I grew up with a bipolar mom. (I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to word that differently now, something like, “a mom who experienced bipolar symptoms,” but her bipolarness was fully baked into her identity—the way I knew her and feared her and loved her—so I shall continue to conflate my mom with her illness and thanks for the hall pass on that.)

She was loving and creative and as you’d expect given her diagnosis, either very, very manic (yay! Mom’s staying up all night again building a train set!) or very, very depressed (ohhh… Mom’s crying in the coffee shop again).

Whiplash comes to mind. So much “testing of the waters” to see how things were going to be today… what version of mom I was going to get when I came home from school (were the kitchen lights on or off?), what emotional state would she be in on a Saturday morning (she’s whistling… phew!), what frame of mind would she be in while renting a movie. (I used to pray—like an actual prayer with the sign of the cross and everything [Jesus you are rightfully allowed to roll your eyes]—that the movie we rented would be rewound when we got it home, lest it derail her mood when we sat down to watch The Goonies on VHS.) Be Kind, Rewind, people! Some families had precarious emotional situations to deal with!

“Are you in a bad mood?”, we’d ask my mom, because it was the 1980s and emotional intelligence hadn’t been invented yet. (Word to the wise: asking your emotionally volatile mother if she’s in a bad mood is a guaranteed way to put your emotionally volatile mother in a bad mood.) There was a lot of litmus testing of moods and then reacting accordingly. I became hyper tuned-in, and agile, like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I thought I could manage my mom’s moods and when that wasn’t super successful (because I was not a therapist or lithium or Prozac or a magician) I tried to at least mitigate her manic swings. Silly 9-year-old-me, believing I could override a chemical/ emotional/ who-knows-what situation in my unwell mother’s brain. But a girl could sure try.

I know I’m not the only one out there with experience navigating the choppy waters of mental illness at home. Let’s consider the facts for a sec:

• It is estimated that more than one in five U.S. adults live with a mental illness (23.1% of the U.S. adult population).
• 46 percent of Americans will meet the criteria for a diagnosable mental health condition sometime in their life.
• More than 1 billion people are living with mental health disorders, according to new data released by the World Health Organization (WHO).

That’s a lot of people with a lot of mental illness, right? When you zoom out to families, the reach expands quickly. About half of us will experience the shadow of mental illness directly or through someone we love. Even if it’s not your story, it’s probably sitting at your table… and if you’re having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with a mentally struggling person, it kind of is your story, isn’t it?

It’s funny (er, unfunny) because there is a lot of talk out there about caregivers who look after people who are sick or old or ailing in obvious ways, but I don’t hear much about caregiving for loved ones with mental illnesses. It might be my own bias, that the realm of the “caregiving” conversation includes Physical Illnesses Only, Thank You Very Much. But I know so many people who are grappling with mental health challenges at home… my friend(s) with a depressed spouse… the parents of a son with multiple personality disorder… the sister of a sibling with agoraphobia… the list goes on and I know it does in your social circle, too. Scads of us are feeling unsure how to deal with the mental conditions that live under our roofs, or even how to talk about them. We’re getting better as a society at talking about having mental illnesses… perhaps it’s time to start talking more about living with them, too?

Living alongside someone with mental health problems can be a quiet, ongoing strain—one that continuously adjusts the emotional climate of a home (is it hot in here or is it just me? Oh no, wait, it just got chilly again). I see now how my mom’s illness sharpened my emotional acuity (my radar is always scanning as to what you are feeling… I am reading your facial movements and body language and whether you are whistling and what tune are you whistling because that might indicate the nuance of your mood… it’s kind of exhausting but also interesting). I know my mom being bipolar influenced my desire for harmony, that it made me uncomfortable with mood swings (wait: we were laughing a minute ago at The Goonies… how did you all of a sudden turn into a rage-o-saurus?!). I didn’t tell anyone about my mom’s illness when I was a kid because I was afraid they’d call her crazy. I guess I was afraid they’d be right. I’d like to think a kid could talk openly about their bipolar mom these days (sorry—a mom experiencing bipolar symptoms), just as matter-of-factly as if their mom had diabetes.

Research shows that caregivers experience higher levels of stress, anxiety, and even diminished life satisfaction—not because they lack resilience, but because they’re often holding both love and “WTF?!” uncertainty at once. When someone we care about is struggling, it’s easy to organize our lives around their unpredictable needs and moods. But there is a possible and powerful shift available: to care deeply without disappearing entirely. We can tend to our own well-being not as a luxury, but as a stabilizing force—for us and, paradoxically, for the person who’s experiencing mental health challenges. Living with intention in this context doesn’t mean ignoring the hardship; it means choosing, again and again and again, to remain rooted in our own values, energy, and aliveness, even when the emotional weather around us is stormy.

There are a few resources for families out there, and more helpful words on this topic than I am qualified to provide. Go get help if you need help while you’re giving help.

Thank you for speaking up just a bit louder about your struggles with your loved ones’ mental health woes. It feels better to know we’re not alone in some pretty dark places.

And also? Be Kind, Rewind.