This October, our Notepad features a story from Isabelle M., who reflects on what it was like to watch her mother navigate the challenges of supporting her sister with bipolar disorder—and the lessons their family learned along the way.
My sister is fierce.
Has been since the day she was born. She came out screaming and ready to be besties with every kid on the playground. And nothing has changed. My sister is still the loudest one in the room, with the most passion in her voice. Passion for life. For connection. For human rights. She is an Aquarius, after all.
My sister, Mae, is 32 years old, living on an island in the Pacific Northwest (PNW) with her rescue dog and her husband of three years. Her time is spent grabbing coffee with friends and swimming in the ocean. She and I chat weekly about the essentials—also known as which planet is in retrograde at the moment. Her life looks much different now than it did 15 years ago. Mae didn’t have the dog or friends she has now. She didn’t even live in the PNW. Mae was back in Michigan, trying to finish high school.
Mae was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when she was 16. Me, being only 14 at the time, all I understood was that my sister felt things deeply. My mother was struggling. She had to make sure my sister graduated high school, went to her outpatient treatments, took her meds, and stayed alive when she went low. It was a full-time job. And, of course, in addition, my mom had an actual 9–5 full-time job—because someone had to put food on the table.
Mae received electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) at the age of 17, after many years of trying varying doses of Lithium with little improvement. Her depressive episodes brought months of self-harm, isolation, and suicidal ideation. After Mae survived a suicide attempt at 16, she was hospitalized for a few weeks. While heartbroken, my mother also finally had a moment of relief, knowing my sister was somewhere safe and watched over 24/7—so my mom could finally take a break after carrying that role for so long.
Some might say the ECT was an extreme step to take. Others would understand the urgency of the situation—for my mother to use all resources available to keep my sister alive. When the options felt like ECT or death…my mom chose ECT. Could that choice be the reason my sister is still alive today? Maybe. Or it could be the hospital stay. Or the Lithium. We don’t know exactly what worked, but all we know is that it did. Leaving me with a constant feeling of gratitude for where Mae is now—and fear that it could change at any moment.
After my sister graduated high school, she very slowly started to live at a baseline with her emotions. Her episodes became fewer and farther between. She went on to university in Toronto, followed by a move to the PNW four years later. The resentment my sister had toward my mother for hospitalizing her slowly faded with time. My relationship with Mae was able to grow outside of her diagnosis. Did it come with boundaries? Yup. Do I now know the difference between a manic 3 a.m. call from my sister vs. an emergency 3 a.m. call from my sister? Yup. And to protect our relationship, I know it’s best I only answer the latter. A relationship 14-year-old me could have never imagined.
So, like I was saying—my sister lives on an island in the PNW with her dog and husband. She likes coffee dates and dips in the ocean after work. She is loud and passionate in the best way possible. My sister wears the physical and emotional scars of surviving.
My sister is fierce.
In order to offer you additional support, we would like to hear back from you. We’re offering a Q & A section for caregivers. If you have specific questions or inquiries about living with mental illness, please send them to support@pathwayssmi.org and we will do our best to address them in a future Notepad newsletter.