What We Cannot See

Written March 25, 2026

By Julie S. Paschold

“Living in my head is a complicated place”—Brandon, from an AA meeting

In celebration of World Bipolar Day (March 30), I am going to talk about how mental illness can affect a person’s life. Specifically, mine. You see, I have a mis-wired brain. Put it in any bucket you like, it misfires sometimes, especially under stress, which, last Friday, reared its ugly head.

Due to a busy schedule, my house was totally out of order—dirty, things lying around: chaos reigned there.  Yes, my house is usually a bit cluttered, but this was beyond the usual. I had been teaching and reading my poetry at several places, and hadn’t had a weekend free in quite a while to catch up on cleaning and organizing.  When my house gets out of order, so does my brain. Welcome to trigger number one.

At my day job, we are going through a huge reorganization—the whole company was bought out and everything is changing—restructuring down to the computer programs and product names. Also, my supervisor is retiring. I rely on my job for its steady predictability, but that isn’t happening now. Trigger number two.

My daughter just had a health scare—and announced she is moving 12 hours away. When my kids need me, I’m there. I don’t hold anything back, or resent it. But…trigger number three.

And…to top it all off…I had an irregular mammogram. Needed further examination. Now, I’ve been here before. On both sides. Had them biopsied/inspected. So this means where they have looked before—is growing. Trigger number four.

I was afraid. Of all of this. The dirty house. The changes in the job. The fact that my daughter would be far away.  Whether I had cancer.

All of this set me off. Into catastrophizing. Like my friend Brandon said, we’re afraid of what we cannot see.  Life is short. I wanted to grab it all at once, talk to people with whom I hadn’t connected in a while, wrap up things that were undone before I deteriorated into nothing. Time seemed fleeting, and everything seemed unknown and important. I couldn’t see anything in my fear, which made me more afraid.

On Friday, I was at another poetry reading, and I was triggered again...trigger number five…the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to say. The reading happened to be nearby someone I haven’t seen for a while, and hoping to see them turned into expecting to see them.  They didn’t come.  I panicked. I then did things I can’t take back, and can’t apologize for. I pushed too far. Let my fearful brain take over.

Mental illness sleeps—it doesn’t go away. I overreacted.  Reacted in the wrong way.  Instead of slowing down, observing my emotions, and choosing to act or change or wait, I created an ending.

But, as an alcoholic as well, I look at it this way.  I didn’t drink.  I stayed sober.  Humans are imperfect. Time can heal. And an ending—can create a beginning.

Now? Now, I’m taking a course on emotional regulation. I’m giving it to my higher power. For the first time, I don’t have a finish line in sight—no huge goal that I’m working on. I’m just taking it one step at a time. I’m enjoying the journey.

An update on the irregular mammogram?  Now I need a biopsy.  Still an unknown. Still might have cancer. Still stepping one foot in front of the other. But now, I’m not as afraid of what I cannot see.

Saturday, on a walk, I found a heron’s feather that resembled the one I found when I was first getting to know the person I let go of. A new beginning? A sign? Or perhaps it is God’s way of saying I’m on my way to where I need to go.

May you all have adventures and journeys worth stepping into, and worth pondering.

And let’s not be afraid of what we cannot see.

 

Peace,
Julie

 

Posted March 27, 2026