Posted Sunday, June 19th, 2016
When Your Partner Has A Mental Illness…
…you will spend time trying to convince your partner that something is wrong, really wrong.
Your partner will spend time trying to convince you otherwise. At other times, vice versa.
You will exert your willpower to make it through the bad spells and when they’re over, you’ll point to them as an example of why something has to be done. But by the time your partner is out of the bad spells, they are feeling better, and they will wave them away as just one of those things.
There will be another bad spell. It may come sooner, last longer, or be deeper. You will start taking little responsibilities off your partner’s shoulders to make it easier…small things, like cleaning the bathroom when that’s usually their job. Or not so small things, like paying the bills, because you’re not confident they will get done.
You will start to trust your partner a little less.
If you have children, you will try to protect them from what’s happening. Daddy or Mommy is having a tough day; let’s be extra quiet, okay? You will try to protect your partner from stress of the kids – don’t worry, honey, I’ll handle bedtime. You will try to protect your partner from the fallout when your kids only want you because they’re not used to Mommy or Daddy doing things for them any more: it’s just a phase, next month they’ll be all about you again.
It will become impossible to pretend things are okay, at least at home. Your partner will finally agree to see someone. You will get a diagnosis; it may be right, but it may be wrong.
Your partner will try therapy, medication, or both. You will wonder if they’re working. You will know they are working, but also know that the side effects are grueling – physically in the case of medication, emotionally in the case of therapy.
Your partner will come home with something their doctor or therapist said about your relationship – or you. You will be angry and hurt: why does your partner get to tell their side of the story and you don’t? Besides, for every complaint your partner has about you, you have more about them.
A kernel of you will realize there is validity to the criticism, but you will be so caught up in trying to get through each day that you won’t have time to examine it right now.
If you have children, you will start watching them like a hawk. Is he having that tantrum about his toy being out of place because he has a compulsion to line things up, or is it just one of those days? Is she swinging from happy to weeping in seconds because she’s overtired, or is this something more? You think to yourself that, at least, if your kids start showing signs of something more you’ll know what is going on and be able to help early. But in your heart, you can’t help but think that if your kids start showing signs of something more it will be your partner’s fault.
Things will reach a crisis. You will feel like your partner is breaking. You will feel like you are breaking. You will wonder if you should take your partner to the hospital. You will wonder if that’s a bad idea. You will be terrified that they will be admitted for a psychiatric watch and terrified that they will not.
You cannot be with your partner 100% of the time. In your heart of hearts, you’re scared that, one of these days, you’ll get a solemn phone call or a knock at the door. “Mrs. X, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this…”
You will check your life insurance policy to find out if your family is protected if your partner commits suicide. You will feel like a terrible person. You will still feel relief if it turns out your policy covers it.
You will start to imagine how you will react if it happens. Will you cry? What songs will you pick for the memorial service? Will you stay in the house for a while, until the kids are done grieving? Perhaps it would be better to move closer to your parents. You will feel like a terrible person again.
You start finding it difficult to imagine a life ten years from now that still includes your partner. You don’t want to think you’d leave them – they’re sick, not abusive or neglectful – but in the back of your head it is a possibility. Even if you know you would never leave, you wonder if they will leave you, one way or another.
You will wonder if it would be better that way. Things are so hard right now, and you’re keeping so many plates in the air; remove the one or two (or five or ten) related to your partner’s mental illness, and your days would get easier. You will be too tired to feel terrible.
If your partner goes on leave from work, you will feel desperate and scared. Will they ever go back? Will being isolated at home all day make things worse?
You will wonder if you can manage now that you’re not getting eight hours a day where you can breathe, be alone, cry without anyone seeing. You will wonder if you can manage tighter finances.
You will ask yourself if, in the midst of all the appointments and pills and the leave from work, anyone cares about how you are coping. You’re not sick, after all, but you’re the one who picks up the slack and gets the kids on the bus to school and makes sure there’s food in the refrigerator and figures out how to make the family budget stretch between the counseling appointment and the reimbursement cheque coming in the mail. You’re the one who is the shoulder to cry on and the cheerleader who keeps the smile on saying, “We’ll get through this.” You’re the one has to expend every iota of energy you have to make that believable.
