My Beautiful Bipolar Mind

What the Heck Happened?  A Love Letter to Life in the Forties I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror, and thought, who is this woman with the expressive eyebrows, the knee that predicts rain, and the sudden craving for quiet? I’m 43 (soon to be 44), and apparently, that means I’ve entered the chapter of life called “What the Heck Happened?” Let’s be clear, I’m not complaining. I’m just… marvelling, because 43 is weirdly wonderful. It’s the age where I’ve started recognising myself more deeply and forgetting where I put my phone more frequently. It’s the age where my body whispers truths my heart already knows, and my soul starts asking better questions. Clarity Collides with Chaos I know what matters now. Family. Health. Purpose. Good food. Comfy shoes. Conversations that don’t skim the surface. Calm instead of constant loud noise. Laughter with loved ones and friends that doesn’t always require a huge party filled with craziness. I love wandering through markets and gallerie...

The Great Indicator Rebellion (and Why It’s Ruining My Mood) Ah, indicators. Those tiny levers of civilisation. The flick of a wrist that says, “Fear not, fellow traveller, I am about to veer left”. Yep, those levers are  apparently optional. Every day, I watch drivers swerving, merging, and turning telepathically. No indicator, no warning, just vibes. It’s like we’re all contestants on Guess That Lane! Why Skip the Blink? Let’s break down the psychology of the non-indicating driver: ·         Too cool for courtesy: Indicators are for peasants. These drivers operate on pure instinct and ego. ·         Forgot they exist: Maybe the lever is shy or on strike. ·         Secret agents: Classified  manoeuvres  and can’t risk blowing their cover. ·         Rebels without a cause: Rules? What rules?  Honestly, it’s c...

We Are How We Treat Each Other Every now and then, a song comes along that feels less like music and more like truth.  Nothing More  by The Alternate Routes  is one of those songs. It makes you sit up and really take a look at what is happening around us every day. The quick tempers, the divisions, the noise that drowns out kindness, and yet, in the middle of all that, this song rises like a warm light The song   is both a comfort and a challenge. Love and War, Peace and Unrest We live in the tension between opposites, love and war, peace and unrest, courage and fear. War doesn’t always look like battlefields, sometimes it looks like the sharp word we refuse to soften, the grudge we refuse to release. Peace doesn’t always look like treaties, sometimes it looks like a smile offered to a stranger, or patience extended to someone even if they don’t deserve it. “We are Peace, we are War. We are how we treat each other and nothing more.”   Every day, we choose which ...

A Sunday of Stillness and Storms  The Empire I Didn’t Build Today It’s one of those Sundays, cold, windy, and soaked in rain. The kind that invites blankets and quiet, where the world feels paused and the house hums with its own rhythm. Riley, my little old lady pup, is curled beside me under layers of warmth, while Max, usually a whirlwind of energy, is fast asleep on her self-appointed throne, the big round couch she’s claimed as hers. The boys are scattered. Joshua is “studying” Maths with the enthusiasm of a snail. Michael’s off with his cousins, probably deep in a debate about turbochargers and trap beats (aka cars and music). Matthew’s in his room, headphones on, lost in anime or gaming with his best friend. The house is still, but not silent, just resting. Adrian’s away on a longer-than-usual business trip. It used to be routine, but now it feels like someone’s taken the gravity out of the room. I miss him. Not just him, but the way his presence anchors me. The way his...

The Hands That Still Hold - A Daughter’s Tribute to Quiet Strength For every daughter who’s watched her hero grow older, this is for you. Every little girl grows up believing her dad is invincible, the hero who can fix anything, chase away monsters, and make the world feel safe with just a hug. He’s the quiet strength behind the scenes, the one who holds everything together even when it’s falling apart. A dad doesn’t just raise you, he anchors you. He’s the quiet protector, the motivator behind your wildest dreams. No matter how old you get, he’ll always hold a piece of your heart. The part that remembers piggyback rides, maybe a stern talking-to here and there and a few "don't tell mum" spoils. His love doesn’t shout, it shows up in the way he believed in you when you couldn’t. A dad is a forever kind of love. Well, that was and still is my dad. Some little girls grow up without their dads, or grow up and lose them. I know how lucky I am to have had, and still ha...

The Fire That Flickers: The Great Battle of Microvascular Brain Disease W hat Illness Can’t Touch - The Mosaic of Mum Do you know someone living with microvascular brain disease? A parent, a partner, a friend who’s slowly changing in ways that are hard to name but impossible to ignore. Witnessing it is messy, heartbreaking, strangely beautiful, and full of moments that crack you open and stitch you back together. So, with that, let me tell you something about my mum. She’s not the kind of woman who goes quietly into anything. Not into a room, not into an argument, and certainly not into illness. She’s the kind of person who will tell a doctor what medication she needs before they’ve even finished their sentence. She’s fierce, stubborn, and so certain of her convictions that even Google occasionally backs down. So, when microvascular brain disease crept into her life, quietly, insidiously, it didn’t stand a chance of being acknowledged. Not at first. Not even now, really. Sh...

Motherhood with Bipolar: Navigating Life with My Three Unique Sons – Love & Laughter Raising Joshua: The Whirlwind with a Wise Heart Our lastborn, the heartbeat of our home, our resident comedian, sports fanatic, and undisputed champion of homework avoidance. If life allowed it, he’d live on noodles and ice cream alone, proudly wearing food and sport stains like medals of honour. To him, school desks are just inconvenient sidelines to the real game of life. Joshua doesn’t just play sports, he inhabits it. Give him a ball, any ball, and it becomes a dare he’s determined to answer. Football, cricket, rugby, basketball, golf, hockey, he doesn’t discriminate. If it bounces, rolls, or flies, it calls to him like a secret language only he understands. His body responds before thought catches up. It’s on the field that his soul stretches wide. Sport is where he breathes deepest. It’s where he feels most alive, most himself. He doesn’t chase victory for the applause, he chases it for...

Motherhood with Bipolar: Navigating Life with My Three Unique Sons – Strength Through Michael’s Eyes: A Journey of Courage and Growth At 20, my middle son is a dazzling whirlwind. Imagine a tornado armed with a punchline. His ADHD turns every day into an obstacle course, and I’m often cast as his personal life coach, trailing behind him with gentle reminders: “Bring your clothes to be washed.” “Drive safely!” “Take your meds!” Beneath the chaos is a mind that fizzes with ideas, a playground where jokes and plans collide in joyful disorder. His brain is a drum kit of brilliance, and I get a front-row seat. Yet behind the punchlines and whirlwind energy is a boy who’s fought battles most people never see. Beneath his comedic bravado, he wrestles with anxiety that sometimes curls into his dreams, stealing sleep. On those restless nights, I see the flicker of light through his window as he tries to settle his thoughts. Still, he refuses to let anxiety dim his sparkle. He meets e...