Parenting With Schizoaffective Bipolar Disorder.

Parenting is hard for everyone. Parenting with schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type, is something else entirely. My days are already a battle with symptoms, routines, and energy — but no matter what I’m going through, my kids are still my kids. They still need me.

There are days when I can’t bring myself to shower or eat. Days when my motivation disappears, when my thoughts scatter, when my body feels too heavy to move. On those days, I might let my own needs slide — but I don’t let theirs.

My kids still get fed, still get tucked in, still get hugs and love and the things they need to feel safe. Even when my brain is chaotic or weighed down by depression, I somehow find the energy to care for them. It’s not always perfect. Some days are messy, some days routines slip, but I never stop trying.

Most people who meet me don’t realize the effort that goes into parenting with this diagnosis. They see my kids cared for and happy. What they don’t see is the mental checklists I’m running constantly: Did they eat? Did they take their vitamins? Did I hug them today? Did I remind them they’re loved?

They don’t see the nights I stay awake with paranoia, then get up tired but determined to make their breakfast in the morning. They don’t see how I push through the symptoms while giving them a bath or reading them a book.

This is the invisible work of parenting with schizoaffective bipolar disorder — the constant balancing act between managing my symptoms and making sure my kids never feel neglected.

The truth is, my kids are my biggest motivation. Even when I can’t take care of myself, I take care of them because they deserve stability, love, and consistency. They tether me to the world. They remind me that I matter, even when my symptoms tell me otherwise.

Parenting while mentally ill is not easy, and I won’t pretend it is. But it’s possible. I’ve learned that survival for myself often looks like thriving for them. And that is worth every ounce of energy I can give.

I may struggle with my own needs, but my kids will never go without the things that matter most. They will always know they are loved, supported, and cared for.

Because at the end of the day, my illness shapes me, but it does not define my ability to love and raise my children. And that love is stronger than anything my brain throws at me.