Dear readers,
Happy Sunday! And an event of great personal significance to me: World Bipolar Day. This day is special, because 7 years ago, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. What was once perceived as my greatest tragedy and source of shame has now become my superpower and strength.
World Bipolar Day is celebrated in honor of Vincent Van Gogh’s birthday. He is the archetype of “tortured artist”, who was cursed with demons that ultimately claimed his life, but is hailed and heralded in death. He was posthumously diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I salute to Vincent and all the other bipolar warriors out there who choose to live, each and every day, with this damn difficult illness. It is more than just “mood swings” and emotional instability. Bipolar, also known as manic-depressive illness, is characterized by cycling between extreme mood states. Depression, which we all have heard of, is the crippling low. Mania, or hypomania, its less severe counterpart, is the unhinged high. Left unmanaged, these mood states can impair basic functioning, distort your thoughts, wreak havoc on your work and relationships, and destroy your life. You may experience psychosis while manic– seeing and hearing things that are not real. Your life becomes chaos. Your brain stops working as it should. Bipolar is deadly, when left untreated. And there is no cure for this cunningly challenging illness.
I am blessed with tremendous resources, social support, and unshakeable determination that has led me to manage my symptoms effectively. That’s all we can hope for, at this point: symptom-management. I will never be cured, and the healing journey is never-ending. But I have gotten so good at managing bipolar that I sometimes forget I even have it. I live at home with my family in the beautiful Bay Area suburbs, get to pursue my passion for dance and fitness as my career, have great friendships, and see a wonderful therapist regularly that is covered by insurance. I consider myself one of the lucky ones, and I am making it my life mission to help others heal from bipolar and mental illness. This is why I have created Venture True Wellness: to empower individuals to take charge of their own healing, because the desire to heal must stem from within. Everyone just wants to feel better. But it takes willpower and determination and unrelenting commitment to make that happen.
I am currently writing a memoir about my bipolar recovery journey. I’ve been working on this memoir since 2022, and I presently do not have a hard deadline for when I want this book published, because my healing journey is not yet complete. There are still alternative methods of healing I want to try: diet, fasting, improving my metabolic health. Once the Neurodivergence Celebrated podcast is launched, and I have interviewed guests with mental health diagnoses and heard their stories, I will share my takeaways in my book. What’s great about writing memoir is you get to write what you know. Easy-peasy. Your life itself is your muse. It’s a lot of fun.
There was a time in my life when I didn’t want to live. The darkness was all-encompassing and suffocating, and I just wanted to end my life to spare the world of a useless being, unfairly taking up oxygen and space. Now, I have never been more determined to live, and live fully. I want to experience everything, within the limitations my illness impose. Limitation. That’s a word I used to resent more than anything. I’ve had doctors tell me that because of bipolar, I had to live a smaller life. Walk away from career paths that would threaten to destabilize me. Lower my stress levels. Take it slow. There is some truth to their prescription, but I thought the prescription cruel in its irony. Live a life of quiet mediocrity, in the name of stability? But it is because of this very illness that I dream big. I am possessed with the crazy, the manic highs, that yes, are destructive when left unchecked, but also bear some unique gifts. Creativity. Inordinate energy. Grandiose ambition. Traits that lead people to achieve impossible dreams. Bipolar is, indeed, a double-edged sword. That’s why they call it the CEO’s disease: it takes a little bit of crazy to be a visionary who leaves a crater in this world. So what can we bipolar folk do? Tame the beast, befriend it, then unleash it to create good in this world.
On March 30, 2025, I am living out my dreams. I am a dance, yoga, pilates, and barre instructor, and most recently, I became a personal trainer. It’s a physically demanding job that has its own set of challenges, but I’m effectively managing my stress with healthy outlets like yoga, breathing, meditation, and salsa dancing. I am still actively training and competing in Latin ballroom dance, which is something my doctors once told me I couldn’t do, because of bipolar. I proved them wrong. I am in the best physical shape of my life. My social life is colorful– I meet so many interesting people through my public-facing jobs. Dating is an ongoing challenge, but it’s also thrilling and fun. I am building Venture True Wellness and the Neurodivergence Celebrated podcast. I am in the process of writing three books. I have other business ideas I aim to tackle in the long-term future. I am happy, healthy, and stable. My bipolar is managed.
I’ll end by sharing a post I had written on my previous blog. It’s entitled, “Love Letter to My Bipolar”.
