Sensitivity and Acceptance of a Bipolar Diagnosis

With the telephone pressed firmly to my ear, I was talking to a potential new client, a lady in her sixties with a five- year diagnosis of bipolar disorder that came after a lifetime of dealing with clinical depression. As she was relaying her story to me, I was using the self-disclosure of my own bipolar history to form a sense of rapport. At one point, I expressed my belief that my wife of 22 years had been a major help to me in recovering from a mental illness to the degree that I had. I wondered whether I had shared too much when the woman on the phone broke into tears. As I heard her begin to sob, I was moved by her struggle, angry with myself at being so clueless. This woman had spent her whole life single. Her entire meaning or purpose in life, her reason to exist, was to take care of her two dogs.

I reflected on the issue of those we have in our lives that make a difference in our quality of life and who ultimately lead to the amount of pleasure we draw from our existence. While I count the support I have had as the central fixture in my struggle to move forward, others have different things that supply the emotional nutrients we need in order to flourish as human beings. For my potential client, her dogs provided her emotional nurture.

Initially, I was struck dumb by this woman’s emotional outpouring at my sharing. In the moment, I castigated myself for not having more sensitivity to her aloneness. But, I was corrected in this by the speaker, as she recovered from her tears and went on to talk about all the things that helped her get through life. They were numerous: a job, friends, and the nursing staff at the hospital she had been to.

She assured me that her struggle had been shared by many, despite her not having been married. It was then I remembered a central truth. We all have our burdens and our high points in the course of living a life. It is what we draw on, the attitude we bring to our issues that counts in the long run. This client had lived a lifetime with depression, but did not live an empty one devoid of meaning. My disclosure was not what moved her to crying. It was her memory of struggles fought, and those who had accompanied her. We broke through the silence and touched in that moment on such things as relationships forged and medicine for the spirit.