Author: Claire Gault

I didn’t recognize my ableism until I began meeting others who have mental illness, like myself—all people that didn’t fit my perception of “that kind” of person.

Through movies and television, I’ve grown to build a stereotype of what mental illness looks and feels like. And although I separated myself from that stereotype, unconscious limits began to weigh on my shoulders; I couldn’t be that successful, I couldn’t be that confident, I couldn’t have everything or anything that someone else without mental illness did. This mindset rang especially true shortly after my diagnosis, because I wasn’t aware of anyone at the time, either in the public arena or in my personal life, that shared my illness.

Then, slowly but surely, I began meeting other people with similar stories. A small part of me was shocked at their apparent kindness, resilience, and humor. Every time I discovered that someone (and there’s only a few) in my life was diagnosed with bipolar, I felt fleeting surprise. And I still do, to this day.

I hope that I can eventually take the news without feeling this surprise, because discovering that mental illness exists within someone shouldn’t come as a shock. Whenever I tell people, I understand and accept curiosity, but I have a small hope they don’t say something like, “really? You don’t seem like it.” Because normal people have mental illnesses. Fun, interesting, special people in our world are also neuro-divergent. That shouldn’t be a surprise.

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.