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 breathing steadies mine at night. During the week, I’m busy enough to forget the ache, but Sundays stretch.

Yet, I’m not entirely alone.

Inside me, there’s a different weather system brewing.

Restlessness that I'm trying to soothe.

It always starts as a flicker behind my ribs, a whisper that says, “Start something.” A new idea, a new venture, a new something that is mine. The ideas come fast and half-formed, but oh, how they sparkle. My once-loved wedding planning business. My online store. My dream of becoming an artist. My certification as a counsellor. I try them on like dresses in a fitting room, twirling, admiring, wondering if they suit the season I’m in. Some feel too tight, others, too loose. None quite becomes the skin I want to live in, but still, I return, still I flicker. Maybe the point isn’t to stick, maybe the sparkle is the point, the proof that I’m still dreaming, still daring, still alive to the possibility of something that is mine.

This is where my bipolar gets tricky, though, because sometimes, that flicker, it’s not just inspiration. It’s hypomania, slipping in like a charming guest who overstays their welcome.

Hypomania is a master illusionist. It tells you this is it. This is the idea that will change everything. You feel electric, invincible, like you could build an empire before the kettle boils. You’re focused, alive, full of belief. It’s intoxicating. (That, and the manic shopping sprees, but that’s a story for another day.)

Sometimes it’s a flash of lightning, brilliant, brief, and then gone. Other times, it lingers. Days stretch into weeks. You ride the wave, building, dreaming, doing, until the crash comes. When it does, it’s quiet and cruel. You’re left sorting through the glittering wreckage of all the things you thought you could be.

I know this feeling. It’s familiar, almost beloved in its intensity. It's not just my mania, though. Sometimes, it’s just a longing desire to create something that feels like mine. To contribute in a way that leaves a trace of me behind. It’s not about being seen or praised, the quiet kind of mattering.  In the rhythm of bipolar life, where intensity often steals the stage, this softer yearning is easy to overlook, but it’s real.

Today, I’m trying something different. I’m not chasing the spark, I’m going to try sitting with it. Letting the rain outside mirror the quiet drizzle within. Letting ideas drift in and out without needing to catch them, name them, or turn them into something. I’m applying myself, my mind, and all I’ve gathered over the years, not to produce, but to be present

I make coffee, and I write this because stillness isn’t the absence of movement, it’s the choice to stay and just breathe. To trust that the right idea, the right time, the right thing will come, and that I don’t have to outrun the weather inside me to be okay.

One day, I hope I’ll find that one thing I’m truly good at. Something that can gently hold the rhythm of my bipolar without demanding I be someone else to succeed. I’m not building an empire. I’m just being, and that has to be enough.

If you’re reading this and you’ve felt that flicker, that restless spark, that ache to begin something new, you’re not alone. Whether it’s hypomania whispering promises or simply the longing to matter, your feelings are valid. You are not crazy for dreaming wildly, nor weak for needing rest. Some days are for building and others are for breathing.

Today, I hope you find peace in the pause and trust that your worth isn’t measured by momentum, but by your presence. Remember that you are allowed to be a work in progress and a masterpiece at the same time.