Onika L. Dainty

But shortly after I turned 33-years-old I lost my voice. And I’m not talking about losing your voice because you have a sore throat. For three days this past January 2016, I lost the ability to speak and no one could explain why. I got up one morning and I felt physically weak, disoriented and dizzy. I lived alone so I had no opportunity to say a word until I left for work. I remember taking an Uber in because I felt so unbalanced I could barely stand. When the driver said ‘good morning’ I attempted to reply, and the words came out slow and slurred.

I immediately called my mother and when I couldn’t reach her, I called my Grama Judie. I told her my symptoms and she said I should head to the hospital. For many reasons I dislike hospitals and refused to go, instead choosing the nearest walk-in clinic. I was barely in the door before I lost consciousness and collapsed. I was taken into one of the exam rooms and the nurse had called an ambulance. She was trying to keep me alert by asking questions, questions that I tried to answer but I couldn’t. I was confused and terrified because when I opened my mouth the answers I formulated in my head just wouldn’t come out.

The ambulance arrived and transferred me to St Michael’s Hospital in Toronto. By the time I arrived at the emergency room I had managed to give them basic information about myself as well as my phone to contact my mother. The doctors ran every test they could think of, they feared I may have had a stress induced stroke. The MRI, EKG and blood work came back normal. Because I disclosed my history of mental illness, the next step was a psychiatric evaluation. This was what I had been dreading.

It has been my experience that when a person suffers with mental illness, doctors tend to overlook physical symptoms and label the problem a psychological one then pass you off to the ER’s Psychiatric Crisis Team for assessment. I was terrified of being admitted to the psychiatric unit. I knew that the likelihood was this was a reaction to a new antidepressant I was taking but to admit that would be to risk getting admitted. Though it was a struggle I managed to make my wishes clear: There’s something physically wrong, I am not crazy, I do not feel like harming myself or others and I want to go home.

After asking me a series of questions that I was all too used to answering, the ER psychiatrist advised that she feared this may be psychosomatic but not something to be admitted over. My mother finally arrived, and the doctors cleared me to go home and have her monitor me for the next few days. The relief I felt was overwhelming.

During those three days of silence, I really started to question how I had gotten to this point. Maybe there was another reason, hidden deep inside myself that I was failing to examine. Since the new year started, I have been taking on more, pushing myself harder mentally, physically and emotionally. I was beginning to feel pressure at work, I was lacking in sleep, my appetite was non-existent, and I was running from the depression that historically took over my mind every Winter since I was 17-years-old.

I was doing too much, and I was wrestling with the darkest parts of myself. I was overwhelmed and I knew it had everything to do with my mental health challenges. I was tired of running from it, I was tired of keeping the secret of my mental disability from my friends, colleagues and anyone I had any significant connection with. It was like a gaping sore that refused to heal, that was a constant source of pain as if trying to tell me: Until you deal with me, I am not going anywhere.

I had been thinking about telling my story, telling the truth for a while and during this experience my mind was in a constant state of remembering. Remembering the dark reality of my past, retracing my steps to see where I could have changed things, worrying that once the carefully constructed mask that I had relied on for so long was crumbling in the face of this truth. Even though my voice was lost, my thoughts were finding their way to the surface. All the lies I had told to protect myself, all the things that I could only remember pieces of from all the times I lost my mind to the overwhelming sense of failure I felt every day since I was a child. I knew it was time to face all that I had done, all that I had been through. My body’s betrayal at this critical juncture of my life was telling me that if I were truly going to move forward, I had to speak my truth.

I was ready and I was not ready. I was certain and I was not certain. I was terrified and calm because I knew it was time for the words to come out. I knew if my voice returned, I had to use it to tell the story of a woman who was abused in so many ways; a woman who lost her mind so many times only to find it again; a woman who has done things she was ashamed of; a woman who survived when the odds were stacked against her.

I knew my story could help people like me see that it is possible to go through things, terrible, life-changing, dark and destructive things and still come out on the other side fighting and hopeful and determined to achieve the impossible. To come through everything while still having faith that the next step, the next journey, the next dream will be the right one, the better one, the one that will finally make you whole.

It is possible to believe that you can survive your pain, only suffering as long as it takes you to learn your lessons. Then you take that newfound knowledge and change your life into something authentic. I want to be a force for this kind of change in people’s lives, giving them hope that happiness lies beyond the darkest waters.

I have always known this was my purpose, but I hid my light for reasons that seemed far away and inconsequential in the face of losing my voice. It was a new kind of pain to think that I had wasted so many years hiding from the world, hiding from myself that now, when I was on the precipice of taking my place and serving my purpose, there was this new obstacle that I was not sure I could overcome.