You’ll get numb to your partner’s pain and stress and anxiety, and instead of feeling sympathy you’ll feel exasperation – I’m so tired of having to hear about your bad day.
There will be ups and there will be downs. For me and my partner, the trend is upwards, marked by deep valleys. Others have it “easy” – if you can ever call it that – and the progress is steadily upwards. Others aren’t so fortunate, and things stay level, continue downward…or suddenly stop.
If you are lucky, things will get better. The medication will start helping. The behavioural techniques will make a difference. Your partner will return to work.
You’ll still be wary. You’ll drive your partner crazy with questions – are you sure you took your morning dose? What did the counselor say this time? You’ll pepper them with reminders: don’t forget your meeting tonight, and you have to meet the school bus at 2:30.
You’ll start rebuilding who you were, both personally and as a couple. It will be different, and you’ll struggle to decide if that’s good or bad.
And hopefully, you will realize this:
You are not alone. Others have ridden the whirlwind – not exactly like yours, but close enough to empathize. If we could just talk about it more, you would have known that when this all began. In fact, you might decide you want to talk about it more, in ways that are safe for you and your partner, which for some means acknowledging your own struggles with a therapist and for others means opening your soul to the Internet.
You have more strength than you thought you did just to get this far. Few people saw just how much you did, how much you had to carry on your shoulders. Those who do probably admire you more than they’ll say. You might even admire yourself when you really stop to think about it.
You are not a terrible person, no matter what you thought at the worst moments. Your partner is not, or was not, a terrible person either. You were fighting a disease that’s poorly understood and difficult to treat and terribly stigmatized, and you did the best you knew how to do.
In the rest of this series I’ll talk about my personal experiences with my family’s individual situation. But I suspect few of those blogs will capture the experience of being the partner of someone with mental illness the way this one will. For those of you living the same, I hope it gives you some comfort. For those of you who aren’t, I hope it gives you some perspective.
When Your Partner Has A Mental Illness…
…you will spend time trying to convince your partner that something is wrong, really wrong.
Your partner will spend time trying to convince you otherwise. At other times, vice versa.
You will exert your willpower to make it through the bad spells and when they’re over, you’ll point to them as an example of why something has to be done. But by the time your partner is out of the bad spells, they are feeling better, and they will wave them away as just one of those things.
There will be another bad spell. It may come sooner, last longer, or be deeper. You will start taking little responsibilities off your partner’s shoulders to make it easier…small things, like cleaning the bathroom when that’s usually their job. Or not so small things, like paying the bills, because you’re not confident they will get done.
You will start to trust your partner a little less.
If you have children, you will try to protect them from what’s happening. Daddy or Mommy is having a tough day; let’s be extra quiet, okay? You will try to protect your partner from stress of the kids – don’t worry, honey, I’ll handle bedtime. You will try to protect your partner from the fallout when your kids only want you because they’re not used to Mommy or Daddy doing things for them any more: it’s just a phase, next month they’ll be all about you again.
It will become impossible to pretend things are okay, at least at home. Your partner will finally agree to see someone. You will get a diagnosis; it may be right, but it may be wrong.
Your partner will try therapy, medication, or both. You will wonder if they’re working. You will know they are working, but also know that the side effects are grueling – physically in the case of medication, emotionally in the case of therapy.
Your partner will come home with something their doctor or therapist said about your relationship – or you. You will be angry and hurt: why does your partner get to tell their side of the story and you don’t? Besides, for every complaint your partner has about you, you have more about them.
A kernel of you will realize there is validity to the criticism, but you will be so caught up in trying to get through each day that you won’t have time to examine it right now.
If you have children, you will start watching them like a hawk. Is he having that tantrum about his toy being out of place because he has a compulsion to line things up, or is it just one of those days? Is she swinging from happy to weeping in seconds because she’s overtired, or is this something more? You think to yourself that, at least, if your kids start showing signs of something more you’ll know what is going on and be able to help early. But in your heart, you can’t help but think that if your kids start showing signs of something more it will be your partner’s fault.
