Why a year and a day?
Historically, this time period was once considered an accurate representation of a significant amount of time. In England, the period was the amount of time a married couple had to be married before a spouse had any claim to a share of inheritable property. In medieval Europe, a runaway serf became free after a year and a day. In the US, when a legal judgment has been reversed a fresh action may be lodged within a year and a day, regardless of the statute of limitations. In neo-paganism, a handfasting (marriage) is considered binding after a year and a day, until that time either party may freely leave the marriage. Many groups require a year and a day of study and practice before one is considered knowledgeable and committed. “A year and a day” has held a special meaning to me for many reasons.
So, imagine my surprise when I realized that today was a very significant “year and a day” for me.
It has been one year and one day since I found myself sitting in a mental institution. It has been one year and one day since I officially stopped working in Corporate America. And it has been one year and one day since my feet landed, not so firmly, on the path that has led me out of the woods and back to myself.
I had forgotten “me” during the Corporate America years; I had become a co-worker, staff member, associate, manager, boss and as my ex-husband once put it, “a brief case carrying, Honda driving, bitch of a business woman” – one small piece of the puzzle explains the “ex” before husband.
I had forgotten the girl who wanted to be a famous author (pen name – Whitney Chabot – I was 11, don’t laugh), own a toy store (The Teddy Bear Express), own a book store (Into The Mystic), be a lawyer, be a princess, be a super hero! I let my dream self go in increments: I wrote off and on and created wild scenarios for fantastical books (there’s the one about 7 guardians in a magical world, with 7 magical pendants, the betrayal of family and the love of soul mates – ahhh). I managed a toy store in the mall for a while and I still collect stuffed animals and the occasional Barbie – most are now in a closet. I’ve never worked in a book store but I own enough books to start one. As for the law degree – I became a legal assistant – less school, faster gratification. Princess – I act like one, does that count? And Super Hero – now that one, I’ve done. As many of you know my alter-ego is Bipolar Chick, the Bipolar Manager!
As Bipolar Chick, I stomp the stigma towards mental illness, I speak loudly and proudly – sometimes from tall buildings – about my experiences with bipolar disorder, I disarm blame and shame with wit and humor, and I am faster than a speeding ignorant remark when it comes to fighting toxic niceness. I AM Bipolar Chick, the Bipolar Manager – I’ve got it and I manage it – it’s the only way for me to get out of bed EVERY day. Okay – I don’t get out of bed EVERY day – but when I stay there it is a conscious choice.
