musings for momma
by Sharon Rosen

middle-aged, bipolar, jewish mama

This isn’t going to be my easiest column to write. The title tells most of the story, but I must elaborate. Yesterday, I went to a Jewish Family Service luncheon and heard Lizzie Simon, a courageous, 30-year-old woman with bipolar disorder, speak about destigmatizing our illness. She’s written a book, Detour, about her quest to find young, successful bipolar role models.

At 43, I don’t fit into Ms. Simon’s young and bipolar age demographic. To be honest, her book covers a lot of things I don’t relate to anymore – pot smoking, a “hot” boyfriend, MTV, partying, etc. I’m middle-aged, square (by just about anyone’s standards), and spend a lot of time carpooling kids around in a mini-van. Definitely not hot stuff. But like Ms. Simon, I’ve been diagnosed as “high-functioning bipolar”. And much like her, I don’t know exactly what that means, except that on the bipolar spectrum, we’re on the lucky end.

What I do know is that I had a psychotic break when I was 29 and working in San Francisco as a Deputy Attorney General while my husband of two years worked on a political campaign in Los Angeles. Our long-distance marriage stressed me out and left me feeling lonely. After a few months of traveling between L.A. and S.F., I experienced a lot of the classic manic symptoms.

One day, after several weeks of erratic sleeping, eating and thinking, my system hit overload. While my husband campaigned away in L.A., I lay down on the redwood deck of our little house in the Berkeley Hills with its panoramic views of San Francisco Bay, and found I was unable to move. Fortunately, a colleague came to check on me, realized something was wrong, and made a call. My husband flew up from L.A. immediately.

I don’t remember too much after that except that my parents also came up from L.A. and took me to a psychiatrist. This kind doctor decided not to hospitalize me. He thought hospitalization might damage my self-esteem beyond repair. I’m eternally grateful to him for his compassionate, wise choice. He put me on an anti-psychotic drug. I did the Stelazine shuffle at home for a few days, until the drug worked its chemical magic and pulled me into a new post-manic reality. This new reality included shattered self-confidence and intense self-doubt. I didn’t want to accept that my own mind had betrayed me.

For reasons I don’t recall, the male psychiatrist began to freak me out. So I switched to a lovely, impeccably dressed Jewish female psychiatrist, Dr. K, whom I envied for looking so put together. She put me on a low dose of lithium. I did well on it. Dr. K told me, “Managing this illness can make you an even stronger person.” I wanted to believe her.

I did manage the illness well by taking my “vitamin L,” getting talk therapy and swimming and walking and eating. I eased back into work after a few weeks. Within a year, I argued and won two cases before the California Supreme Court. I wanted to get pregnant and have children. Dr. K thought I could handle going off the medication long enough to bear children.

Three daughters and a few depressive episodes later, I’m still managing my bipolar disorder. Luckily, I’ve avoided another manic episode for 14 years. I take a different medication now, Lamictal, which works well for me. I have more energy and less cystic acne (YUCK) than I did on Lithium. The good Dr. K proved right. My bipolarity has made me a stronger person in many ways. I feel more compassionate, more tolerant and less judgmental.

I like to hangout with other “high functioning” bipolar types. They know how to laugh well, really see into things and to appreciate the simple things, like peace of mind. Ironically, I find my bipolar friends to be just as sane if not saner than many so-called “normal” folk. My bipolar pals know what imbalance feels like up close and personal. In our chronically disjointed world, such self-knowledge, plus an ability to cope with imbalance, plus lots of yoga can bring inner peace.

I’m grateful to Ms. Simon for inspiring me to reveal my personal “reality detour,” something I don’t normally advertise. But I want to do my part to destigmatize bipolar disorder by taking one middle-aged mama step forward.

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