Whenever I am asked to share my story, I always think to myself, “Where do I start?” In my twenty four years of life, though only a short time, it seems as though I have lived a lifetime. I like to tell people that I am an old soul. My story has had it’s fair share of ups and downs, highs and lows, good times and bad times, and I wouldn’t change any of it. It’s given me a testimony to encourage other people, a big part of which includes the story of my mom.

Our relationship isn’t the typical mom/daughter scenario. During my freshman year of college, my mom was medically diagnosed as manic depressive, also known as bipolar disorder. As I type these words, my heart is beating fast. Sharing this part of my story is hard. Sometimes it is downright uncomfortable, but it is through sharing my story that I find strength. Instead of allowing mental illness to keep me down, I keep my head above it’s crashing waves by keeping an open heart. I have decided to not let it beat me or my family.

My mom is one of 57.7 million people in America living with mental illness. According to the National Institute of Mental Health, one in four adults suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder. You would never know this because many people choose to keep it a secret. My sophomore year of college, I met a young woman named Kristina, the first person I ever met with a mentally ill family member, or at least the first person to acknowledge it openly. Kristina was the president of my sorority at the time. She literally saved my life. One night at chapter, she shared her story of having a bipolar mother in front of a room of more than 100 girls. What I remember most about Kristina was her courage. You could hear the hurt in her voice when she spoke about her mom, but you could also see calmness in her eyes. She was at peace  and I could see that grace had come into her life and filled the broken pieces of her story. I wanted that grace too.

I never knew much about mental illness before my mom got sick. When she first started exhibiting signs of bipolar disorder, all I remember feeling was fear. I did not understand. Why was my mom acting so strangely? Why was she behaving so out of character? Why was she doing and saying hurtful things? I was 18 at the time, and in my eyes I thought I was a full-grown adult. What I didn’t know then was that I still very much needed my momma.

For so long, I felt shame about my mom’s illness. I would ask God, “Why is my mom sick? Why isn’t she getting better? Why did this happen to my family?” I felt alone. Though my mom was physically there, mentally and emotionally, she was gone. I missed her. My mom’s mental illness has changed me as a person. I have gone through stages of being angry with her for things she did during her episodes. I have felt guilt for my anger. I have felt ashamed of her. I have felt compassion when she struggles to do things on her own. I have felt broken. I have lost faith, only to find it again. Today, I still do not have all the answers, but I choose to trust God, even when it doesn’t make sense- especially then. I choose to hope.

To anyone who has a mentally ill family member or friend, you are not alone. I want you to know there is hope. It is through sharing my mom’s story that I have found hope and continue to find strength for the days ahead. If you have never personally known anyone who has a mental illness or don’t know much about it, that’s okay too. As someone with a bipolar parent, I only ask that you learn to have compassion. It is the biggest lesson my mom’s illness has taught me, compassion.

My mom didn’t ask to be sick. Like any other organ in the body, the brain can become ill and not function properly. I hope that as a nation with 1 in 4 people living with mental illness, we can start to take the veil of secrecy off mental disorders. Instead of ostracizing or shutting mentally ill people out, I would ask that we have compassion on them. To learn more about the different mental illnesses and how you can support research and care for the mentally ill, visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness’ website at nami.org.

Mentally ill people are just like you and I. They are daughters, sons, brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers. I’d like to honor my mom, for her courage to keep living and fighting daily. Because of her, I have learned to persevere. I have learned to love even when it is hard. I have learned to hope in dark places and to have compassion in brokenness. Because of her, I am a better person.

Be sure to check out my blog at stephkt.wordpress.com/blog!

With love,

Stephanie K. Taylor