When I think about my childhood, I only remember my Dad being in the picture. My mother was there, but I wouldn’t find out until much later that she was mentally ill and that’s why she didn’t, and still doesn’t, play an active part in my life.

My family is not open about my mom’s mental illness. As a kid, I don’t think I fully processed that how she acted wasn’t normal. My dad took my brother and I to school, cooked dinner, did the laundry, and worked from home. I didn’t realize it wasn’t “normal” that my dad did all of the household chores until I was ten, and in school we had to do an activity about responsibilities in the house.

After my parents’ divorce, which happened just after I turned 11, her side effects became apparent. She moved into her parents’ house, my grandparents’ house, and they took care of her. She couldn’t function like a regular adult. She couldn’t hold a job or let alone a conversation. She would become angry at anything and fast, like her personality was on a switch. The medication she was on caused drowsiness, and she spent a majority of the day napping.

In the divorce, my dad was granted custody of my brother and me. We would spend Wednesday’s after school at my mom’s house, and every other weekend. My brother and I resented going there.

The first couple of years after the divorce, my mom was unpredictable. Family dinner often ended with me and my brother locking ourselves in the bedroom while my mom threw dishes and fought with my grandparents. None of us knew how to talk to her in a way she would understand.

It’s been 10 years since their divorce and time has helped her only slightly. She isn’t as quick to anger, but is still not active in conversation. She remains unemployed. She still wears her wedding ring.

My family is still quiet about my mom’s condition. No one prepares you for something like this to strike a family member. It’s an awful burden I don’t wish on anyone.

My experience has shaped me into who I am today. I didn’t have a mother to look up to. I didn’t have someone to teach me how to do my hair or what my period was. I had to learn all “girly” things on my own, and it was frustrating and made for a lot of awkward years, but I had my dad the whole time.

My point is, even when your life doesn’t fit into what’s “normal”, you still have people who believe in you.