Showing posts with label access mental healthcare. Show all posts
Showing posts with label access mental healthcare. Show all posts

Sunday, May 10, 2026

Inside Psychiatric Hospitalization in Ontario: A Lived Experience Guide to Units, Holds, and Healing Within the System

 

Inside Psychiatric Hospitalization in Ontario
A Lived Experience Guide to Units, Holds, and Healing Within the System

Why I Needed to Write This

There are experiences that change the way you see systems forever.

For me, psychiatric hospitalization was one of them.

I’ve been admitted in different ways, in different settings, at different points in my life when things were no longer manageable on my own. Sometimes it was an emergency. Sometimes it was a decision I didn’t fully understand until I was already inside it.

What I remember most is not just the clinical side of it, but the emotional side. The confusion. The fear. The silence. The waiting. The moments where I wasn’t sure if I was safe, or if I had simply been removed from the world I knew.

This series is not about explaining the system from the outside.

It is about what it felt like to be inside it.

And how I’ve come to understand those experiences with time, distance, and reflection.

The Series: My Experience With Psychiatric Hospitalization

This page connects a four-part series exploring psychiatric care in Ontario through lived experience.

Each piece reflects a different layer of the system.

Part 1: Behind Locked Doors

A Lived Experience of Psychiatric Hospitalization

There is a moment I still remember clearly.

Arriving in an ambulance. Moving through doors I didn’t choose to walk through. Sitting in a space that felt both protective and unfamiliar at the same time.

Psychiatric hospitalization was not one experience. It changed depending on where I was, how I arrived, and what state I was in emotionally.

What I learned is that being hospitalized is not just about treatment. It is about disorientation. About losing control of your environment and trying to understand what safety looks like when everything feels unfamiliar.

This piece reflects on what it actually feels like to be inside that experience.

Read the full blog: Behind Locked Doors

Part 2: 72 Hours in the System

A Personal Look at Psychiatric Holds and the Path Back to Myself

There was a time when my life changed direction in less than a minute.

One moment I was in a conversation. The next I was being told I could not leave.

The idea of a “72-hour hold” sounds simple when you hear it from the outside. Temporary. Short. Controlled.

But from the inside, it feels very different.

Time stretches. Thoughts race. Emotions shift between fear, confusion, and stillness I couldn’t explain.

This piece explores what those early hours felt like and how disorienting it can be to suddenly exist inside a system you didn’t choose.

Read the full blog: 72 Hours in the System

Part 3: What Helped While I Was Locked In

Resources Within Psychiatric Units That Supported My Healing

When I first entered psychiatric care, I didn’t expect to find support.

I expected restriction. Observation. Waiting.

But over time, I began to notice small things that made a difference. Routines that helped ground me. Conversations that made me feel less alone. Spaces where I could breathe a little easier, even in a difficult environment.

Support didn’t always look the way I thought it would.

Sometimes it was structure. Sometimes it was conversation. Sometimes it was just the quiet presence of being around others who were also trying to make sense of their own experience.

This piece explores those moments of support that existed within the system itself.

Read the full blog: What Helped While I Was Locked In

Part 4: Psychiatric Units vs Psychiatric Hospitals in Ontario

Where Healing Happens and How

Not all psychiatric care environments feel the same.

I’ve experienced both general hospital psychiatric units and standalone psychiatric hospitals, and the difference between them is not just structural. It is emotional.

One can feel fast, clinical, and transitional. The other can feel slower, more contained, sometimes more structured for longer-term support.

What stood out to me most was not just how care was delivered, but how the environment shaped how I experienced my own mind inside it.

This piece reflects on those differences from a lived perspective, not a clinical one.

Read the full blog: Psychiatric Units vs Hospitals in Ontario

What I’ve Learned Through These Experiences

Looking back, I no longer see psychiatric hospitalization as one single story.

It is a collection of moments that felt overwhelming, confusing, and sometimes even grounding in ways I didn’t understand at the time.

I’ve learned that systems are not just structures. They are environments that shape how people feel, think, and recover during some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives.

And while those environments are not always easy to be inside, they are often where some of the most important turning points happen.

