I am a working parent. Some parents work because they love their work; others because they need the money. I’m a little of both—I don’t love my work, but I value my sanity and indoor plumbing. Without my income, we’d have neither. Being a working parent is a juggling act under the best circumstances, but when your child has a chronic illness, it’s virtually impossible. Sadly, parents whose children have a psychiatric illness (like my son, Bob, who has bipolar disorder and ADHD) struggle with all of those difficulties--and then some.

The first time I sat in a psychiatrist’s office, it was for myself. He scared me. He wasn’t anything like the mom-like therapists I was used to. He barely made eye contact. He asked me a few questions, to which I gave rambling answers. He scribbled. He left the room, returning after a few minutes to hand me a prescription and bid me farewell. I’ve since visited a multitude of psychiatrists—for my own benefit and for Bob’s, my son with bipolar disorder—and found that first experience pretty typical.

It's Summertime, and the livin’s...easy? Maybe not. It used to be, until I became the parent of a school-aged "MI" child.