🌟 Beautifully Unbroken: Embracing Life with Bipolar Disorder and the Art of Kintsugi

More than two decades ago, I sat in my psychiatrist’s office—white walls, a worn-out couch, and a coffee table cluttered with outdated magazines. One cover caught my eye: a person smiling boldly, unapologetically. It was an issue of bp Magazine. At the time, I had just been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. That smile felt impossibly distant from the darkness I was navigating.

I remember the fear of being seen reading it, the shame of the diagnosis, and the overwhelming urge to hide—especially from myself.

🎓 The Armor of Achievement

For years, I defined myself by success. Academic awards, scholarships, leadership roles—I wore them like armor. I believed that if I achieved enough, I’d be worthy. But therapy introduced a radical idea: perfectionism might be a coping mechanism. At first, I resisted. To me, perfectionism meant strength and discipline. It was proof I was okay.

But slowly, I saw the truth. My ambition had become a mask—one that kept me from healing.

🛑 Choosing Rest Over Relentless Drive

Recently, I made the difficult decision to pause The Courage Circle, a peer support group I’d facilitated for three years. It was a space of raw truth and shared experience. Letting it go felt like losing a part of myself. But I needed room to write my memoir, Dear Younger Me.

In the past, I would’ve pushed through, juggling everything perfectly—even at the expense of my health. But this time, I chose rest. I chose to honor my limits. And in doing so, I honored my younger self.

💛 Kintsugi: The Art of Healing with Gold

In a serendipitous moment, I signed up for a kintsugi workshop—only later realizing it was held at a palliative care center. Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. Instead of hiding the cracks, it celebrates them.

We were asked: What does breaking this bowl symbolize for you? What are you ready to release?

For me, it was grief, perfectionism, and the pain I no longer wanted to carry. When I smashed the bowl, I cried—not just for myself, but for everyone in that room. We were all breaking something sacred.

🧩 Rebuilding, One Piece at a Time

My bowl shattered unevenly. One side remained intact. Someone pointed out the symbolism: bipolar disorder often feels like living in two worlds—one seemingly whole, the other fractured. Yet both sides are beautiful. And the side with golden seams? That was the most stunning.

At first, I thought: There’s no way I can fix this. It felt like my life—too broken, too complex. But the facilitator reminded us: One piece at a time. And that’s how we mended.

🔥 Redefining Purpose

That bowl can’t hold water anymore. But it holds something deeper: transformation. It now travels with me to keynotes and workshops as a symbol of healing. Like me, it’s beautifully unbroken.

I used to think my purpose was to succeed. But bipolar was my hammer—it shattered me. And in the rebuilding, I found a new purpose: not just to hold, but to shine.

💬 A Message to Those Still Struggling

If you’re reading this in a waiting room, feeling lost—know this: You are not broken. You are becoming. Every diagnosis, every hard day, every crack is not the end. It’s an opening.

Healing hasn’t made me less ambitious—it’s made me more aligned. I no longer strive to be perfect. I strive to be whole. And that, I’ve learned, is the greatest success of all.

✨ Expanded Reflection: The Power of Shared Stories

What I’ve come to understand is that healing is not linear. It’s messy, nonlinear, and deeply personal. But it’s also communal. Every time I speak, write, or listen, I feel the invisible thread that connects us—those who’ve been cracked open by life and chose to mend with gold.

Whether you’re a mother, a student, a professional, or simply someone trying to make it through the day—your story matters. Your scars are not shameful. They are sacred.