When the Medication Stops Working

I was in 7th grade when I was first diagnosed with depression and anxiety. The doctor prescribed medication, and I thought that I finally had an answer. Take the pills, feel better, move on with life.

Except I didn’t feel better.

The dosage kept increasing. Higher and higher until I was at the maximum dose possible—dangerous levels. Looking back now, I still felt like I was drowning. My family doctor wouldn’t do anything differently. Just keep taking the pills. Just push through.

But something wasn’t right. If the medication was supposed to work, why didn’t I feel human? Why was I still struggling?

Proverbs 20:5 says, "The purpose in a man's heart is like deep water, but a man of understanding will draw it out." 

I didn’t have the words for it then, but deep down, I knew there was something more going on beneath the surface. Something the medication wasn’t touching.

The Google Rabbit Hole That Changed Everything

When I was in my late 20s, I started researching. Late nights, endless tabs open, reading everything I could find about depression that wouldn’t respond to treatment. And that’s when I stumbled across bipolar disorder.

The symptoms fit. The mood swings. The impulsivity. The risky behaviors I couldn’t seem to control. The highs that felt like freedom and the lows that felt like drowning.

I took every self-assessment I could find online. They all pointed to the same thing: this wasn’t just depression. This was something bigger.

In January 2020, at 28 years old, I found an online psychiatrist and finally got the diagnosis that made everything make sense: Bipolar 2.

The doctor explained that I wasn’t experiencing the full manic episodes of Bipolar 1, so I was diagnosed with Type 2.

The diagnosis was a validation.

I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t weak. I was misdiagnosed.

Psalm 139:23-24 says, "Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." 

For years, I thought something was wrong with me. But the truth was, I just needed the right diagnosis and the right treatment.

When Everything Finally Made Sense

Looking back, the bipolar diagnosis explained so much.

The impulsive spending that wrecked our budget over and over again. The decisions I made that hurt my marriages—adultery, betrayal, choices I’m not proud of, but that make sense now through the lens of untreated mental illness. The way I could sabotage relationships without understanding why. The constant flip between feeling on top of the world and feeling like I wanted to disappear.

I wasn’t a bad person. I was a sick person who didn’t know she was sick.

Romans 7:15 captures this perfectly: "For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate." 

That was my life for years—doing things I didn’t want to do, hurting people I loved, and hating myself for it without understanding why.

The diagnosis didn’t erase the damage or undo the pain I caused. But it gave me a framework to understand it—and more importantly, to start healing from it.

The Medication Maze

Getting the diagnosis was only the beginning. What followed was years of trial and error, trying to find the right combination of medications.

I went through so many prescriptions that I can’t even remember them all. Mood stabilizers. Antipsychotics. Adjustments, changes, and new psychiatrists when the old ones wouldn’t listen.

At one point, I had an allergic reaction to a medication that was actually working, but I realized I was still struggling even with the new medication regimen. I started seeing videos about ADHD on social media. I went down another research rabbit hole, I paid for an ADHD assessment, and discovered I had inattentive ADHD.

But my psychiatrist at the time wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t even look at the results.

So I found a new one. And finally, about two years after my bipolar diagnosis, I was also diagnosed with ADHD and given medication for that as well.

I changed psychiatrists three times before I found one who would truly listen and help me find stability. Advocating for yourself in the mental health system is exhausting—but it’s necessary.

Becoming a Zombie

But eventually, I was on so many medications at such high doses that I stopped feeling like a person.

I didn’t want to do anything but sleep. I didn’t want to interact with anyone. When I did, I was just there—not really participating, not really functioning. Just existing.

This went on for over a year.

I was a terrible mother during that time. Always upset. Always angry. Rarely happy. I snapped at my kids constantly. It was a flip of the switch to see which version of me you were going to get.

My marriage suffered. My parenting suffered. I suffered.

One night, I broke down and told Matt I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I felt like a shell of a person, going through the motions but not really living.

He confirmed what I already knew: something had to change.

Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us, "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven." 

That season of being over-medicated and barely functioning? It had to end.

