It’s been a while since I’ve written, so thank you for finding your way here. It always means a lot to me that I can put words to a page and people are taking their time to read it. Today I have an icy weather day off from work, so I am going to relax with a cup of tea and gather my thoughts.

A little background: The majority of my working life I have been an art teacher for elementary students. I love working with children, and I think it’s reasonable to say I am great at some aspects of teaching and only good at others. My career path changed as I became a mother and learned all that I could to help my special needs daughter navigate her environment. I stayed home with my daughter for many years, and when I returned to the world of work, I found my way to special education as a teacher’s aide. The work is so much more than a job to me; it feels deeply meaningful to be in a classroom of non-verbal children with autism as we guide them in learning to communicate.

In October of this school year, the teacher that I work for resigned abruptly, and I was put in charge of becoming lead teacher, with support from special education administrators. This was both an exciting and slightly overwhelming prospect for me, and the stress from it contributed to a mania that I had for about six weeks. My “normal” personality is quite introverted; when I am manic, people who don’t know me well think I am just an exuberant extrovert. So there I was, manic me, singing with my students, engaging them in exciting lesson plans, and rocking everyone’s world. Witnessing the manic me, administrators urged me to take the test to qualify to become a special education teacher.

I liked the idea, of course! I would be the best teacher ever! Yay me! But wait! One of the special ed administrators working in our room told me that I was actually making the kids too excitable with all the new things I was buying for the classroom. Hmmm…how much was I spending for educational toys and software to be the best teacher in all the world? So far, $1,000. But we were only two weeks into my mania. By the time I realized I needed to give my husband my credit card and call my doctor, I had spent $9,000. I’ve broken all my previous spending records, and I’m beginning to think that’s really not something to be proud of. When other people react to the news, I am sure of it. (I’m so sorry, people).

It’s over. I am getting comments from the new lead teacher that she understands what it’s like not to feel like yourself. I cry at circle time when I should be singing. I’m quiet, I’m plagued by doubt about my abilities as a teacher, and well, a human being. I feel fortunate that that’s as low as it gets. I take my new meds, I fill out my favorite mood chart. I keep going to work each day, because it still has meaning, even though I am having to push through walls of water to find it. The people in my life are my reason to keep pushing away the water, until it is just a quiet stream that I can wade through calmly.

At the quiet stream I am still being asked to consider being a special education teacher, and that feels exciting, but I have to remember that the people who ask have not seen the walls of water that would most likely become even stronger if I made that choice. I am in the process of grieving that loss, knowing that I am still able to assist in that same world, and I am fortunate to be able to work at all. Blessings to those who struggle, and whose hearts are heavy because they are unable to work because of bipolar. Know that you are meaning itself, you create the art of existence each and every day, and it is beautiful.