I Am More Than My Diagnosis.

Why I no longer allow the labels of chronic pain, CPTSD, and Bipolar to define me.

When it all started

I was 20 when I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It was the late 80s, a time of being proud of your mental illness. They urged us to embrace it. Urged us to be proud.

For me, fresh out of nanny school, that meant telling every family I interviewed with about my diagnosis. I even had a letter from my psychiatrist. It explained that I was in treatment and was more able to do my job than before.

I knew I was a good nanny, probably one of the best. Yet not one of them would take the chance. Eventually, the placement manager at the school hired me. It was a kind family. I felt safe and cared about.

I didn’t think about the tradeoffs. I allowed myself to be coddled. Rather than take risks and live up to my potential, I accepted the assumption that I was fragile.

Life continued that way. I made choices based on my weaknesses, rather than my strengths. I’m not sure I saw any strength in me.

Later, after years in therapy, I got another diagnosis. CPTSD (complex posttraumatic stress disorder.

Once again, I leaned into it. It felt good to be validated. Having the diagnosis made me legit. Another reason to exempt me from the standards of “normal” people.

The consequences

The labels made me feel good. However, they also made me less functional, sure that I needed special handling. My symptoms: Depression, hypomania, flashbacks, disassociating suicidal ideation, and extreme self-injuring (including binge eating) — were my reality..

For many years, I accepted those labels as my identity. I chose a husband who expected little of me. The role of broken and weak was vital to make us work. My labels defined me as a spouse, a sister, a friend. No one expected too much. That is what they got.

By the end of my marriage, I felt so broken and incompetent that faced with increasing abuse I thought I would have to die. Even imagining being on my own brought horror and fear.

A new reality

Now, nearly 20 years later, I still struggle with some of these. Except now I see them as something I fight against, not something I am. I don’t want to minimize all the work and effort that went into getting here. Whole and Happy.

Now I understand I can have Bipolar and CPTSD symptoms without falling into the addictive role of chronically mentally ill. They can be something that leads to strength, rather than an excuse to stay within a comfortable safety.

While this is true for me, I know there are other with a different reality. I think there is a human drive to become more than we are. Whatever that looks like for an individual. We each must find what works for us.

It is sometimes hard to remember that I am ok, when I live a life partially determined by those limitations. I know my boundaries. Sometimes I push them. Maybe because there is something I really want to do. More likely, because I wish they weren’t there.

I know I must protect myself from too much stress. When I am overdoing it, I end up losing more time and productivity than if I had simply been careful to start.

My life today

So yes. I do struggle with bipolar disorder and PTSD. Physical pain sometimes dictates my activity level. However, I try not to use my labels as excuses or a cop-out.

I work 2 days per week with a wonderful set of 3-year-old twins. They are a joy and keep me grounded. I must stay stable to keep my job. Oh, the power of “have to”. That need that can keep me going even when I feel I must quit. Another “have to” is my book promotion. Only online, for now. Having the book out there is so important to me.

Honestly, it is the hardest thing forme to keep up with. With less accountability. it is easy to let days slide. I’m getting better. I really work to forgive little perfectionist me.

And yes, I do take medication. Quite a lot of it. I recognize that it controls my symptoms. That makes everything else possible. I also collect disability. I fought against that for years upon years. All I wanted was to go back to full-time work. I felt I wasn’t making a large enough difference to justify my existence.

Now, I am able to see how I do make a difference. More so than if I worked a job that felt meaningless for me.

In conclusion

I now know that I am far more than a bipolar person with chronic pain and residual trauma symptoms.

There was a time, during my healing, where all of that consumed me. Thankfully, now, I am as healthy and whole as anyone else. Even better, my default state is now between content and happy. Seeing the world bright and clear just never gets old.

Do you have experiences with labels? Do you fight against them? Or, perhaps, you have learned to live in the spaces between them? Do they keep you safe, or hold you down?