African American with Bipolar Disorder
I’m a survivor! My late twenties and thirties were unseemingly difficult times of anxiety, depression, and mania. Financial hardship, domestic violence, and lack of job security fueled this cycle. I had been misdiagnosed and misunderstood by medical professionals, family, and friends. I was finally diagnosed at 38 years old shortly after giving birth to my second child. The pregnancy threw me into a crisis. Why did it take so long? I compensated intellectually for the most part. As a special educator, formally trained registered nurse, and other experiential knowledge, I knew all the right things to say and do. As an attractive socialite, I appeared to be fine too. Time ran out in my late thirties. My body and EVERYONE was sick and tired of me. Emergency room visits and hospitalizations eventually justified why I couldn’t get my act together. It took several years before I got the right psychiatrist, counselors, caseworker, support groups, medications, diet, excercise, sleep routine etc. I’m still working daily at perfecting holistic care for myself while raising a 6 year old, guiding my 18 year old college student, working part time and actively contributing to my community. I thank God I can now help others and their families live with mental illness.

