Gabrielle Anwar: An Exclusive Interview – A candid, as-told-to essay reveals the actress's journey battling bipolar disorder, from childhood trauma to Hollywood stardom. This intimate conversation explores her emotional struggles, acting career (including *Scent of a Woman*), and path to diagnosis. Edited for clarity and impact
When I look back at old family photo albums, I see a little girl who looks hollow and vacant. I now understand why.
My parents didn’t have the tools to help me. Like many from their generation, they lacked the vocabulary and empathy we now have around mental health.
By the time I hit adolescence, I was emotionally unstable. I believe I had my first manic episode around age 11 when I started menstruating. I was expelled from school and deeply ashamed. I began to realize that my reactions were disproportionate; everything was either euphoric or devastating. There was no middle ground.
I landed my first role in a BBC miniseries at the age of 16. Acting made me feel alive, even as I battled depression privately. When I moved to Los Angeles after falling in love with an American actor, I landed a Warner Bros. film within days of arriving. I was 23 when I filmed “Scent of a Woman,” including that now iconic tango scene with Al Pacino.
On screen, I could channel my emotional extremes into my characters. Behind the scenes, I was drowning. I had my first child, Willow, at the age of 23. She was conceived during a one-night stand after my breakup with the actor I came to America for. We got back together, and he became her father figure, whom she called “Daddy,” but our relationship wasn’t great.
Eventually, I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital. That’s when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It was both a relief and a heartbreak. Relief that my pain had a name. Heartbreak that there was no cure.
For years, I resisted medication. I was vegan, holistic, and saw pharmaceuticals as a flaw, something shameful. And honestly, I didn’t want to lose the highs of mania; they made me feel powerful.
But the lows were unbearable. I experienced violent rages that frightened the people I loved. I once punched my now-husband in the face twice during an episode early in our relationship. I thought he’d walk away. Instead, he stayed. He loved all of me, even the broken parts.
It took until my 40s to find the right medication, the right brand, dosage, and combination. It was a process, and I want people to know that. Healing doesn’t happen overnight.
Motherhood was my purpose, but I wasn’t always good at it. I was too consumed with survival and chasing success. I wasn’t emotionally available for my children in the ways they needed. That’s something I’ll always regret.
But becoming a grandmother has given me a second chance. My daughter and I have rebuilt our relationship, something we once thought impossible. Now, we’re in a beautiful place. And I get to be the kind of loving, present force for my granddaughter (who was born in 2024) that I wasn’t able to be for my kids.
I used to think I was broken. Now I know I’m whole. I’m not perfect, but I’m here, I’m healthy, and I’m doing the work. And that, to me, is the real happy ending.
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