If all the world’s a stage like Shakespeare once wrote, then those three voiceless days were my version of stage fright. I learned that as much as I was afraid of the truth, if I continued to hold it in, I was in danger of losing the opportunity all together. The labour of having to force out every word, syllable by syllable, at a snail’s pace as if I had never spoken before was eye-opening.

I thought to myself, “What now Onika? You have all these words locked inside your mind, you have hoarded all your experiences, all that knowledge and wisdom never really sharing it with anyone and now you have finally found some courage to speak your truth, and you have lost your voice…you have lost your way.” When my voice did return slowly over the following days, the relief I felt was palpable. It was like being given a second chance to start my purpose-filled, passion-filled journey.

It’s time to embrace something that has always been difficult for me—change. I need to be fearless and learn to embrace change like a warm hug instead of running from the danger of the unknown. I have to embrace the journey I am on and pray to God that He will be there to catch me if I fall again and to keep me grounded when I finally rise.

Final Thought

In 2016 fear had a strangle hold on me. I was living a lie believing that if I told the truth about my Bipolar diagnosis to my new employer, colleagues and friends I feared rejection, I feared isolation and I feared I would lose my job. I believed my disability was a deficit and a detriment to the new life I was trying to build in a new city. After years of manic episodes, depressive episodes and hospitalizations I convinced myself running from the truth of my circumstances was the only way. I thought reinventing myself based on a lie would keep me safe and would lead to my ultimate success. 

But the opposite occurred, all the lying and deception and running away from my truth took a mental, spiritual and ultimately physical toll on my body. It was my mama that taught me the lesson “Speak the truth and speak it always cost it what it may.” and in 2016 not telling the truth about a significant part of my life cost me my voice. I became lost in a lie and I remember bargaining with God that if I got my voice back I would use it to share the truth about my lived experience with Bipolar disorder, the good, the bad and all the ugly bits in between. That experience taught me how dangerous fear can really be and I am so grateful my temporary paralysis lifted and I’m presently living in the light of my truth. 

A Bipolar Woman’s Self-Reflection on Fear is a series of entries that will allow you a window into my past and insight on my present and the lessons I’ve learned over the years that have put fear in my rearview mirror. 

I used to feel sorry for myself, believing that my diagnosis was a curse. But the more I learned about myself and my condition, the more I realized that Bipolar has been one of the most significant shaping forces in my life—shaping not only how I view the world but how I view myself.

This is my journey of discovering how Bipolar disorder helped form my identity, not as a victim but as a fighter, a survivor, and someone who strives to make the most out of every high and low.

Embracing Bipolar Disorder as a Gift, Not a Curse

In the beginning, Bipolar disorder felt like a heavy burden I couldn’t escape. The mood swings, the unpredictability of manic highs followed by depressive lows—it was overwhelming. There were days when I felt defeated, unable to cope, and trapped by my own mind. It’s easy to fall into the trap of self-pity in those moments. I used to feel sorry for myself, convincing myself that life had dealt me a bad hand.

But one day, something changed. When I began to study Peer Support, I gained knowledge and understanding that everything that I had endured over the years could be used to help others like me who felt lost trying to navigate the complex world of mental health. I realized that my illness wasn’t a curse—it was a gift, something I could use to effect positive change in others struggling. No, it didn’t always feel like a gift. Some days, it still doesn’t. But what Bipolar disorder has given me is a unique perspective on life. It has taught me to fight, to become more resilient, and to recognize my inner strength.

A Fighter and Survivor: Owning My Resilience

Living with Bipolar disorder has made me resilient in ways I never thought possible. It’s one thing to face external challenges, but when the battle is inside your own head, it forces you to develop a different kind of toughness. You can’t run from it or escape it. You have to face it head-on, every day. And that’s exactly what I’ve done.

I no longer feel like a victim. I’m not someone who blames others or uses Bipolar disorder as a scapegoat for bad behavior. Accountability is one of the most important lessons I’ve learned through this journey. It’s easy to shift blame when life feels out of control, but taking responsibility for my choices has been empowering.

There’s a stereotype that people with Bipolar disorder can be unpredictable or make poor choices and then blame their illness for it. But I’ve never allowed myself to fall into that pattern. Yes, my condition affects my mood and my energy, but it doesn’t control my actions. I choose how I respond to those fluctuations. Accountability is key.

Bipolar Disorder: My Superpower of Self-Awareness

Self-awareness is perhaps the greatest gift that Bipolar disorder has given me. The mood swings, while challenging, force me to tune into my emotions on a level that many people never have to. I’m constantly checking in with myself, assessing how I feel and why. This level of introspection has made me more aware of not only my emotional state but also my triggers, my strengths, and my limitations.

