Navigating the Unknown After My Bipolar Disorder Diagnosis
Today is Bell Let’s Talk Day, and it’s got me reflecting on how powerful conversations about mental health can be. When I was first diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, I didn’t know where to turn. Mental illness wasn’t something I heard people around me talking about—not openly, anyway. It felt like a secret I had to carry on my own.
But campaigns like this remind me how far we’ve come in breaking the silence. They’ve taught me that talking about mental health isn’t just brave—it’s necessary. Every time we share our stories, we take a step toward understanding, connection, and healing.
In the spirit of Bell Let’s Talk Day, I want to share a piece of my journey: what it was like to receive my diagnosis, navigate those early days, and eventually return to work. It wasn’t easy, and I made my share of mistakes, but I learned so much along the way. My hope is that by sharing my experience, someone else feels a little less alone in theirs.
When I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, I had no frame of reference for what that really meant. Mental illness was a foreign concept to me. If anyone in my life had struggled with it, they certainly weren’t talking about it, and I hadn’t been paying attention. This wasn’t just a disruption to my life—it was an upheaval.
The Emotional Storm
To say my world was shaken would be an understatement. Confusion, anger, fear, shame, and even depression hit me all at once. The last one—depression—was particularly jarring. I’d always seen myself as one of the happiest people I knew. Or so I thought.
Early on, I was caught in a whirlwind of conflicting narratives. My psychiatrist, whom I had no prior relationship with, informed me of my diagnosis. Meanwhile, my friends and family—people who’d known me for years—suggested that my breakdown was due to overworking and substance use. The truth likely lay somewhere between these two perspectives.
A New Reality: Medications and Mistrust
Adjusting to powerful medications was another unexpected challenge. My mother and I were both uncomfortable with the idea. I’d been someone who wouldn’t even take Advil for a headache, and now I was faced with the prospect of taking medication indefinitely.
At the same time, I was dealing with the fallout of being hospitalized and placed on a leave of absence from work. My firm’s Employee Assistance Provider (EAP) began checking in regularly, often pestering my mother and me for additional documentation from my psychiatrist. These forms, not covered by private or public insurance, became an added financial and emotional burden.
Falling into Isolation
Despite having a supportive network, I felt entirely alone in my battle with my mind. Days blurred together as I sank deeper into depression, barely getting out of bed except to eat enough to survive. Even with people around me, the loneliness was suffocating.
After six weeks, I began feeling immense pressure from the EAP to return to work. Though they claimed to prioritize my well-being, their insistence felt more like that of an insurance company—focused on timelines rather than my recovery. My psychiatrist echoed their sentiment, stating there was no harm in returning to work. But deep down, I wasn’t ready.
Returning to Work Too Soon
Three months after my diagnosis, I returned to work. Looking back, I see now that it was far too soon. I had no roadmap and no one to guide me through this transition. The limited communication from my employer only heightened my anxiety. All I knew was to show up at reception, where I was greeted by an HR representative who outlined the return-to-work process.
Meeting with a workplace psychologist that day was surprisingly comforting. For the first time in a while, I felt seen. He acknowledged my anxiety and reassured me that my feelings were normal. But stepping into the elevator to return to my office was like stepping into an emotional pressure cooker. It felt as though every pair of eyes was on me as I walked through the halls.
Some colleagues I considered close friends provided comfort and understanding, while others seemed unsure of how to act around me. My boss and I avoided each other for weeks. This unspoken tension allowed me some breathing room, but it didn’t ease the mounting pressure I felt to prove myself.
Lingering Questions and Struggles
I couldn’t escape the nagging question: “Am I still good enough to be here?” My confidence was in shreds. I’d once taken pride in my work ethic, but now I struggled to even get out of bed. On good days, I’d arrive at the office by 11 AM, which only made me feel more self-conscious and scrutinized.
Conversations about my potential promotion to partner, once so close to becoming a reality, never resurfaced. The uncertainty left me paralyzed with fear and doubt. I wanted to open up to my boss but didn’t know how. Instead, I carried the weight of these unspoken worries alone.
Lessons from My First Year
That first year after my diagnosis was one of survival. I made progress, but it was slow and uneven. I learned to have vulnerable conversations with trusted colleagues and began to heal in what I considered a safe space. Yet, I still wasn’t fully ready to face the demands of work.
One of my biggest mistakes was taking “drug holidays” without consulting my psychiatrist. At the time, it didn’t seem harmful. I’d later learn how wrong I was. These decisions—borne out of mistrust and confusion—only added to my challenges.
Crystal Ball Reflections
Looking back, there are a few things I wish I had known:
Advocate for Yourself: I needed to push back against external pressures to return to work too soon. My psychiatrist and EAP may have had good intentions, but ultimately, I had to prioritize my health over their timelines.
Identify Allies: Navigating the workplace after a diagnosis is complex. I wish I’d made a list of trusted colleagues who could provide support and guidance.
Set Boundaries with HR: It’s important to remember that HR represents the company’s interests, not necessarily yours. Limiting the information I shared with them could have reduced my stress.
Embracing Self-Compassion
One of the most valuable lessons I learned was the importance of showing myself compassion. It’s easy to spiral into self-criticism when life feels out of control. But kindness—toward ourselves and others—is a powerful tool for healing.
I am endlessly grateful for the friends, family, and coworkers who stood by me. Their support reminded me that I wasn’t alone, even when it felt like it. Today, I’m committed to giving back and helping those who might not have the same safety net I did.
Moving Forward
Adjusting to a bipolar diagnosis is about more than managing medication. It’s about reevaluating your lifestyle, values, and priorities. It’s about making intentional changes that support your mental health—and seeking professional help when you need it.
Your mental health journey is yours to navigate, but you don’t have to do it alone. Show yourself kindness. Cherish your support network. And remember, every step forward—no matter how small—is progress.
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Shak is pursuing his Master of Arts in Counseling Psychology (MACP) and will start his practicum in January. He's involved with the Canadian Mental Health Association and he's working on turning his blog, Bipolar Empath, into a book while managing his accounting business.
Stay tuned for more updates on Shak’s journey and the impact he continues to make in the mental health community!
