In my romances, I sometimes write about ordinary people who perceive that something about them will get in the way of a happily ever after (or at least a happily for now). Secrets, personal failings, longings, parental disapproval. The couple overcome these and find room for love.
This latest book I wrote (it’s in the editing stage), Kringle through the Snow, has one character whose flaw is that she has bipolar 2, which is something I manage in my own life. She is scared that another hypomanic or depressive state is just around the corner and nobody else should be exposed to it.
This is one of the hazards of being bipolar — the stigma. Someone with complications like bipolar is certainly more daunting than people without, and some potential partners want uncomplicated situations. Some are just scared. It is possible to have bipolar disorder and go years before another attack because of diligent management; how is this different than having diabetes or another chronic disease?
I write to ask these questions. In my writing, I want people to confront their preconceived notions, because I think we are our own worst enemies. I think love, when it’s truly there, finds a way.
Words Like Me 