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When the Light Fades: Let's Talk About Depression and Its Role in Bipolar Disorder - Part 2 of 5The Heavy Quiet, When the Light FadesDepression is not just sadness. It can feel like emotional dimming, identity loss, and disconnection from self, especially when experienced with Bipolar disorder. When I am experiencing “low mood,” I feel completely numb to the world around me. My low moods are sudden, and the physical side effects are apparent. My energy feels completely drained, like a battery that has suddenly used its last drop of power and become a solid mass with nothing left to offer. Though it still looks like a battery, it may even appear as if the battery still has power, but it does not. It is essentially empty. That is how I describe what depression does to my body and mind. It leaves me like a battery with no power. I appear to be myself, however upon closer examination, the first characteristic people say is missing is my “ever-present energy.” I can remember the first morning I felt like a drained battery. I was 16-years-old, and my grandmother came into my room one morning, as she did every morning, to wake me up for school. She called out to me once, twice, three times, and although I could hear her calling, I simply could not move. I could not even respond to her in any coherent way. After she walked out of my room to wake my little sister, I tried to move and couldn’t. I became fearful that something was seriously wrong, and it was. I did not have the energy to speak, and I felt extremely tired. Shortly after, my mind and body succumbed to exhaustion, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was disoriented and still tired. My room was pitch black, and outside was covered in darkness. The trees were cloaked in shadows, and the only gleam breaking through the night came from the streetlights. I stared at those lights, wondering how I could have slept that long and why I still felt drained of all energy. I stared out my window at the glow of the streetlight until even that light faded into darkness, into sleep, into oblivion. For some, depression comes swiftly, like a sudden shift. For others, it is a slower onset brought on by any number of factors. In my experience, depression can come on very quickly depending on the negative situation, such as death, job loss, post-hospitalization, medication changes, or even the time change during Daylight Saving Time. It feels like one day I am functioning at my baseline energy level, then I go to sleep and wake up the next day unable to get out of bed. Externally, I may appear calm, but I am unable to show the fear and anxiety that would normally have my body trembling, or cry the tears of frustration my mind wants to release. Instead, there is a complete absence of emotional expression on my face and an internal heaviness that nauseates my stomach. Depression does not always arrive loudly. Sometimes, it settles quietly and deeply. This blog focuses on my lived experience with depressive episodes within Bipolar disorder. I will attempt to help you understand what depressive states feel like, how Bipolar depression can feel distinct from general sadness, and the emotional weight, identity shift, and internal silence that can come with it. What Is Depression, Really?Unlike sadness, which is usually situational and passes, depression begins for me when sadness does not pass. When sadness becomes a persistent low mood and emotional disconnection, I know I am starting to feel depressed. When my grandmother passed away in 2004, I shifted from sadness into debilitating emotional pain that crippled me. I was unable to get out of bed. I started using substances to numb the pain, which quickly became part of my depressive journey. I was not simply lacking motivation for activities of daily living. I stopped caring. I did not care that I was in my fourth year of university, my toughest year, or that I had thesis papers overdue. I did not care about hygiene practices like brushing my teeth, doing my hair, or taking a shower. The only thought I was fixated on was that my grandmother was gone, and she was never coming back. I stayed in bed for days and weeks at a time, not eating, not really sleeping, but simply immobilized, staring at a fixed object, the floor, or the ceiling, thinking about her. Grief can be a powerful catalyst for depression. According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, also known as the DSM-5, there are several types of depressive disorders, including: Persistent Depressive Disorder Over the years, I have struggled with four of the above: Treatment-Resistant Depression, Situational Depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder, and Bipolar disorder with symptoms of depression. For each condition, depression presented itself differently. With Treatment-Resistant Depression, which I experienced early in my mental health journey, I had night terrors, sweats, trouble staying asleep, and dangerous thoughts related to my own life. My psychiatrist at the time tried several different antidepressants with similar results and recognized that the depressive symptoms I experienced as a result of Bipolar disorder could not be treated with standard depression medication alone. With Situational Depression caused by experiences like job loss or the end of a romantic relationship, I found that although I experienced depressive symptoms such as sleep disturbance and low energy, my moods would shift from day to day or week to week. Often, visits from friends, a good conversation with my mom, or support from another relative was enough to lift my spirits and give me hope that the depression would eventually come to its natural conclusion. The depression that comes with Seasonal Affective Disorder has always been the most challenging for me because of how long it lasts. When Daylight Saving Time ends on the first Sunday in November, I can feel depression creeping into my system two to three weeks before. I become extremely tired as it gets darker earlier. I lose motivation for activities of daily living, and like an animal in hibernation, I sleep for most of the day, only getting up to use the bathroom or get something to eat. My energy for tasks like writing or exercise becomes almost non-existent. This lethargy typically lasts throughout the winter until Daylight Saving Time begins on the second Sunday in March. There are pockets of energy during this time that allow me to perform simple tasks like cleaning my house, practicing good hygiene, going to church, or visiting my parents. However, these bursts of energy are few and far between. Bipolar Depression: A Different Kind of LowBipolar disorder includes both high moods and low moods, each characterized by a unique set of symptoms. With Bipolar depression, those who experience it can feel emotionally flattened or disconnected from the world around them, especially from the people who