"The Cycle of Passion"

 The Cycle of Passion: Why People with Bipolar Disorder Start and Stop Hobbies

For many people with bipolar disorder, hobbies can be both a source of joy and frustration. The excitement of starting something new, the creative energy that fuels passion projects, and the sense of accomplishment can feel exhilarating. However, just as quickly as a new hobby starts, it may be abandoned, gathering dust in a forgotten corner. This cycle of intense engagement followed by sudden disinterest can be a confusing and sometimes discouraging pattern. If you’ve ever wondered why you cycle through hobbies—or how to manage this tendency—you’re not alone.

The Bipolar Brain and Passionate Pursuits

Bipolar disorder is characterized by shifts in mood, energy levels, and motivation. During periods of hypomania or mania, enthusiasm for new interests can skyrocket. The brain is flooded with ideas, and everything seems exciting and full of potential. This is the phase where hobbies often begin—whether it’s painting, learning a new language, playing an instrument, or diving into a new sport. The problem arises when the mood shifts.

When depression sets in, the same hobby that once sparked immense joy may now feel pointless or exhausting. Even outside of full-blown episodes, bipolar individuals may experience fluctuating interest levels that make it hard to stick with long-term projects. This isn't about laziness or lack of discipline—it’s the nature of bipolar disorder influencing motivation and engagement.

The Emotional Rollercoaster of Hobbies

During manic or hypomanic states, the drive to start a new hobby can feel unstoppable. There’s an intense need to buy all the materials, research obsessively, and dedicate hours to the new passion. It’s easy to feel like this newfound interest is a permanent part of life—perhaps even a potential career path.

I remember when I was convinced I could reupholster a chair. My ex believed in me and spent $500 on cloth for the project. I knew the moment she bought it that I was out of my league, but her belief in me felt good. For a moment, I wanted to believe in myself too. But deep down, I knew how this story would end. I let her down, just like I had let down so many others before her. The fabric sat there, untouched—a tangible reminder of yet another unfinished project, another failure weighing on my chest.

That’s how it always seems to go. I dive in with all my energy, convinced that this time will be different, that this hobby will stick. I envision myself mastering it, turning it into something meaningful. But then, the passion fades. The excitement that once burned bright turns to ash overnight, and I can’t bring myself to care anymore. The tools, the supplies, the half-finished projects—they all become symbols of my inconsistency, my inability to follow through.

When the mood shifts, so does my motivation. The hobbies that once seemed like the key to happiness now feel overwhelming, pointless, or even embarrassing. I avoid looking at the unfinished projects because they remind me of all the times I’ve let myself and others down. The guilt is heavy, suffocating. I think about the money I’ve wasted, the enthusiasm I’ve burned through, the people who believed in me only to watch me walk away from yet another endeavor.

I still remember the look she gave me when she realized I wasn’t going to finish that chair. It was the moment her belief in me started to fade—the way days turned into weeks, and the excitement in her voice turned into quiet disappointment. We had imagined telling everyone who walked into our home, “We did that. We upholstered it. We made it ours.” But instead, it became another reminder that I was a project she couldn’t complete. I can’t forget that look. I don’t think I ever will.

And then comes the depression, when nothing feels worth doing at all. Even the thought of returning to a hobby feels exhausting. The same passion that once provided an escape now feels like a burden. I start wondering why I ever thought I could maintain an interest in anything long-term. The cycle repeats, over and over again.

Breaking the Cycle: Finding a New Perspective

I’m learning to make peace with this pattern. Instead of berating myself for abandoning hobbies, I try to see them as chapters rather than failures. Maybe I wasn’t meant to become a master upholsterer, but for a little while, I was someone who dreamed about giving old furniture new life. Maybe I won’t stick with every interest I pick up, but that doesn’t mean those experiences were meaningless.

I’ve started setting rules for myself—small ways to keep my impulses in check. I give myself a waiting period before making big purchases. I remind myself that it’s okay to return to old hobbies instead of constantly chasing new ones. I try to embrace the process rather than focusing on the end result.

Some hobbies fit better with different moods. When I’m feeling that manic rush of energy, I let myself explore creative projects that thrive on bursts of enthusiasm. When I’m in a depressive state, I turn to simple, repetitive tasks that don’t demand much from me—games, gardening, something I can do with my hands even when my mind feels sluggish.

Most importantly, I remind myself that I am not my hobbies. My worth isn’t measured by how many projects I complete or how long I stay interested in something. The cycle may never fully go away, but I can learn to navigate it with more self-compassion and less guilt.

You’re Not Alone

If you’ve struggled with this pattern, know that you’re not alone. You’re not lazy, and you’re not a failure. You are someone with a brain that craves new experiences but sometimes struggles to hold onto them. And that’s okay.

Every hobby, no matter how long it lasts, adds value to your life in its own way. Even if it’s just for a moment, that spark of passion was real. And that’s worth something.

Leave a comment if you can relate? what projects have you started, what new hobbies set you on fire, or what have you let slip away.