Being Inside the System and Still Being Human

One of the most important things I’ve come to understand is this:

Being in a psychiatric hospital does not remove your humanity.

Even in moments where I felt stripped of control, overwhelmed, or unsure of what was happening next, I was still a person trying to understand my own experience.

I was still someone with a life beyond the room I was sitting in. Still someone with history, relationships, and a future I couldn’t fully see at the time.

This series is not about the system alone.

It is about what it means to stay human inside it.

Explore the Full Series

With that in mind

If you have ever been inside a psychiatric care environment, or supported someone who has, you may already know this:

There is no single way it feels.

But there is always a person inside it.

And that person matters.
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Psychiatric Hospitals vs. Psychiatric Units in Ontario: Where Healing Happens and How - Part 4

 

Psychiatric Hospitals vs. Psychiatric Units in Ontario: Where Healing Happens and How - Part 4 of 4

Two Systems, One Journey

I have entered both psychiatric systems in very different ways. I have been restrained on a gurney, placed in isolation, and moved from one unit to another without control. I have also walked into a psychiatric hospital voluntarily, supported and hopeful for healing, and been met with kindness.

Despite these differences, one truth remained. Once the doors closed, I felt trapped. My autonomy was gone, and strangers controlled my path forward. My life paused, often indefinitely, without a clear roadmap back to myself or to freedom.

Whether in a general hospital psychiatric unit or a specialized psychiatric hospital, the emotional experience begins the same. Fear. Anxiety. Uncertainty. A sense of entering a world where your autonomy is no longer yours.

Psychiatric units became familiar to me. They followed a predictable pattern. A 72-hour hold, often involving restraints and isolation, followed by involuntary admission, medication, stabilization, and eventual discharge. A cycle that felt repetitive and transactional.

My first experience in a psychiatric hospital was different. While fear was still present, I did not feel unsafe. It took time, and a few emotional outbursts, to realize that restraints and long-term isolation were not part of the hospital’s approach. That realization created a sense of safety and allowed me to begin regulating my emotions.

I learned that environment shapes emotional experience. The same vulnerabilities existed in both settings, but the outcomes felt very different.

Psychiatric Hospitals vs. Psychiatric Units: Defining the Difference

One of the clearest differences between these systems is how they respond to crisis, especially during acute psychosis.

PICU vs. PICA

In a general hospital Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU), I was often restrained and placed in isolation when my symptoms escalated. These experiences left me feeling dehumanized and emotionally raw. They did not support my ability to regulate or move toward clarity.

At Ontario Shores, I was introduced to the Psychiatric Intensive Care Area (PICA). While it serves a similar purpose, the approach is different. There are no restraints or long-term isolation. Instead, patients are placed in a low-stimulation environment with one-on-one support, allowing time and space to stabilize.

I spent 10 days in this environment before transitioning back to the general unit. It was one of my shortest stabilization periods. That experience showed me how structure and environment can change how a crisis feels and how quickly healing can begin.

More broadly, psychiatric units are typically part of general hospitals. They are designed for short-term, crisis-focused care. Psychiatric hospitals are standalone facilities that provide longer-term treatment in a more structured, therapeutic environment.

Crisis vs. Continuum: The Emotional Pace of Care

The pace of care in each setting plays a significant role in emotional stability and recovery.

Psychiatric units operate with urgency. The goal is stabilization. Patients move quickly through assessment, medication, and discharge. This can feel efficient, but it often lacks a bridge between crisis and long-term recovery. I came to see this as a cycle. Stabilize, medicate, discharge, repeat.

In contrast, psychiatric hospitals move at a slower, more deliberate pace. There is space for reflection, participation in care, and rebuilding. The focus extends beyond symptom management to include structure, routine, and sustainable habits that support long-term mental health.

In one environment, the priority is crisis. In the other, it is continuity.

What the Environment Feels Like

The physical environment deeply impacts emotional wellbeing.

Psychiatric units can feel overwhelming. Bright fluorescent lights, constant noise, and a clinical atmosphere can heighten anxiety and disrupt sleep. The energy is often chaotic, which can be difficult for someone already navigating a mental health crisis.

