The following was written by Margaret Miller, a student in the Bipolar IN Order course. It so precisely captured what this program is working to communicate that I asked if I could share it. — Tom Wootton
Manic-depression left a decisive mark across generations of my family. For each of us who bears that mark, moods have conferred both advantage and disability. I am not speaking here about the energy of hypomania — that can be a productive ride, while it lasts. But it is nothing compared to the unexpected and hard-won lessons of depression: patience, humility, insight, and empathy, developed in ways that stable periods alone do not produce.
Once I found a way to survive my shifting moods, I began to think about learning from them. This came into focus while I was taking Tom Wootton's Bipolar IN Order course. The course offers a framework for deepening awareness of mania and depression. It demands a formidable level of introspection, but for most of us the eight-week experience was like putting on prescription lenses after a lifetime of blurred vision. What we each saw differed, but the excitement was shared.
A significant part of my own excitement was Tom's belief that our moods — ruinous and painful as they sometimes are — have value. I had thought about this for years without trying to articulate it. So I dug deep and wrote a lengthy post to the class forum. Here is what I shared.
Learning to Work With My Mind's Rhythms
During my first year at university, I began to notice that my capacity for effective work changed hour to hour. I became fascinated by working with those shifts rather than against them.
Learning Chinese characters, for example. The teacher required an hour of writing practice every day. I discovered that practicing just before sleep allowed the characters to sink in more deeply — that liminal space before sleep was ideal for non-linear learning. Similarly, I found that evenings were best for reading, afternoons for writing, and early mornings for stepping back and thinking at a high level.
What I was doing, I realize now, was learning to work with my mind's natural rhythms rather than imposing a single fixed approach across all hours and all states.
In the two decades since, that approach to studying has become a framework for living with manic-depression more broadly. Instead of asking "Is this the best time to write a complex essay?", I began asking "Is this the best time to take risks in a relationship?" or "Am I really up for this demanding commitment right now?"
The Backdrop That Makes This Possible
I want to be very clear about something: this kind of exploration requires a stable foundation. For me, that foundation included many years with a skilled psychotherapist, twenty years of lithium compliance, and the daily structure of a strong marriage and family. I am, by any reasonable measure, stable — and that stability is what creates the room to cultivate a more nuanced relationship with my moods.
Without that foundation, this kind of exploration would not be wise. The framework I am describing is not available to someone in crisis; it grows out of years of careful work with clinicians and support systems.
What I Found in the Direction of Depression
There is something I discovered that still feels remarkable to me: I can sometimes shift my state somewhat intentionally, toward greater calm and focus, through physical activities that require complete attention. Hours in the ocean, hard hiking in difficult conditions, or the specific proprioceptive experience of rock climbing — these can reliably shift my mood for extended periods.
And I have found that certain slow, tactile activities — working with clay, kneading dough, sanding — can bring on some of the productive qualities of depressive states: slower thinking, improved writing, a greater capacity for meaningful presence with others.
This is a discovery, not a prescription. I am not suggesting others can or should replicate it. What I am saying is that the qualities I associate with depression — stillness, patience, depth of feeling, slowed and more careful perception — have genuine value, and that learning to work with them rather than only against them has enriched my life in concrete ways.
What Has Actually Changed
Having even fleeting moments of success with this exploration has changed my relationship with manic-depression. It has not changed the condition itself. I still experience both poles. But the experience is no longer only something to be survived or managed.
That shift is not the result of insight alone. It is the result of years of clinical work, stable medication management, strong relationships, and the specific framework the Bipolar IN Order course provided. All of those things together made this possible.
The operative word in any of this is work — and not everyone is ready for it or wants it. On many days, stability is my only goal, and that is completely appropriate. But the possibility of something more is real, and it is worth knowing that it exists.