A Mother's Journey through Bi-polar Disorder and Addiction
Last spring, I wrote a piece chronicling the journey of my daughter's illness with POTS. After publishing it, my son lightheartedly commented, "Now it is time to write about our journey." I cringed because there was nothing lighthearted about our journey. I uttered the truth from within my heart, "I am not sure I can." While I knew I could write something, I was keenly aware of the deep trauma still tucked right below the surface. I was emotionally raw and drained from the events of the past year. If I was not careful, I was keenly aware that a volcanic disaster of pain, remorse, and regret would come spewing out, and no one could halt the explosion. I wrestled with the uncertainty of where my writing would take us. I was unsure if we were ready to revisit the past scars jointly, knowing I would open fresh wounds and possibly old ones as well. Was Brady prepared to read my thoughts? If he was, how would he feel when I was done? As difficult as the pas...