Onika L. Dainty

When Hypomania Feels Like Home: Living with a High Baseline in Bipolar Disorder

When Up Is Your Normal

For years, I thought I was just naturally energetic, creative, and always “on.” I felt things intensely like joy, laughter, even ordinary experiences seemed electrified. My reactions were often impulsive, erratic, and overwhelming, yet I didn’t see them as symptoms. I thought this was simply who I was. In truth, I was living in a constant state of hypomania. It became my baseline, my “normal.”

Hypomania can be seductive, especially when it feels chronic. It disguises itself as personality: the life of the party, the funny friend, the student with brilliant answers but a compulsion to talk too much in class. My parents were relieved when my bubbly, singing, over-expressive self returned after depressive lows, never realizing these drastic shifts were early signs of bipolar disorder, not just extroversion.

This blog explores what it means to live with a high baseline, why it’s so difficult to let go of the high, and how learning to trust the quiet version of myself became a turning point in my healing.

Defining Hypomania vs. Hyperthymic Temperament

Clinically, hypomania cannot be a baseline. It is episodic, a distinct shift from stability marked by elevated mood, energy, and activity. Some people, however, naturally have a hyperthymic temperament: consistently high energy, optimism, sociability, and productivity. This temperament can mimic hypomania and is even linked to a higher risk of developing bipolar disorder.

For those of us living with bipolar disorder, the line between personality and illness can blur. What feels like drive, creativity, or charisma may in fact be sustained symptoms like rapid speech, reduced sleep, impulsivity, and inflated confidence. Without awareness, these traits can be mistaken for identity rather than signals of dysregulation.

Why It’s Hard to Let Go of the High

Hypomania often feels like a gift. Increased productivity, endless creativity, and social magnetism make it easy to believe this is who we were always meant to be. For me, these highs often felt like freedom, like finally stepping into the version of myself that the world wanted. Stabilizing felt like losing my spark, my voice, my power.

But this self-awareness comes with a cost. The ego boost of hypomania can mask denial. When you feel invincible, it’s difficult to admit that you are, in fact, unwell. I feared that medication or balance would steal my creativity. I worried that slowing down meant settling for less. It took years of therapy, self-reflection, and painful trial-and-error to accept that stability wasn’t stealing from me, it was protecting me.

The Hidden Costs of Living Too High for Too Long

Sustained hypomania may look like success on the outside, but inside it chips away at emotional and physical health. Irritability, impulsive spending, risky decisions, and strained relationships often followed my “best days.” My body, constantly running hot, eventually gave out with crushing fatigue.

The truth is that hypomania rarely stays contained. For many with bipolar disorder, it is the precursor to mania, psychosis, or depressive collapse. What feels like endless possibility can lead to burnout, hospitalization, or starting over from rock bottom. Learning this pattern in myself was both devastating and liberating.

Reclaiming Balance Without Losing Yourself

Letting go of chronic hypomania didn’t mean losing my essence, it meant reclaiming it. Through mood tracking, therapy, and radical honesty, I began to distinguish between my personality and my illness. Medication and treatment no longer felt like joy-killers but as tools of protection, allowing me to build a life I could sustain.

I also had to learn to love calm. At first, stillness felt foreign, even frightening. Without constant motion, who was I? Slowly, I began to see clarity in the quiet. Creativity that wasn’t chaotic, joy that wasn’t fragile. My wellness plan now includes consistent sleep, journaling, structured routines, and boundaries that protect me from spiraling too high.

Final Thought: You Deserve to Feel Good—Just Not at the Cost of Yourself

For so long, I equated my “highs” with my worth. But I’ve learned that stability isn’t boring, it’s sustainable. Hypomania may feel like home, but it is a house built on fragile ground. My real home is in balance, where both the electric and the quiet versions of myself are loved.

To my readers: Who are you when you are not producing, performing, or powering through? Can you honour that version of yourself too?