Every morning, on my drive to work, I call my mom. One might think this makes me a mama’s boy, but it’s more to stave off boredom than anything else.
The conversations are generally limited to family gossip and the like, but recently, the subject of me living openly with bipolar disorder came up. I said, “It is very hard to live openly with bipolar disorder.”
My mom said, “I can’t even imagine what that must be like.”
Realizing My Mom Doesn’t Understand My Life With Bipolar Was Eye-Opening
Finding out that my own mom doesn’t know what I go through living openly with bipolar disorder was a punch in the gut. Even though I am nearing 40 years old, she is my mother. Doesn’t she have some sort of “mom-sense” that fills in these gaps for her?
Of course, that is ridiculous. She doesn’t know because she doesn’t live in my head. She doesn’t follow me around 24/7 and observe me. She only knows what she sees and hears and, because I don’t often share the more negative aspects of my life with her, she is left to wonder.
That conversation was a few weeks ago and it still rolls around in my head. What do I want her to know? What would I like her to understand? What would I tell her?