Author: Charles Kelly
When I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, there were certain people I had to inform. With some individuals, the decision wasn’t really mine to make. My parents, my girlfriend, my boss, and those who witnessed my manic episode needed to know. I didn’t have the luxury of sitting privately to weigh my options because the situation made it clear they had to be informed, even if I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.
While I was doing what felt necessary externally, internally I was spiraling. I battled with the persistent feeling of being judged, as though everyone around me knew more than they should or was analyzing me through the lens of my diagnosis. At work, my mind magnified small details like changes in tone, off-hand comments, and pauses in conversation, turning them into evidence that I was being treated differently because I was bipolar.
It took me a long time to understand that I wasn’t being judged. It was simply care. The people I worked with always had my best interests at heart, but at the time I couldn’t recognize their genuine concern. Instead, I saw scrutiny where there was compassion. It was completely rational for them to ensure I was okay, both inside and outside of work.
Another struggle I faced was the overwhelming discomfort about opening up regarding my condition. I constantly felt exposed, convinced people I barely knew had somehow found out about my diagnosis. Eventually, I realized this fear was mainly in my head. The reality is that everyone else is mostly preoccupied with their own lives. Still, I had to put effort into breaking the thought patterns of assuming everyone was watching, whispering, or waiting for me to fall apart.
A significant change occurred when I began telling the right people about my diagnosis, not out of necessity but by choice. I discovered that transparency, when practiced thoughtfully and intentionally, builds trust. When my boss and close coworkers asked how I was doing, I stopped saying I was fine when I wasn’t. I began giving them truthful answers. If things were terrible, I said so. If things were good, I didn’t downplay them. This honesty helped rebuild the trust I had lost internally because during my manic episode, I had lied to myself for too long, repeatedly saying I was okay when I wasn’t.
Instead of sharing my authentic feelings, I started saying what I thought people wanted to hear. This gap between my true thoughts and my spoken words built up resentment within me. Resentment poisons relationships. I began blaming people around me for the emotional pain I had buried, convincing myself that I disliked my coworkers or boss, when really, I was angry at myself for not speaking up. I would hold everything in all day, then go home and take it out on my girlfriend. Now, I speak my mind openly, saying what I need to say when I need to say it.
That’s one of the challenging parts of managing bipolar disorder: deciding deliberately who should know about it. For me, the essential people to inform were those who impacted my safety or success, such as my boss, girlfriend, parents, brother, and disability resources. Others, like professors, casual friends, or people at the gym, didn’t need to know unless a specific situation arose. Making these distinctions helped me regain control. It wasn’t about hiding; it was about setting healthy boundaries.
Once I began informing the appropriate individuals, my life improved noticeably. My boss understood when I needed a day off. Disability services provided extra time on assignments, enabling me to achieve the grades I deserved. My girlfriend better understood my moods and adapted accordingly. I wasn’t burdening anyone; I was being strategic. Managing bipolar disorder isn’t something done alone; it’s a collective effort.
“Healing doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in community.” — Dr. Thema Bryant
This idea became a lived truth when I opened myself up to receiving support. Even simple interactions took on new meaning. If someone at work suggested I might prefer food instead of coffee, I no longer saw it as judgment. Instead, I saw these moments as genuine acts of care from people I trusted enough to disclose my condition.
Planning also became essential. I’ve planned for what to do if I become ill again, knowing who will help, how to inform my doctor, and what specific steps to follow. This preparation relieved much anxiety because I’ve experienced remission before and know it can be achieved again. I’m ready this time, and so are the people around me.
Sometimes, I still experience self-doubt. There are moments when negative thoughts creep in, making me wonder if I’m broken for needing so many people to keep me grounded. But I remind myself that creating a support network isn’t weakness—it’s strength.
“I’d rather be honest and authentic and disappoint some people than exhaust myself trying to keep up the façade of perfection.” — Tiny Buddha
Occasionally, advocating for myself feels necessary but uncomfortable. In those moments, I imagine a higher purpose, picturing my future self-looking back and reminding me, “He’s not being who he was meant to be.” This mindset encourages me to speak the truth, trusting that my future self will thank me someday.
“The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” — Carl Jung
Today, that’s precisely what I’m doing. I’m not hiding my disorder or pretending I can manage everything alone. Living with bipolar disorder means acknowledging when I’m struggling and seeking help without shame. Strength isn’t about pretending to be okay when you’re not; that’s a pathway to another crisis. Transparency, honesty, and community are the real foundations of healing and stability.
By openly communicating my needs with work and school, I’ve created a supportive environment. Life has become manageable, even better, because I’ve stopped carrying the burden alone.
The content of the International Bipolar Foundation blogs is for informational purposes only. The content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician and never disregard professional medical advice because of something you have read in any IBPF content.
