Quote of the Day

“Write about your own experience. Read widely of others’ experiences in thought and action– stretch to others even though it hurts and strains and would be more comfortable to snuggle back in the comforting cotton-wool of blissful ignorance! Hurl yourself at goals above your head and bear the lacerations that come when you slip and make a fool of yourself. Try always, as long as you have breath in your body, to take the hard way, the Spartan way– and work, work, work to build yourself into a rich, continually evolving entity.”

– Sylvia Plath 

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Prompt: Write a welcome message to a part of yourself that you have historically rejected or judged (e.g., your impatience, your vulnerability, your body’s injury). What will change in your life when you finally invite that part of you inside and lay down the welcome mat?

Hello, dearest Bipolar. Welcome to my heart, my consciousness, my life. You’ve been here for 7 years now, which makes you family. We’re like twin flames– you, an extension of my identity. You are not ALL of me, but you’re glued to my hip, following me wherever you go, like a shadow. Are you my “shadow self”? I feel like that word, shadow, has a negative connotation. Shadows are dark, intrusive, sometimes scary. I don’t like to be watched all the time, yet you are always there. No offense, but you used to be my energy. The black mark of my identity that rendered me damaged, imperfect, and unlovable. I know this is not altogether true– I am still lovable, despite you, and I am deserving of love and happiness, just like everyone else.

After lots of therapy and writing the length of novels to learn everything I could about you, you are no longer a threatening, amorphous entity. You are a part of me, and I embrace you with open arms. I see you as my greatest source of humanity, which doubles as my STRENGTH!

Because of you, I have grown wise beyond my years, having suffered at your hands. I forgive you, Bipolar, for hurting me and the people I love. I think my loved ones forgive you, as well. You were a beast that needed to be tamed, an unruly pet that needed house-training, and now, you are family. I have grown to love you, as annoying as you are sometimes. Those closest to us wield the power to greatly hurt us.. but at the end of the day, we’re still family.

How I wish the rest of the world could see your goodness and think better of you. Because of stigma, I still hesitate to talk about you with others. But right now, as I have the courage to wield my pen, I will gladly share you with those who’ve joined me in today’s writing group. To those listening– I appreciate you for making me feel safe enough to share what was once my deepest source of shame. I fear I have been rejected by a guy who I was supposed to go on a date with tonight… he doesn’t know about you, but he does know (or suspect) that I am neurodivergent. And maybe that was enough to scare him away. I am not mad– just sad and disappointed that he wouldn’t give me the chance to show him how well I’m doing, despite my diagnosis. Oh well. This is the world we live in– mental health stigma rings loud and true still, in 2025. I am not obligated to share you with the world, but I wish I could stand atop a mountain and shout:

“I have bipolar disorder. And I am not afraid to own it. I love myself for it!”

To share your “shame story” with others is the ultimate declaration of self-love. You are no longer gripped with shame surrounding the messier parts of yourself, and you have the power to help those who have struggled with similar challenges. You lead by example– owning your “mess” and making that your message.

FFF. Fuck the Fucking Fuckers. They aren’t worth your time or emotional energy.

Thank you, Bipolar, for all the gifts you have bestowed upon me. Because of you, I have lived large… the highs are brighter, the lows are darker, but it’s this chasmic contrast that has given me access to all colors of the rainbow.