“My mother is bipolar, and taking care of her takes all my energy. If I do it, it’s because I love it. »

Bipolarity – I had a happy childhood with both my parents, until they separated when I was 13 and my mother’s bipolarity took over our relationship. She gradually stopped being a mother. Today, I am 35 years old and I live in Belgium, while he lives in the south of France.

And over the past few years, I’ve given up on mother/daughter relationships. We now only have a caregiving relationship, because caring for her takes up all my time and energy. His manic phases are easy to manage, unlike his down phases, which are very intense. The divorce plunged her into deep depression, and from that moment I began to take care of her.

I did it quite naturally, because I could see that she was unable to manage her daily life. It started with changing his light bulbs, then buying him household appliances that no longer worked… I even made the decision to go on vacation when I was only 15 years old. At the same time, I had to manage her chronic depression, where she could no longer get out of bed. He would say terrible things to me and overwhelm me with reproaches.

As a teenager, I could not understand what was happening to him and no one helped me. I am an only child, and my other family members were in denial. I experienced great moments of solitude. It wasn’t until I was 18 that a psychiatrist diagnosed me with bipolar disorder. But here again, we didn’t want to face reality, and there was a long delay period between the diagnosis and the moment when we considered his illness.

“I became his reference”

However, during adolescence, there were moments of fusion in our relationship. We did everything together, we went out, we went shopping. During her periods of depression, I was the one who motivated her to get out of bed and do activities. I became his reference. But suddenly all his problems were my fault. She told me that I left her when I went to meet my friends, for example.

The twenties were very contradictory. His speech was not logical and I did not understand it. I got very angry. The fact that I was leaving home was really destabilizing him. At first, when I was on the phone with her, my mother made me feel guilty for not coming home enough. I cried as I hung up the phone. And when I came to see her she made me feel guilty for not spending enough time with her.

After a big argument around 22, I started to understand that she was sick and she had nothing to do with it. I managed to distinguish things between what she was saying and reality, and it wasn’t all my fault. I started removing calls, placing barriers. I stopped trying to make it real. The story changed in my mind, and by telling myself that she was sick, the idea that I would save her was removed.

“I can’t even hold it in my arms anymore”

Despite our difficult relationship, I never stopped helping him. For example, I was the one who bought him his car with his money. I also forced her to move out of our family home, as she could no longer take care of it; I planned the sale. I am her support because she is at a loss when she has to make a decision. I also make sure she has her appointments, she eats well, she completes her retirement paperwork… All my energy is devoted to logistics and her emotional well-being.

If I follow up with him this long, it’s because I love him. But the role of caregiver takes up so much of my space that I can’t even hold it in my arms anymore. My mother wishes she had a daughter to go on vacation with, to seduce. But she doesn’t realize that I can’t give her what she wants. I find it very sad.

I talk very little about myself with him. She doesn’t ask me about my relationship since we broke up two years ago and I don’t tell her anything. If I let myself go too far, there are things I can say that will bother him. So it’s easier not to talk about me. I think I gave up on the idea that my mother would return to being the mother I knew, at a time when the disease was much less severe.

“I blame the adults who didn’t support me”

When I think back to my teenage years, I blame the adults who didn’t support me. If they were, maybe it would clear up the doubts where I told myself I was the problem. I didn’t know if certain things were normal back then, and there were no adults to tell me. My father was also in denial. He felt a lot of guilt about leaving, and for a long time, he believed that this was why my mother came. Of course, it did not help, but above all she was sick.

On the other hand, I don’t blame my mother. I can see she is doing her best, I know she loves me and that bipolar is an illness. I also feel less and less afraid of being bipolar myself. This illness starts very early, and it may appear after my breakup, but I haven’t lost complete control.

Today, my goal is to provide my mother with an environment where she can live. She’s still in a bit of denial, and doesn’t realize how disconnected she is. If she still blames me, it doesn’t matter, as long as she is happy and can live as beautifully as possible. I navigate with my margin of maneuver.

*This first name has been changed

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