The Beauty of Mania

What a crazy month it has been.

I started blogging my feelings about life, and somewhere along the way it turned into a memoir I never intended to write. The original thought was simple — if I could help just one person. I am proud to say I believe I have done that. A handful of you have reached out with such kindness to tell me that something in my story resonated with you. If you now carry a deeper understanding of a friend, a family member, or even yourself because of what I have shared here, then I have succeeded in my mission. That is everything to me.

Two weeks ago, I first heard the term vibe coding. It came up on the finance channel my partner and I watch together in the mornings — casually, repeatedly, like a word that had always existed and I had simply missed it. My partner was dipping his toe in the water, and he invited me in. What happened next surprised even me. I built a health and wellness website in about a week — vibe coded, powered by AI, assembled from curiosity and caffeine and something that felt a lot like purpose. It is the foundation of my life's work. And it exists because I said yes to something I did not fully understand yet.

This is how I have been telling my story. Raw. Unedited. Messy. In real time. I wake up before the world does, I write, I process, I write some more — and then I post and start my day. The mornings have become sacred to me, a quiet container for reflection on the past, the present, and whatever comes next. My conversations with friends and family feed the work. I have tried to be careful with my words, deliberate and gentle, so as not to wound anyone in the telling. If something I have written has offended you, I am truly sorry. But telling my truth — and finally letting it out — is the thing I wish I had known I needed all along.

Here is the irony I live with: I do not like to read. And yet I have found genuine joy in writing. The editing process forces me to look — and look again — into a mirror I have spent years avoiding. I used to like mirrors when I was younger, when I felt pretty and certain of myself. Now I approach them with a kind of reluctant dread. Who is that woman staring back at me? But lately, the question has shifted. It is no longer just about how she looks. It is about learning to recognize who she is.

In this season of newfound self-awareness, I find myself once again in a hypomanic state. Wide awake at 3 a.m., thoughts moving faster than I can catch them, I put pen to paper to slow the current. I finally understand why people journal. I have never done it before in my life — not once — but I am beginning to see how profoundly therapeutic it can be. We are living this in real time together, you and I, and I am grateful for every moment of it. Buckle up. The ride is far from over.

You see, this is the beauty of mania.

The energy. The creativity. The relentless, intoxicating productivity. When I am inside it, it feels like a gift — like the universe has handed me a key and whispered, go. It has earned me promotions throughout my career more times than I can count. In a manic state, I feel capable of anything, and I have proved it to myself again and again. But with every peak comes the fall, and with every fall comes the slow, quiet climb back to the surface.

Right now, I sit at the top. I sit and I wait. I produce as much as I can, because I know — I have always known — that I cannot hold this place forever. I do not know when the lows will return. I do not know when the day will come that I wake up and the words are gone, when I will not want to write, when the silence will feel heavy instead of full. And then the cycle will begin again.

But today, I am writing. And today, that is enough.