All or Nothing: Learning to Find Balance

Exploring how bipolar disorder, perfectionism, and addiction challenge my sense of balance—and how I’m learning a healthier way forward.

A very good question—and one I’ve been thinking more about lately.

I know I’m like a laser beam. Once I lock onto an idea or activity, that’s it—I’m off. The more focused I become, the greater the sense of flow. All or nothing is as natural to me as breathing. It sounds great, but there’s a downside: the more I do, the more likely I am to trigger the hypomania linked with type II bipolar disorder.

A few weeks ago, I was invited to a party where the theme was ‘wear something pink’. I thought, if I’m going to do this, I might as well go for it—for a laugh. For me, that phrase ‘go for it’ should probably come with warning lights.

I told myself I’d keep it simple and just dye my hair. But the price at the hairdresser made me think again. She suggested a wig. Online I went: a wig bought, and then up popped other suggestions—pink glasses? Sure. Then a pink bow tie, cufflinks, a belt, and shoelaces. Why not? In no time, I had the full pink get-up with a pink shirt. And off I went, up north to visit my friend, who, to be fair, appreciated the effort.

The truth is, I don’t have a good internal gauge for how much effort is ‘enough’. My instinct is: if I’m going to do something, I might as well do it ‘properly’. But I’m learning that my version of ‘properly’ is often a bit over the top.

That learning has come partly from being more open about my mental health. I’m no longer embarrassed to ask for feedback. Take a recent project report—what I intended to be a short summary quickly became over 80 pages. I showed it to a couple of friends in corporate roles. Their faces said it all. I asked, “Too much?” I guessed maybe 10 pages would do. They said five would be more than enough.

The trick, especially with bipolar disorder and addiction, is to find balance. These days, I try to reduce whatever I think I should do by up to 50%—and that usually lands me somewhere more reasonable.

Last week, I decided to buy a few books by people who had walked the length of the UK and linked their journeys to mental health. I got a bit distracted and also bought books about walking in Japan and New Zealand—six books in total. That, for me, is progress—especially as my brain was telling me, ‘you might as well round it up to ten’.

Slowly but surely, I’m learning. I’m starting to accept the journey isn’t about perfection—it’s about progress.

How do you judge when enough is enough?