Why Doctor Bear Practices Safety Drills on Sunny Days
The beautiful logic of preparing for a crisis when you are perfectly fine.
Hi there!
I worked myself a bit too hard in the yard on Friday, and now I’m paying with an achy body and a clouded mind. So, today’s newsletter is a few hours late. This week, I’m using my cast of animal friends that you have seen over the past few months to help tell the stories. I’d love your thoughts on this variation. The topic this week is crisis plans.
I hope you have a sunny and calm week.
Until next time, keep fighting.
Scott Ninneman
One sunny afternoon in the forest, Doctor Bear gathered all the animals together. It was a beautiful, clear day, with not a single cloud in the sky.
“Alright everyone,” Doctor Bear announced with her warm, rumbling voice. “Today, we are going to practice our storm drill. I want everyone to show me exactly which cave you will go to, and who you will check on, if a bad storm rolls in.”
Sammie Squirrel immediately started hopping from foot to foot. “But Doctor Bear! Look up! It’s sunny! There’s no storm. Why are we wasting a perfectly good running day thinking about storms?”
Doctor Bear smiled gently and placed a big paw on Sammie’s shoulder. “Because, Sammie, when the lightning is flashing and the wind is howling, you won’t be able to hear me. When the storm is here, it is too loud to make a plan. You will be scared, and your brain will just want to run in circles. We practice the plan when the sun is shining so that when the storm hits, your feet just know exactly where to go without you having to think about it.”
When you live with bipolar disorder, episodes are our storms. Whether it’s the high-voltage lightning of a manic episode or the heavy, dark clouds of depression, the frontal lobe—the logical, planning part of our brain—goes offline.
For years, I used to just cross my fingers and hope the storms wouldn’t come. When they inevitably did, I found myself in a state of chaos, not knowing who to call or what to do. I was trying to build a shelter in the middle of a hurricane, and often the storm did much more damage than it had to.
A crisis plan isn’t a prediction that you are going to fail. It isn’t a pessimistic view of your recovery. No, it’s more like a fire drill, a loving, stable version of you looking out for the future, vulnerable version of you.
This week, while the sun is shining, we are going to write down our plans. We are going to figure out where our caves are, who we need to call, and what we need to pack.
Doctor Bear is right: when the wind starts howling, you shouldn’t have to think. You should just have to follow the map you already drew.
Journal Prompt
Does the idea of creating a crisis plan make you feel anxious or relieved? Write down one reason why having a plan might actually give you more peace of mind today.
Scott Ninneman is the author of Speaking Bipolar’s 30 Days of Positivity, the Anchored in the Storm guided journal, and the writer behind SpeakingBipolar.com. Living in the mountains of southeast Tennessee, he spends his days crunching numbers as a tax preparer and his nights caring for his mother and writing stories about bipolar life. (And he loves pandas.)
Still here? I made this special thank you just for you.