Psychiatric hospitals feel different. They are quieter, more structured, and designed with healing in mind. Natural light, calmer spaces, and a slower pace create a sense of stability. These elements support emotional regulation and allow the nervous system to settle.

Environment alone does not create healing, but it can make healing more possible.

The People You Meet Inside Each Setting

Relationships within each setting also differ.

In acute care units like the PICU, patients are often in crisis. Emotions run high, and connections can be intense but unstable. Interactions are shaped by proximity and shared distress rather than long-term compatibility. These relationships are often temporary and driven by survival.

In psychiatric hospitals, connections can feel deeper. Patients are more stable, more present, and able to engage meaningfully. However, even these relationships are often temporary. Once discharged, lives diverge, and connections fade.

In both settings, shared experience creates moments of understanding. But ultimately, each person is navigating their own path to recovery.

What Healing Feels Like in Each Environment

Healing is not linear, and it is not tied to one setting alone.

In psychiatric units, healing often looks like stabilization. It is intense, urgent, and sometimes uncomfortable. In my experience, it has included restraints and isolation. While difficult, these moments did bring me out of acute psychosis and into a space where healing could begin.

In psychiatric hospitals, healing feels different. It is slower, more intentional, and focused on rebuilding. Structure, routine, and consistent support create the conditions for emotional stability and long-term recovery.

Both environments play a role. One interrupts crisis. The other supports growth.

Final Thoughts

Psychiatric Units vs. Psychiatric Hospitals

Both Places Hold Trauma and Hope

My experiences in both settings have been complex. Confinement, whether short-term or long-term, is never easy. There are practices within the system that must evolve, particularly the use of restraints and isolation.

At the same time, I recognize that both environments have contributed to my recovery. Each has played a role in stabilizing my mental health and guiding me back toward myself.

What made the greatest difference was not the system alone, but the people within it. The nurses, doctors, and fellow patients who showed empathy, understanding, and humanity during some of my most vulnerable moments.

Mental health care is not perfect. It is evolving. But within its complexity, there are still opportunities for healing, growth, and connection.

Different environments. Shared humanity. Both shaping my journey toward recovery and emotional stability.

Question to my readers:

Have you experienced different care environments, and how did they shape your sense of safety, identity, or healing?

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Saturday, January 4, 2025

Life Lessons Series: The Three Things in Life That You Can’t Get Back Once They Are Gone - My Daddy

Life Lessons Series: The Three Things in Life That You Can’t Get Back Once They Are Gone - My Daddy

Life Lesson #2

“There are three things in life that you can’t get back once they are gone. A shot arrow, a lost opportunity and the spoken word.” - My Daddy

My father is a man of very few words, at times, then there are other times his speech and presence commands a room through the magic of his storytelling. When it comes to me however, growing up my father said very little but what he did share with his eldest daughter was life lessons in the form of poetic advice that opened my mind and settled deep in the soul of my consciousness where I could reach them anytime or anywhere and at every point in my life. All that was required of me was that I listen, remember and apply his sage advice. The following memory is a seemingly insignificant story of spilt milk and how my father made this mishap into one of the most profound life lessons I have ever learned.


When I was seven years old I spilt an entire carton of buttermilk on my mom’s loveseat. I was attempting to churn butter, something I had learned on a recent school trip. I begged my mom to buy a carton of buttermilk so I could attempt to replicate this incredible process of turning liquid into solid butter and after much hesitation and a child’s persistence my mother gave in and bought me a litre carton of the milk. It was a Saturday morning when I would begin my project. Before I started, I jumped on the loveseat, grabbed the remote control and turned on the television to my usual Saturday morning cartoons. I then entered our apartment kitchen, went into the refrigerator to retrieve the buttermilk then headed to the bottom cupboard where my mom stored a myriad of old butter containers she reused as tupperware and refused to throw away. 


I sat down on my mother’s loveseat and began the process of shaking the buttermilk in the butter container, just as the kids were taught on our school trip. I shook and shook and shook periodically checking if milk had turned to creamy butter. Eventually my seven year old hands got tired and slippery so I decided to take a break and watch cartoons instead. As I put the butter container on the seat beside me, and shifted my focus to Bugs Bunny. The butter bowl tipped and thick, half-churned buttermilk spilled onto the right side cushion of my mother’s beloved brown loveseat. My parents hadn’t quite gotten up for the morning, so using my 7-year-old logic I took the opportunity to turn over the offended cushion to the cleaner side because I figured what they didn’t know I couldn’t get in trouble for.


