with bipolar after he died) the Mary Frances Trust asked me some questions about my experience of Bipolar and I responded with some short videos.

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What is the biggest misconception with bipolar disorder?

Bonus video: ​Being bipolar can have an impact on your physical health as well. What can you do to stay healthy?

You might be surprised to hear how positive I am today about living with bipolar disorder. It hasn’t always felt that way, but the story is more uneven than unrelentingly difficult. I was diagnosed more than twenty years ago, and over that time I’ve experienced a small number of serious episodes, separated by long periods of stability in which I’ve lived, worked, and grown in fairly ordinary ways.

Those episodes were significant and disruptive when they occurred, and they demanded time, support, and recovery. But they were not the constant backdrop of my life. Between them, I built a career, relationships, and a sense of self that extended well beyond the diagnosis.

What changed for me wasn’t the absence of episodes, but how I understood them and related to the condition as a whole. Over time, I realised that trying to “fight” or eliminate bipolar wasn’t realistic — but learning how to recognise patterns, reduce risk, and recover more intentionally was.

That shift became particularly clear around five years ago, during what turned out to be my most recent serious episode. At a time when several pressures converged, my mental health was affected. As my mood lifted and my thinking accelerated, I recognised familiar signs. This time, though, I noticed them earlier. I was more aware of how my thoughts and behaviour were changing, and for the first time I was able to engage with what was happening rather than simply be carried by it.

During that period, I felt unusually confident, creative, and energised. At the time, it felt positive — even empowering — although with hindsight I can see that it was still part of an unstable pattern. That sense of balance didn’t last, and eventually it became clear I needed more support and a proper reset. It was a clear reminder that feeling in control isn’t the same as being well.

During my recovery, I decided that I needed to learn from the experience rather than simply move on from it. That didn’t mean trying to harness or prolong elevated moods — living that close to the edge is far too risky. Instead, I wanted to understand my condition well enough to manage it responsibly, reduce the likelihood of further serious episodes, and accept it as part of who I am. That last part turned out to be the hardest.

Acceptance is not passive resignation to how life is. It’s the recognition that the only way to positively impact the future is to face the truth of what is here right now
​ – Cory Muscara

What I came to realise was that I was carrying a great deal of self-stigma. I struggled to accept the diagnosis because I struggled to admit it — and that shame became tangled up with my sense of self. I’ve written elsewhere about my path to acceptance, but this was a turning point in recognising that avoiding the truth was costing me far more than facing it.

I spent a lot of time learning — reading books by clinicians and by people with lived experience, watching documentaries, and listening to others talk openly about their lives. Seeing how other people had learned to live well with bipolar helped me feel less alone. It also showed me that openness and responsibility could coexist, and that there was no reason to feel ashamed of being who I am.​

I have agonised for many years over whether to make my story public – I have written this book, re-written it, changed the names, changed them back again, written it again under a pseudonym, tried to change it into a novel… Finally, […] matters became clear. This is my story, and I am ready to stand by it. It is a true story and any value that it has for others lies in that fact.
– Louise Gillet, “Surviving Schizophrenia: A Memoir”.

So, I decided I needed to go on a similar journey. This led me to begin writing more openly. I’d been writing journals to help me make sense of things and understand myself better for some time. The next step was to write something that other people would see. I started contributing blogs for the Mary Frances Trust. In July 2021, I joined the End Stigma Surrey mental health campaign as a Lived Experience Champion. Ending stigma mattered to me, but I also realised that the first person I needed to convince — and learn to live by those values — was myself. In October 2022, I launched this site and began publishing under my own name. It wasn’t an easy decision, and it took time to feel ready, but sharing my story has helped me — and, I hope, helps others too.

Over time, I’ve learned to live more peacefully alongside bipolar rather than fearing it or trying to fight it. I’m now comfortable talking about it openly, and I no longer live in constant fear of relapse. That doesn’t mean I’m complacent. It means I understand the signs, the risks, and the support I might need if I begin to struggle. Removing fear has made it easier to talk honestly — and that, in turn, makes it easier to stay well.

I sometimes reflect on how my life might have unfolded without bipolar disorder, but I try not to dwell on that. It’s one part of a much bigger picture, and with understanding and care it’s possible to live a full, ordinary life — including work, relationships, and day-to-day responsibilities. For that reason, I’m keen to challenge misconceptions about mental health and the assumptions people make about those who live with long-term conditions.

This post reflects where I am now, not a finished destination. Reaching a place where I could write publicly, maintain perspective, and speak with balance took time. It wasn’t something I’d have been ready to do a few years earlier. If you’re reading this and find yourself in a similar position, I’ve learned that self-acceptance comes before self-disclosure — and that timing matters. What feels right for one person won’t be right for another.

If there’s one thing this journey has taught me, it’s that taking responsibility for your wellbeing — quietly and consistently — is a real strength, even when it isn’t visible to others.