I was picking up my medicine from the pharmacy. The black woman at the window leaned forward and asked if it works. I was confused for a second, but then it clicked. She was talking about the ADD medicine I was picking up. I told her that I’ve been on it for 20 years and yes, it works. She then asked me how I knew that I needed it. I explained the many challenges I experience, and she said she feels the same way. But between her parents and her husband, she’s never been able to pursue treatment.

I felt honored knowing that I could be a source of validation and encouragement for another black woman. It reminded me that many of us have struggled with mental health in secret.

Spoiler alert: Not only do I have ADD, I am a black woman living with bipolar disorder. I’ve never met another black woman living with bipolar disorder. I know they exist, but we don’t really talk about it in our community because that’s nobody’s business.

There was a time in the past when I felt the stigma. Then at some point—I don’t remember when—I realized there was nothing to be ashamed of. I didn’t choose to have it, and I can’t make it go away. I can’t ignore it because I have to pop a pill for it every morning. So why make an effort to keep something secret that I fully embrace as part of my identity?

Television shows have definitely worked against me in many ways. Society’s perceptions about bipolar disorder include people who are unstable, make impulsive decisions, lock themselves away in bedrooms for days at a time, create chaos for their family and friends, go to mental hospitals, and are just completely unable to function. And it’s disappointing because so many of us thrive while managing bipolar disorder.

I was diagnosed in my early 20’s, and felt a myriad of emotions. But the doctor said one thing that still offers comfort to this day. She said bipolar disorder just means that your brain needs help from medicine to function properly. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

I’m a divorced, single mom with a full-time job. I’ve completed two graduate degrees. I own my house and pay my bills. I chaperone field trips and travel the world. I have a full life. If I didn’t tell anyone I have bipolar disorder, they’d never know.

Bipolar disorder isn’t a curse. It’s a condition. It doesn’t define me or handicap me or make me less than another person. It’s just a part of who I am.