In a world where so many people are on autopilot, never stopping to reflect on their inner world, I’ve been given the opportunity—perhaps even the necessity—of deep self-reflection. This awareness has made me more in tune with my needs, helping me recognize when I need to slow down, ask for help, or take a break. It’s also given me the insight to make healthier choices, and it has improved my relationships, allowing me to communicate more clearly with the people around me.

Knowing more about myself has boosted my confidence, both in managing my disorder and in navigating life in general. When you understand what makes you tick, you gain control over your own narrative. And for someone with a mood disorder, that’s a powerful thing.

Advocacy and Finding My Voice

One of the most significant ways Bipolar disorder has shaped my identity is in my role as an advocate—not just for myself, but for others in the mental health community. For years, I hid my condition, afraid of judgment or being seen as “less than.” But the more I learned to accept Bipolar as part of my identity, the more I realized how many people were struggling in silence, just like I had.

That’s when I knew I had to speak up. I started sharing my story, opening up about my experiences, and advocating for mental health awareness. I’m not afraid to talk about Bipolar disorder anymore. In 2019 I had the courage to share my experiences on a national platform when I became one of five people chosen to be The Face of Mental Illness for Bell Let’s Talk, a national campaign promoting mental health awareness. I take pride in being able to educate others, to break down the stigma that so often surrounds mental health conditions.

This advocacy isn’t just for others; it’s for myself too. By standing up for mental health awareness, I’ve become an advocate for my own needs. I’ve learned to set boundaries, to ask for support when I need it, and to be unapologetic about prioritizing my mental well-being.

Bipolar and the Power of Positivity

It might seem counterintuitive to associate positivity with Bipolar disorder, but I’ve found that practicing positivity has been a crucial part of my journey. When you’re dealing with mood swings and unpredictable emotions, it’s easy to get caught in a cycle of negativity. But I’ve made a conscious choice to focus on the positive aspects of my life—and even of my disorder.

Yes, Bipolar disorder brings challenges. But it’s also brought me closer to the people I care about, allowed me to tap into a wellspring of creativity, and given me a deep sense of empathy for others who are struggling. I’ve become more compassionate, more patient, and more appreciative of the good days. I focus on the positives, not because the negatives don’t exist, but because I choose not to let them define me.

Hope has been a constant companion on this journey. It’s what gets me through the tough days and reminds me that every low will eventually pass. My hope isn’t naive; it’s grounded in experience. I’ve lived through enough episodes to know that even the darkest times don’t last forever. That’s why I’m fearless when it comes to facing my condition. I know that whatever comes next, I can handle it.

Bipolar Disorder: Fuel for Creativity and Insight

One of the more unexpected gifts of Bipolar disorder has been its effect on my creativity. During my manic phases, I experience bursts of energy, creativity, and inspiration that feel almost unstoppable. I’ve channeled that energy into various creative outlets—writing, art, music. These moments of creative flow have given me a deep appreciation for my mind's capacity to think outside the box, to innovate, and to create beauty even from chaos.

Of course, the depressive phases can be debilitating, and they often sap my energy and creativity. But even in those moments, I’ve learned to tap into a different kind of insight—one that comes from reflection, from sitting with my emotions and understanding them on a deeper level. This balance between the highs and lows has taught me to appreciate both states of being, each bringing its own form of wisdom and growth.

Faith, Self-Love, and Acceptance

Over the years, Bipolar disorder has forced me to cultivate self-love and acceptance. In the beginning, I struggled with feelings of shame, wondering why I couldn’t just be “normal.” But the more I’ve embraced my condition, the more I’ve come to see that “normal” is subjective. There’s no one right way to live or to be, and my experience with Bipolar disorder is just one of many paths.

This acceptance has strengthened my faith—not just in a higher power, but in myself. I have faith in my ability to navigate life’s challenges, to rise above the lows, and to keep moving forward even when things feel difficult. This faith is rooted in self-love. I’ve learned to love myself not in spite of Bipolar disorder, but because of it. It’s made me who I am, and for that, I’m grateful.

Final Thoughts: Bipolar Disorder as a Catalyst for Growth

Living with Bipolar Disorder is not easy, and it’s not something I would wish on anyone. But for me, it has been a catalyst for personal growth and transformation. It has shaped my identity in profound ways, teaching me resilience, self-awareness, accountability, and compassion.

I no longer view Bipolar disorder as a curse. Instead, I see it as part of my journey—one that has made me stronger, more self-aware, and more connected to the world around me. It has given me the opportunity to become an advocate, to practice positivity, and to embrace my creativity.

Most importantly, Bipolar disorder has taught me that we are not defined by our struggles, but by how we choose to respond to them. And for that, I am grateful. If you're interested in further exploring the journey of managing Bipolar disorder, be sure to check out my blog, "How to Start Managing Bipolar Disorder: A Comprehensive Guide." It’s filled with valuable insights and tips to help you along the way.