My dad has bipolar disorder. Despite the stigma we dealt with, it never got in the way of me having a happy childhood.

• I always knew my father had bipolar disorder because my parents spoke openly about it.
• That prepared me for the few times when he was hospitalized because of his illness.

My dad was a painter, an author, a biker, and a man who enjoyed long drives up the coast and never took the direct route anywhere. He was active in his Alcoholics Anonymous community and always on the sideline of my brother's football games. He was just another dad with a million characteristics, both good and bad.

There are stories that mortified me as a teen, such as when he ran for mayor on a whim, as well as those that made me glow with pride, including when his fiction serial in the local newspaper was the talk of the town.

I always knew that my father's flamboyance was tied, at least in part, to his bipolar disorder. Bipolar — like any other disorder — presents differently in people, but it always made my dad run hot in pursuit of his next big idea.

Much of growing up with a bipolar parent was mundane: family dinners at the living-room table, arguments over using the car, lessons about faith and finances. Still, having a parent with mental illness is one of the defining characteristics of my life. And, well into my 30s, it affects me daily.

Here's what I learned growing up in a home with mental illness.

Talking openly deconstructs stigma and improves care

My dad was healthy for the majority of my childhood. Still, my mom — who had no diagnosed mental illness in her family — spoke often about mental illness.

Her trope has been ingrained in my mind since elementary school: "Why, if someone has a heart attack, do neighbors come over with food, but when someone has an episode of mental illness, no one calls?"

That question guided me to see my dad's bipolar disorder for what it is: a medical condition with a biological basis and environmental triggers. It let me know that, yes, my dad's mental illness could affect our lives at times, but it wasn't different from the way any other chronic condition affects a family. Most of all, it was nothing to be ashamed of.

Through her openness, my mom set me up for advocacy. In eighth grade, when I needed to report on an element, I chose lithium, the medication that kept my dad stable. In my senior year of high school, my thesis examined the stigma surrounding mental illness and stigma-reduction techniques. Even now, I regularly cover mental-health topics as a writer.

My dad's bipolar episodes were few and far between

Bipolar is characterized by episodes — periods of time when symptoms are acute. In between episodes, a person is often stable. The more effective medications are for a person, the longer the stable periods.

My dad was hospitalized once when I was in kindergarten. I remember visiting him in the psychiatric ward and being intensely jealous of all the crafting materials he had access to. My parents talked about everything calmly, so I wasn't worried — just eager to have my dad home.

My dad wasn't hospitalized again until my freshman year of college. In between those episodes, I knew that my dad saw a counselor and psychiatrist, but in the day-to-day, his illness didn't affect my life.

Despite common myths, the truth is that most of the one in five Americans with mental illness have run-of-the-mill lives.

My dad never recovered from an episode when I was 18

My father never fully recovered from his episode when I was 18. After being hospitalized for mania, he fell into a severe depression that has lasted for almost 15 years. He wasn't able to work or take care of his daily needs. When my parents divorced, he moved in with his mother before entering a nursing home at age 51.

Over the past 15 years, I've become my dad's primary care coordinator. During this time, I've leaned into my advocacy work. I write stories about new initiatives for mental healthcare and much-needed improvements in access to healthcare.

When I speak with other families who are navigating mental illness, especially families with kids, I emphasize that my childhood was happy and healthy. And my father's life is happy: He met his wife in the nursing home, and they've been together for almost eight years. Just this weekend, he came for bowling and pizza with my daughters, who love their papa just as he is.