Things will reach a crisis. You will feel like your partner is breaking. You will feel like you are breaking. You will wonder if you should take your partner to the hospital. You will wonder if that’s a bad idea. You will be terrified that they will be admitted for a psychiatric watch and terrified that they will not.
You cannot be with your partner 100% of the time. In your heart of hearts, you’re scared that, one of these days, you’ll get a solemn phone call or a knock at the door. “Mrs. X, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this…”
You will check your life insurance policy to find out if your family is protected if your partner commits suicide. You will feel like a terrible person. You will still feel relief if it turns out your policy covers it.
You will start to imagine how you will react if it happens. Will you cry? What songs will you pick for the memorial service? Will you stay in the house for a while, until the kids are done grieving? Perhaps it would be better to move closer to your parents. You will feel like a terrible person again.
You start finding it difficult to imagine a life ten years from now that still includes your partner. You don’t want to think you’d leave them – they’re sick, not abusive or neglectful – but in the back of your head it is a possibility. Even if you know you would never leave, you wonder if they will leave you, one way or another.
You will wonder if it would be better that way. Things are so hard right now, and you’re keeping so many plates in the air; remove the one or two (or five or ten) related to your partner’s mental illness, and your days would get easier. You will be too tired to feel terrible.
If your partner goes on leave from work, you will feel desperate and scared. Will they ever go back? Will being isolated at home all day make things worse?
You will wonder if you can manage now that you’re not getting eight hours a day where you can breathe, be alone, cry without anyone seeing. You will wonder if you can manage tighter finances.
You will ask yourself if, in the midst of all the appointments and pills and the leave from work, anyone cares about how you are coping. You’re not sick, after all, but you’re the one who picks up the slack and gets the kids on the bus to school and makes sure there’s food in the refrigerator and figures out how to make the family budget stretch between the counseling appointment and the reimbursement cheque coming in the mail. You’re the one who is the shoulder to cry on and the cheerleader who keeps the smile on saying, “We’ll get through this.” You’re the one has to expend every iota of energy you have to make that believable.
You’ll get numb to your partner’s pain and stress and anxiety, and instead of feeling sympathy you’ll feel exasperation – I’m so tired of having to hear about your bad day.
There will be ups and there will be downs. For me and my partner, the trend is upwards, marked by deep valleys. Others have it “easy” – if you can ever call it that – and the progress is steadily upwards. Others aren’t so fortunate, and things stay level, continue downward…or suddenly stop.
If you are lucky, things will get better. The medication will start helping. The behavioural techniques will make a difference. Your partner will return to work.
You’ll still be wary. You’ll drive your partner crazy with questions – are you sure you took your morning dose? What did the counselor say this time? You’ll pepper them with reminders: don’t forget your meeting tonight, and you have to meet the school bus at 2:30.
You’ll start rebuilding who you were, both personally and as a couple. It will be different, and you’ll struggle to decide if that’s good or bad.
And hopefully, you will realize this:
You are not alone. Others have ridden the whirlwind – not exactly like yours, but close enough to empathize. If we could just talk about it more, you would have known that when this all began. In fact, you might decide you want to talk about it more, in ways that are safe for you and your partner, which for some means acknowledging your own struggles with a therapist and for others means opening your soul to the Internet.
You have more strength than you thought you did just to get this far. Few people saw just how much you did, how much you had to carry on your shoulders. Those who do probably admire you more than they’ll say. You might even admire yourself when you really stop to think about it.
You are not a terrible person, no matter what you thought at the worst moments. Your partner is not, or was not, a terrible person either. You were fighting a disease that’s poorly understood and difficult to treat and terribly stigmatized, and you did the best you knew how to do.
In the rest of this series I’ll talk about my personal experiences with my family’s individual situation. But I suspect few of those blogs will capture the experience of being the partner of someone with mental illness the way this one will. For those of you living the same, I hope it gives you some comfort. For those of you who aren’t, I hope it gives you some perspective.
About the Author:
Avid reader, budding writer, incessant singer. Married to a partner with OCD and parent of a child with autism. My opinions may be slanted by my experiences living in the socialist paradise of Canada.