The Medication Reset

Matt and I made a decision that some people might not agree with, but it saved my life: we did a medication detox. This was a decision we made together after careful consideration, and I don’t recommend anyone do this without consulting their doctor first.

I stopped taking my medications for a little over a week. Then, slowly, we added them back in at lower doses. It took a couple of months to find the right combination, but eventually, we got there.

It’s not perfect. I still have down days. I still have manic days. But it’s not a constant fog anymore. It’s not a constant battle just to feel human.

Feeling human again meant being able to enjoy my family. To participate in activities. To laugh and cry and feel things without being numb or overwhelmed.

Isaiah 54:10 says, "For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you."

Every morning I wake up and feel like myself—not a zombie, not a shell—is a mercy I don’t take for granted.

How Treatment Changed Everything

Proper medication changed my parenting. I’m more patient now. More present. I can recognize when my kids are struggling because I’ve been there—and I’m stable enough to help them instead of drowning alongside them.

It changed my marriage. Matt has learned so much about mental health through this journey. He understands me better. He knows when I’m slipping and can help me course-correct before I spiral.

It changed my relationship with myself. I don’t always hate the woman I see in the mirror anymore. I understand her. I have compassion for her. I know she’s doing the best she can with the brain chemistry she was given.

Psalm 73:26 says, "My flesh and my heart may fai, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." 

My mental illness is a weakness I carry every day. Through God, it has made me stronger, more compassionate, and more equipped to help others who are struggling.

The Song That Broke Me Open

I’m not great at connecting faith and scripture to my everyday life. I don’t naturally turn to the Bible when I’m struggling. But music? Music has always been my outlet.

And in the middle of all of this, when we were in the thick of everything with one of my daughters, we visited a new church for the first time. They played a song I’d never heard before: “Battle Belongs” by Phil Wickham.

I sobbed through the entire song.

“When all I see is the battle, You see my victory… The battle belongs to You, Lord.”

We were fighting so hard for our daughter. I was fighting so hard to stay stable. And that song reminded me that I didn’t have to carry it all alone. The battle wasn’t mine to win—it was God’s.

I still can’t listen to that song without crying. But now it’s a good cry and not a cry of desperation. A reminder that even when I can’t see the way forward, God does.

Exodus 14:14 says, "The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent." 

I don’t have to have all the answers. I don’t have to fix everything. I just have to show up and let God fight the battles I can’t win on my own.

To the Mom Who Feels Broken

If you’re reading this and you feel like something is off—like the medication isn’t working, like the diagnosis doesn’t fit, like you’re drowning and no one is listening—trust your gut.

You know your body. You know your mind. If something doesn’t feel right, advocate for yourself. Do the research. Find a new doctor if you have to. Take the assessments. Ask the hard questions.

Getting the right diagnosis can change everything.

And if you’re over-medicated, numb, or feeling like a zombie, you don’t have to live like that. Talk to your doctor. Advocate for a medication review. It might take time to find the right combination, but you deserve to feel human.

You are not broken. You are not weak. You are not a bad mom.

You’re a mom with a treatable medical condition who deserves proper care, compassion, and support.

Psalm 34:17 says, "When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles." 

Cry for help. Seek the diagnosis. Advocate for the treatment. God hears you, and healing is possible.

Reflection Questions

• Have you ever felt like your treatment wasn’t working? What did you do about it?
• What behaviors in your past make more sense now that you understand your mental health?
• Are you currently over-medicated or under-treated? What’s one step you can take this week to advocate for yourself?
• How has proper treatment (or lack of it) affected your parenting and relationships?

A Prayer for the Struggling Mom

Father, thank You for the gift of modern medicine and mental health treatment. Give us courage to seek the help we need and wisdom to advocate for ourselves when something isn’t working. Heal our minds, stabilize our emotions, and help us become the mothers and women You created us to be. Remind us that mental illness is not a moral failure—it’s a medical condition that deserves compassionate care. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

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This is the third post in the “From The Trenches” series—a raw, unfiltered look at faith, failure, and finding hope in the valley. If this post resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story. You can comment below or reach out privately at danece@momleavesalegacy.com. You’re not alone in this fight. 🩷🩵