Learning to Surf
We Are All Bipolar, Just Not All Diagnosed
Every human nervous system oscillates.
Wake and sleep.
Activation and rest.
Expansion and contraction.
Hope and despair.
Movement and stillness.
These are not pathologies. They are rhythms.
The word bipolar simply describes two poles. Up and down. Fast and slow. Light and heavy. The difference with bipolar disorder is not that the poles exist, but that the amplitude is larger, the shifts steeper, and the timing less predictable.
The waves are taller.
The tides turn faster.
The consequences are heavier.
That distinction matters.
Because when we frame bipolar disorder as something alien or broken, we miss the continuity between diagnosed experience and ordinary human physiology.
The difference is not kind. It is degree.
When the Nervous System Overshoots
From a nervous system perspective, bipolar disorder can be understood as a system that overshoots in both directions.
On the upswing, the system mobilizes beyond what the environment can support. Energy surges. Sleep becomes optional. Ideas connect faster than language can keep up. Confidence swells. Meaning feels obvious and urgent.
On the downswing, the system collapses. Energy drains. The body feels heavy. Thought slows or turns dark. The future contracts. Even small tasks feel impossible.
Neither pole is chosen.
Both are physiological states.
And importantly, neither pole is permanent, even when it feels that way inside the wave.
Why Pathology Language Often Backfires
Many people with bipolar disorder already feel ashamed of their nervous system. They have been told they are too much, too intense, too unpredictable, too unstable.
Pathologizing language can unintentionally reinforce this.
It teaches people to fear their own internal weather.
To distrust energy.
To clamp down on joy before it becomes dangerous.
To brace for collapse even during calm.
The result is often hypervigilance rather than regulation.
You cannot feel safe in a body you are taught to mistrust.
This does not mean ignoring risk. Bipolar disorder carries real dangers. Untreated mania can damage relationships, finances, health, and safety. Severe depression can be life threatening.
But fear is not the same thing as respect.
And suppression is not the same thing as skill.
Surfing Versus Stopping the Ocean
A useful metaphor is surfing.
You do not stop the waves.
You do not flatten the sea.
You do not yell at the tide to behave.
You learn to read the water.
You learn early signs.
You learn balance.
You learn when to paddle and when to ride.
You learn when to get out of the water entirely.
Surfing is not passive. It requires skill, timing, and humility.
And sometimes you still wipe out.
That does not mean you failed as a surfer. It means the ocean is real.
Early Signals Matter More Than Peak States
One of the most important skills for people with bipolar disorder is learning to recognize early shifts rather than reacting to full episodes.
The body whispers before it shouts.
On the upswing, early signals might include:
Needing less sleep but feeling wired rather than rested
Rapid idea generation that feels urgent
Increased talkativeness or impulsivity
A subtle sense of invincibility
On the downswing, early signals might include:
Heaviness in the body
Social withdrawal
A narrowing of imagination
Loss of pleasure before full despair sets in
Surfing happens here. Not at the crest of the wave, but before it breaks.
Regulation Is Not the Same as Suppression
A common fear is that learning regulation will mean losing creativity, intensity, or depth.
This fear makes sense. Many people associate their high energy states with brilliance, productivity, or spiritual meaning.
But regulation is not flattening.
It is containment.
A regulated nervous system can hold energy without exploding. It can access intensity without being consumed by it. It can rest without collapsing into shame.
Think of a river with banks.
The water still moves fast.
It just stops flooding the town.
Medication as a Stabilizer, Not an Eraser
For many people with bipolar disorder, medication is an essential part of surfing.
Not because the waves are wrong, but because the board needs reinforcement.
Medication does not erase poles. It narrows the extremes. It buys time. It creates space for skill building.
Framed this way, medication becomes less about fixing a broken brain and more about supporting a sensitive system.
A life jacket is not an admission of weakness. It is a tool.
Identity Is Bigger Than the Diagnosis
One of the quiet harms of diagnostic labels is identity collapse.
I am bipolar.
I am my disorder.
My moods define me.
A more accurate framing might be:
I have a nervous system that moves strongly between poles.
I have learned some ways to surf it.
I am still learning.
You are not the wave.
You are the surfer.
Even on days you forget.
What Therapy Can Actually Help With
Good therapy for bipolar disorder is not about eliminating poles.
It is about:
Building awareness without panic
Developing routines that anchor the system
Learning to respect limits without shame
Creating safety plans before crisis hits
Differentiating meaning from momentum
Rebuilding trust in the body over time
It is slow. It is relational. It is practical.
And it works best when it treats the person as intelligent, capable, and worthy of agency.
We All Live Between Poles
Even if you do not have a bipolar diagnosis, you still live between poles.
We all do.
Energy and exhaustion.
Hope and despair.
Clarity and confusion.
Bipolar disorder simply reveals this truth in high contrast.
And sometimes, those who live closest to the edges learn the most about the nature of the sea.
Surfing Is a Lifelong Practice
No one surfs perfectly.
There will be wipeouts.
There will be calm days.
There will be storms you avoid and storms that find you anyway.
The goal is not mastery.
The goal is relationship.
A respectful, informed, compassionate relationship with your own nervous system.
The ocean is not your enemy.
It is powerful.
It is dangerous at times.
It is also where you live.
And learning to surf it is not pathology.
It is wisdom.