Dear Bipolar:
Today is March 30, 2022– aka, World Bipolar Day. Most days, I mourn your ever-lasting presence in my life. Today, I will celebrate you. You, the unwelcome intruder who busted into my quiet, unperturbed life when I was 20 years old. How much has changed, since then.
My worldview and self-view have been greatly altered since the diagnosis. Ultimately for the better. Because of you, I have grown more compassionate and patient towards myself. I have grown more empathetic towards others. I have a newfound aspiration to find balance in life— a much healthier goal than my former strive-at-all cost, intensely outcome-oriented, workaholic and perfectionistic approach to life. You gave me a reality check and forced me to reckon with my humanity. At age 24, I am beginning to embrace my shortcomings and respect my limitations, viewing them not as signs of character weakness, but as emblems of my human-ness. And what greater a virtue than that of self-love and acceptance?
Just last week, I resented and hated you. That was the latest bout of depression talking. I screamed and cried in the car, my poor mother watching helplessly as her mentally ill adult child melted down. How often she blames herself for my condition, wishing it could have been her instead of me. And I in turn would blame you, Bipolar, for standing in the way between me and my hopes, dreams and aspirations. In that moment of blackness, I was overcome with negativity so powerful that it blinded me to all the good that you’ve brought into my life.
Now, with the fog of depression slowly lifting, I can see more clearly the silver linings of living with you, Bipolar. You’ve gently pried open my fingers that have long clutched tight to the “intense streak” (born from my ten years as a competitive gymnast) that for most of my life, I wore proudly as a second skin. I thought the intense streak rendered me impervious to the human condition in all its fragility, frivolity, and emotion, which in the past I was quick to label as “weakness”. It was easier to suppress my emotions, especially the difficult ones, rather than examine, work through them, and admit their hold over my psyche. The intense streak gave me permission to reject humanity in favor of work, output, and achievement. It taught me how to relentlessly achieve my goals, but it did not teach me how to be a better human.
Abject denial of one’s humanity is a losing battle, as the bipolar diagnosis made abundantly clear. I realized, perhaps sooner than most, due to my condition, that the intense streak was doing more harm than good to my health, often driving me to the edge in pursuit of perfection. I was forced to explore another pathway to my ambitions that didn’t involve throwing my mental and physical health under the bus, because that was no longer an option for someone like me.
Because of you, Bipolar, the intense streak had to go. I recently underwent a grieving process of sorts, mourning the death of the intense streak that had characterized much of my first 23 years. The process of extricating my identity and ego from the intense streak was painful, and an identity crisis ensued. Without the intense streak, I felt naked and lost. I felt like I’d lost an old friend that had garnered me praise and respect from my peers, teachers, coaches, and other members of our obsessively achievement-oriented society. I resented you, Bipolar, for taking that away from me.
Today, on March 30, 2022, I proclaim, louder and prouder than ever before, the following:
Death to the intense streak.
Glory to slow and measured pacing.
Praise to the middle road of pushing just enough without going overkill.
In the words of a fellow bipolar friend who has successfully managed his symptoms, bipolar has forced him to “ruthlessly prioritize” his health and wellness. I now choose to make health and stability my number one priority. I wouldn’t have made that choice nearly as readily if it weren’t for you, Bipolar. Thank you for granting me this Yoda wisdom, so early on. Thank you for giving me fast-track access to free-flowing creativity and manic energy that I now choose to hold back in favor of stability. Thank you for teaching me what true resilience means. Thank you for teaching me how to be human.
To my fellow bipolar warriors: it’s not our fault we have this illness. It was the hand we were dealt, and yes, it sucks. Let’s keep fighting the fight and putting in the hard work to get stable. Contrary to what many say, we are not all crazy. We are not all unhinged. People who work hard to manage their symptoms are essentially in remission. They are employed, they have families, and they learn to coexist with the illness to live functional, happy, and fulfilling lives. It’s a whirlwind journey to get to that stable point of lasting inner peace, and a journey that I now traverse with enthusiasm, and certainly not one I trek alone. Beside me stands my Bipolar Army– family, close friends, therapist/psychiatrist, acupuncturist, fellow bipolars– supporting me every step of the way. Thank you all for your kindness.
And once again, thank you, Bipolar, for everything you’ve taught me. You are a part of me, though not ALL of me, and I embrace you.
With love,
Bel
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