I continued on with my morning routine of cartoons and dry Frosted Flakes, then my day filled with playing with my toys and my weekend in anxiety waiting to be caught for my actions. But time passed and nothing was said so by Monday morning when it was time to go to school I had stopped worrying about the split milk and by week’s end the milk was a distant memory. However, on Saturday morning, one full week after Milk-gate my mother noticed a funny smell that permeated the apartment. I sat silently on the left side of the love seat knowing what was assaulting my mothers senses and watched her frantically try to find the origins of the offending odor. My mom, in an accusatory fashion asked my father if he knew where the smell was coming from and he non-committally shrugged his shoulders as if to say “What smell?” which drove my mother crazy. Then she turned to me and asked, “Onika do you know where that smell is coming from?”


With a straight face and all the cowardly courage I felt in that moment I said “No,” I lied to my mother, not for the first time or the last in my lifetime but this was a significant moment in the history of my lies because in the past I could always remember telling a lie or making up a story because I didn’t know the truth. I always tried to tell the truth but this time the lie was for purely selfish reasons even if that reason was self-preservation. After an hour of tearing through our apartment my mother gave up and left to do her weekly grocery shop.   


It was just me and my dad now. He called me over to sit beside him and in a quiet knowing tone he said, “Onika LaToya, tell me about the spilt milk” then he reached over to the adjacent love seat and flipped over the offended cushion, the one one the right side, the one I had been avoiding all week, the one that in my heart I knew hadn’t disappeared but was waiting in the wings to destroy me. At that moment I hated butter, I hated buttermilk and I hated that smelly loveseat. I felt absolute terror at what my father was going to do..this was his reaction:


He earnestly looked me in the eyes as if to say,’Little girl I’ve got nothing but time and all day to waste it.” So panicked, the truth came rushing out. I told him about school, the bullying and my hopes that making the best butter in class would make it stop; I told him about spilling the milk on the love seat the week before and I told him that I had lied to mom. After barely taking a breath during my confession tears stained my cheeks, my dad opened his arms and I ran to him. He comforted me, stroked my hair and soothed me back to myself. He knew he had a highly emotional daughter that often allowed herself to get swept away in those emotions. Then my dad did something I will never forget– he laughed out loud.


Then he said, “ Onika LaToya I’ve been sitting in sour milk stink for a week now, you think I didn’t know it was you that split the milk? I just wanted you to be the one to tell mom or me what you had done. Up til now your mom still blames me but we both know the truth don’t we? And it’s too late to tell your mother, the damage has been done and can’t be undone.”


My dad’s face became somber and he looked at me squarely in the eyes to impart a lesson I haven’t forgotten to this day. This lesson has been my moral compass and my guiding light when I was lost and unsure what direction to choose. “Onika LaToya, sweetheart, there are three things in life you can’t get back once they are gone: a lost opportunity, a shot arrow and the spoken word.”


He continued, “You had an opportunity last week to tell your mom the truth and you didn’t because you were afraid. Instead of telling your mom the truth you lied again because you were afraid. And darling you must always be careful with the arrows you shoot because once it leaves the bow it can end up in the air, in the ground or in someone's heart.”


My daddy taught me to always be fearless in the face of opportunity, speak the truth and be careful where I shoot my shots. It took me years to understand what he meant that day but a lesson learned as a result of childhood follies is a lesson learned for life. I also learned that morning that the only thing you can get back once you’ve made a mistake is love, forgiveness and understanding but it may not always be the case. Thanks Daddy for teaching me this valuable lesson, for your forgiveness and love when I shoot first and think later.

