Why I Kept My Bipolar Diagnosis a Secret

(and Why I’m Going Public Now)

I started having significant mood symptoms when I was 18, and got diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 31. 

I’m pushing 50 now, and until just a few weeks ago, I had mostly kept my diagnosis (and my symptoms) a secret.

I have a very close circle of friends who know, and they have helped me through some very, very tough times.

But there is a huge group of people in my life — nearly all of my friends from college, my writing colleagues in Boulder, my mom crew, my Copyblogger community — who have absolutely no idea that I have a serious mood disorder.

Certainly, my clients are unaware. What they know is that I'm dependable and I'm a good communicator. They know I never miss deadlines and I can learn practically anything and then write about it. I think many of them will be surprised to find out I have mental health issues. I’ve gotten really, really good at professional masking.

There were many times I thought of telling more people about my diagnosis, and I chose not to because…well, it’s complicated.

Photo by Kaffeebart on Unsplash

The Roots of the Secrecy

So why did I keep it a secret for so long? There are a bunch of reasons.

Reason #1: Early bad reactions

In the early days, right after I was diagnosed, I was at a gathering that included a mix of friends and new-to-me people.

At some point in the conversation, I mentioned that I had bipolar disorder. It was relevant to the topic at hand, I do remember that. I was making a point about seasonal affectiveness disorder and bipolar folks.

After I said the word “bipolar,” it stopped the conversation cold. You could practically hear a pin drop.

One of my “friends” in the group pulled me aside later that night and said, “It’s really better if you don’t talk about it like that. It makes people uncomfortable.”

Afterward, I picked apart that party conversation to try to decide if I had chosen a bad moment, or what went wrong, and the truth is that it actually doesn’t matter. I was boiling in my own personal vat of shame, and it silenced me.

Reason #2: There’s still a lot of stigma around mental health issues

When The Blond One was three — that’s 18 years ago now — I had a phone call with a family law attorney. At some point in the conversation, I mentioned that I had been diagnosed with BP. 

The lawyer immediately said, "You should never, EVER tell anyone you have bipolar disorder. Your ex can use that against you in court, and there are judges who would take your son away. So don't tell anyone unless you absolutely have to."

That was devastating. At the time, I was newly diagnosed, and trying to get my head around the fact that I had a serious, incurable mood disorder that I was going to have to manage for the rest of my life.

I had just started taking mood stabilizers, and my sleep was all fucked up, and I was learning how to navigate this completely foreign new world...and then this guy tells me it's a shameful secret that no one can ever know.

I don’t even remember this asshat’s name. I didn’t hire him as my lawyer (and I never had to go to court over custody issues).

But that kind of advice makes an impression. So from that point on, I was extremely careful with who I spoke to about it.

But these days, my son is 21 years old. He's old enough to buy his own beer, and there's no need to worry about something like this messing up our relationship. He knows I’m bipolar, and I don’t think he gives a crap who I tell, as long as I’m happy.

But oh, the shame. The stigma. That's enough to keep me silent for another decade.

Reason #3: General awkwardness

The problem is that when you’re trying to talk to someone about something intensely personal, there’s often no good way to introduce it during a conversation.

You know that situation where you meet someone new — neighbor, coworker, etc. — and you have an initial conversation, but you forget the person’s name? You keep talking with them in passing, and after a while, it’s too late to ask them to repeat their name? It’s like that.

I have friends I’ve known for decades, but they still don’t know about my diagnosis because there was never a good opening for it. I always felt like I was going to drop a bomb on someone with this news, and who wants to kill the mood at cocktail hour like that?

I almost told my Penn State friend Wes at a wedding in 2022. We were catching up — I hadn’t seen him in 10+ years — but he was so happy, and he had this new girlfriend (now fiance!) and I just couldn’t do it. So I bit my lip instead and sipped my ginger ale.

The Problem with Choosing to Hide It

But the trouble is: If there’s a whole bunch of friends and family members you decide not to tell — how do you have an honest relationship with them if there's this massive secret at the heart of everything?

Because this story, this disorder — it’s a big part of who I am. I'm medicated and I'm far more stable than I was 18 years ago, but I still have very rough times.

The people who don’t know I’m bipolar have no idea that some days it takes an absolutely monumental effort just to get out of bed in the morning. They don’t know that sometimes I’m so hypomanic that I have trouble keeping my ass in my office chair so I can work, and you practically have to peel me off the ceiling from all the excitement and good ideas and music and caffeine.

I was listening to a podcast about the early days of the AIDS crisis in America, and the interviewee was describing what it was like to keep his HIV status and his sexuality a secret from his community, and how difficult that was. It puts up barriers.

He said, “Our families cannot love us if they do not know us,” and it just took my breath away because he’s SO right.

These days, post-pandemic, there does seem to be more empathy for people who have anxiety and depression, and I’m happy to see more people talking about those issues publicly. Some of the stigma around mental health seems to be lifting, if only just slightly. 

I’d love to see that empathy and understanding extend to bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and OCD, too.

So it’s time to talk about it. 

Going public is scary, but my vulnerability could help another business owner, freelancer, or solopreneur who is silently struggling.

Stigma Stops Here

As an entrepreneur, you alone decide when and if you’re going to share your story (personally or professionally), and I understand that it’s a complicated issue. Believe me, I get it.

My hope is that by opening up about living with bipolar, it makes space for others to disclose their own mental health experiences, when and if they’re ready. Because our struggles — and our perseverance — unite us far more than stigma or silence ever could.