One woman reflects on the lessons of living with rapid cycling in bipolar disorder, including patience, self-compassion, acceptance, and what matters most.
For most of my adult life, bipolar 1 disorder with rapid cycling felt like an unwanted roommate.
It moved in without permission, disrupted my plans, and kept me awake at night. It made me question myself, my abilities, and my future. For many years, I put more energy into fighting it than understanding it.
Today, my relationship with rapid cycling is different. I’m not grateful for the suffering it caused, the medication side effects, the depressive episodes, or the uncertainty it created in my life. Given the choice, I would never have chosen this path.
Yet after more than 25 years of living with rapid cycling, I can honestly say I’m grateful for some of the lessons it taught me. They are lessons about patience, surrender, self-compassion, and what truly matters in life. Rapid cycling kept teaching them until I was finally ready to learn.
Rapid Cycling Taught Me That Depression Is Temporary
One of my clearest memories from university is waking up after about a week of severe depression and feeling as though someone had suddenly switched on the light.
For six or seven days, I would feel extremely exhausted, hopeless, and trapped in my own mind. Then one morning, almost like clockwork, the fog would lift, and the light would come back on.
The energy would return, and the world would have color again. I would jump out of bed thinking, “Thank goodness. I can finally catch up with my life.”
At the time, I was studying engineering at the University of Waterloo. The workload was intense. There were weeks when I could barely function, followed by weeks when I somehow managed to catch up on everything I had missed.
Yet, I never failed a course, never told anyone what I was experiencing, and never received any academic accommodations because I was too ashamed to tell anyone about my struggles.
I simply survived by riding the waves.
Rapid cycling gave me evidence that, no matter how endless depression felt, it was not permanent. When I looked at my own pattern, I knew each episode would eventually pass.
If I could say one thing to someone trapped in a depressive episode today, it would be this: “This too shall pass.”
Not because positive thinking fixes depression. Not because you are failing to try hard enough. But because mood states change. And sometimes the most important thing we can do is hold on until they do.
Rapid Cycling Taught Me to Treasure Everyday Moments
People often assume that happiness comes from extraordinary moments. Yet rapid cycling taught me something entirely different.
Some of my most treasured moments are incredibly ordinary:
Getting out of bed.
Brushing my teeth.
Taking a shower.
Walking the dog.
Saying hello to my daughter before she left for school.
Making dinner.
When you’ve experienced periods when even basic tasks feel impossible, you develop a profound appreciation for things that others might take for granted. Good days became sacred — not because they were perfect, but because I knew they might not last forever.
This realization changed how I spend my energy. I became more intentional about the people I spend time with and much more selective about commitments. I had always been a people-pleaser and had a lot of trouble saying ‘no.’ Now, I’m more thoughtful about what truly deserves my attention, and I feel empowered to say ‘no’ without feeling guilty.
Rapid cycling taught me that time and energy are precious resources, and I get to choose how to spend my limited good days.
Rapid Cycling Taught Me Patience
When I was depressed, time moved painfully slowly. I wanted to fast-forward. I wanted answers. I wanted relief.
Mostly, I wanted to know what I was doing wrong.
I spent years blaming myself. Maybe I wasn’t exercising enough. Maybe I wasn’t disciplined enough. Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. Maybe I was lazy. Maybe I was just weak.
What I know now is that depression is not a moral failure. Sometimes the most compassionate thing we can do is stop turning our symptoms into character flaws.
During those difficult weeks, I often escaped into television shows and documentaries. I became fascinated by true crime stories, particularly solved cases.
Looking back, I think I was searching for closure, for certainty, and for answers — the very things depression rarely offers.
Rapid cycling taught me patience with uncertainty. And over time, that patience became one of my greatest strengths.
Rapid Cycling Taught Me That Control Has Limits
For many years, I approached bipolar disorder the way an engineer approaches a problem. Surely there had to be a solution — a formula or a missing variable. There had to be something I hadn’t tried yet.
Over the years, I explored countless approaches to treatment and healing. I tried more than 30 medication combinations, worked with many professionals, tried ketamine therapy, and underwent repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation (rTMS). I also experimented with microdosing psilocybin and pursued many forms of personal growth and healing.
I was determined to get better.
What I eventually learned was that there’s a difference between influence and control. I can influence my health, but I cannot completely control it. That realization was both heartbreaking and liberating. Because once I stopped trying to control everything, I could start asking a different question: What does caring for myself look like today?
That question changed my life.
Rapid Cycling Taught Me to Accommodate Myself
One of the most surprising lessons rapid cycling taught me was that accommodation is not weakness.
As a keynote speaker and mental health advocate, I know there’s always a possibility that I could experience a depressive episode at an inconvenient time. These episodes come on quite suddenly and are completely out of my control.
For years, I worried this meant I shouldn’t pursue speaking opportunities. Then, I decided to try something different. I began negotiating a backup video into my keynote contracts. If I became unwell and couldn’t attend, the organization would still be able to show the presentation video I prerecorded and wouldn’t have to cancel the event.
To this day, I’ve never needed to use one of those backup videos. But one conversation changed me forever. When I proposed the idea for a major mental health event, one of the organizers said something I’ll never forget. She told me that even if they had to use the backup video, it would send a powerful message about mental health and accommodation.
I cried.
Because for so many years, I believed I was asking for too much — that I was a burden. That my needs were inconvenient. Her response reminded me that true inclusion is not simply inviting people with lived experience into the room. It is creating conditions where they can succeed.
Rapid cycling taught me that honoring my needs is not a weakness. It is wisdom.
Rapid Cycling Helped Me Find My Anchors
Living with rapid cycling showed me who and what truly grounds me. My husband has been a steady rock through countless seasons. My daughter gives me purpose and reminds me why I keep doing this work.
My family, imperfect as all families are, has supported me in the ways they knew how. Most importantly, rapid cycling taught me what compassion actually looks like. Compassion is not rescuing someone. It is not fixing them. It is not deciding what they need.
Compassion is listening and understanding. It means supporting people in the ways they need support — not the ways we think they should.
Rapid cycling also became an unexpected filter. The people who stayed were the people who could hold space for uncertainty. They were the people who understood that disappearing for a week didn’t mean I didn’t care, and those who trusted that I would return. Those people became my anchors, and I’m deeply grateful for them.
What Rapid Cycling Ultimately Taught Me
If I could go back and speak to the 20-year-old version of myself lying in bed during yet another depressive episode, I would tell her this:
You are not lazy.
You are not weak.
You are not broken.
This is not your fault.
And one day, you will stop fighting yourself and finally begin to heal.
What would surprise that young woman most is not that I eventually found stability. It’s that I no longer spend all my energy resisting the reality that I live with bipolar disorder.
For years, I believed happiness would come from achievement, titles, status, and success. Today, what matters most to me is connection, purpose, authenticity, and helping others feel less alone.
Bipolar disorder remains an unchosen, unwanted roommate. But after decades together, I’ve learned something unexpected. Sometimes our greatest teachers arrive in forms we would never choose. Sometimes healing isn’t about winning the fight.
Sometimes, healing is about finally putting down the sword.