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Monday, December 23, 2024

Access to Mental Healthcare: Challenges Faced by Women with Bipolar Disorder

Access to Mental Healthcare: Challenges Faced by Women with Bipolar Disorder

Access to mental healthcare is a vital issue that affects millions, but as a woman living with Bipolar disorder, I can attest that we face unique challenges that can hinder our treatment journey. Did you know that women are more likely to experience mood disorders, and the impact of Bipolar disorder on our lives is often compounded by societal expectations and stigma? In this blog, I want to share the various barriers we encounter in seeking mental healthcare, the implications of these challenges, and possible pathways to better support and resources. Let’s navigate this crucial topic together.

Understanding Bipolar Disorder in Women

Bipolar disorder is a complex mental health condition characterized by extreme mood swings, including emotional highs (Mania or Hypomania) and lows (Depression). As a woman, I have experienced the unique symptoms and manifestations of Bipolar disorder, which can complicate diagnosis and treatment. Statistics show that while Bipolar disorder affects both genders, we women are more likely to experience depressive episodes and rapid cycling between moods. Understanding these differences is essential for addressing the specific challenges we face.

Barriers to Accessing Mental Healthcare

Stigma and Misunderstanding

One of the most significant barriers we face is the stigma associated with mental health issues. Society often devalues individuals with mental illness, making us feel alienated and shameful for seeking help. I’ve encountered this firsthand. I once shared my struggles with my mental health, only to be told, “Oh Onika! Don’t be so dramatic. Just put on some lipstick, bake a cake, and you will be fine!” Such dismissive attitudes can deter women from pursuing the help we desperately need.

Financial Challenges

In an ideal world, all mental healthcare would be free; however, this is not the case. In Canada, while our government subsidizes mental healthcare services, we often face long waitlists for psychiatrists and overcrowded emergency rooms. For those of us without insurance, the financial burden of private therapy can add another layer of difficulty. I’ve learned that being patient yet persistent in seeking free or low-cost resources can make a significant difference in our journey toward mental wellness.

Cultural Factors

Growing up in a Guyanese household, I experienced pressure to endure my struggles without seeking professional help. When I finally sought help as a teenager, I found myself feeling alone in my journey, even with my mother’s support. Later, when I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, my mom tried to “pray the cray away” instead of helping me navigate the complex mental healthcare system. Cultural beliefs can create barriers that hinder our ability to advocate for our mental health needs, making it crucial to raise awareness and foster understanding within families and communities.

The Role of Support Systems

Building a strong support system is vital for women navigating mental healthcare. This support doesn’t always have to come from family; trusted friends or mentors can provide the guidance and understanding we need. I am fortunate to have a mental health mentor who has been my fiercest advocate, helping me navigate the healthcare system when I can’t advocate for myself. Having someone who understands our challenges can empower us, making us feel less isolated and more capable of pursuing the care we need.

Navigating Treatment Options

Accessing mental healthcare is just one part of our journey. It is essential to have a comprehensive treatment plan that includes therapy, medication, and lifestyle changes. Women with Bipolar disorder benefit from personalized treatment plans that consider our unique needs. Although I prefer face-to-face interactions, I recognize the growing importance of telehealth services in reducing wait times and increasing accessibility to care.

Strategies for Improving Access to Care

Advocacy is crucial for improving mental healthcare access. We need to work together to push for policy changes that enhance mental health resources and services. Community-based programs that address our specific needs can play a vital role in creating supportive environments. Additionally, providing resources to help us navigate the healthcare system effectively is essential in promoting better access to care.

Final Thoughts

Access to mental healthcare for women with Bipolar disorder is fraught with challenges that can significantly impact our well-being. By understanding these barriers and advocating for better resources and support, we can improve the mental health landscape for ourselves and others. It’s time to start having conversations that take us beyond the stigma so we can enhance access to care, and empower those affected by Bipolar disorder. The road we must walk is full of barriers to change but if we come together as a community of like-minded supporters of mental health advocacy change will surely come. If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out for support—remember you are not alone on this journey to mental wellness.

Coming Soon

I have also decided to share with you the lessons that inspired me to be fearless and relentless in my pursuit of happiness and success. I will be posting the life lessons that have shaped and influenced my personal growth and development. A Bipolar Woman’s Self-Reflection: 42 Years of Lessons series begins on December 30, 2024, my 42nd Birthday. It is my hope that these lessons will touch your lives and inspire positive change on your journey to wellness.  


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