want to help them in their recovery journey. During these depressive episodes, it can be difficult to explain your internal emotional state. Often, the only words that come close are “empty,” “drained,” or “nothing.” Bipolar depression is far different from general sadness because it can feel like there is no clear beginning or end point. One minute you are living, breathing, and part of the world around you, and then suddenly the world goes black, blurred, and empty. The space your world used to fill becomes hollow. You are empty. You have no idea why it happened, how it happened, when it will go away, or even how you feel about being enveloped in nothingness. All you can do is wait until it passes and hope you make it through another depressive episode. The depressive symptoms I experience as a result of Bipolar disorder feel like what I have just described. These symptoms come in cycles, usually lasting two to three weeks before my mind shifts back toward mania or psychosis. Naturally, my baseline leans toward hypomania: high energy, high productivity. But when I am experiencing depression during a Bipolar episode, I become very still, and my mind cannot hold onto a thought. It feels like a brain drain. Where thoughts are supposed to live, there is only emptiness. My limbs feel heavy, my body feels hollow, and I am unable to find my voice or speech. This depression is what I consider my most dangerous state because I am unable to communicate clearly with those around me about how they can support me. This lack of connection can be the most difficult part of the episode. When you experience Bipolar depression, you are never sure when it will come to its conclusion or when you will reconnect with the world around you again. Bipolar depression is not just sadness. It can feel like an emotional shutdown. The Emotional Tug-of-War: Identity and Self-WorthThere is an internal emotional impact when you are experiencing a depressive state. A loss of identity and sense of self often come into play. You are more than sad when you are dealing with depression. You are in crisis and disconnected from everything and everyone around you. I would often hear loved ones observe and say things like, “She’s not herself,” or “She is not full of energy like normal.” Even with the disconnection, you can still hear and feel, even if you cannot reason your way out of the depression. Statements like those have caused me to feel shame, guilt, and internal criticism. I want to be the Onika everyone knows and loves, but I simply cannot. That is what many people who have never experienced long-term depression fail to understand. Depression, low energy, low mood, staying in bed all day, insomnia, lack of appetite, low self-worth, loss of hope, and loss of sense of self are not choices. They are symptoms of a mental health condition. No matter what combination of symptoms I experience, they exist and have the power to change my identity. When I discovered the concept of self-compassion years ago, I began practicing it during my depressive episodes. I realized that I am living with a severe mental illness characterized by both highs and lows. I cannot always dictate which one I experience or when, so I had to learn to show myself compassion and give myself grace. If depression dictates that I will sleep all day, instead of forcing myself to move against it, I move with it. I make my bed as welcoming as possible because I am dealing with depression, and today, sleeping may be all I can do. If I experience loss of appetite during an episode, the minute I feel real hunger, I eat something I truly love, like cheesecake for breakfast or a plate of pasta in the middle of the night. I no longer worry about being the Onika everyone knows and loves because I recognize that I am still her. I am simply going through a human experience. Depression does not just change your mood. It can change how you see yourself, and I choose to see myself as someone who does not let depression define me or overtake me. Instead, I move with depression until it is behind me, and I am able to move forward again in my journey to wellness. Healing in the Darkness: What Helped Me Navigate ItIt has always been difficult for me to communicate my needs to others while in a low state. Beyond ensuring that I am taking my medication or identifying the food I want to eat when my appetite returns, I have trouble articulating my wants and needs. After so many years of having a solid support system in my family and friends, they are often more aware of my needs than I am. If I do not answer the phone after a few days, Grama Judie or my cousin will come by and check on me. Grama will tell me stories about the people in her life, and even though I am not really listening, she tries to make the connection. My cousin will simply sit on my couch quietly, working away on a project while I sleep for hours at a time. The most he will say during a visit is, “You good? Do you need anything?” If I wave him off and growl, he just goes back to work. Sometimes he stays through the whole episode, and he always knows when I am coming out of it, when I start making my bed, signalling that the time to stay down is over. When I am in a depressive space, it is really hard to write. I try to jot something down daily, whether it is the first two lines of a poem or a note about how I am feeling at that moment. My journal is never too far away. At night, when my energy allows, I try to complete part or all of my nightly routine, which includes skincare, brushing my teeth, aromatherapy, and a grounding meditation. These practices usually happen when my mind is preparing to come out of the darkness, telling me it is time to start healing. This is when I know depression is about to leave my body. I have learned that it can disappear as quickly as it came, and I should always prepare for both its disappearance and its sudden reappearance. I have also learned to listen to my thoughts when they return. Whether they are telling me, “You need more sleep, Onika,” or “Go get something to eat right now,” I listen. I know there is a period during my depressive episodes when the thoughts do not come, or they disappear too quickly for me to hear what they are trying to tell me. So when they return, and I can hear myself clearly, I listen. Even in a low state, there are moments that slowly rebuild connection. The return of my ability to think clearly is one of them. Final Thought:Holding On When the Light Is LowThe return to myself starts with a glimmer of light. It is the light I see in my kitchen when I finally open my eyes and wake up from sleeping for a week. I turn my head toward the kitchen, and I do not immediately want to turn back to the darkness. Then I lay there, staring at the low light, and I can hear myself thinking again. So I ask myself the question that always begins my return to me: “Are you ready to get up and stay up?” When the answer is yes, I begin my morning routine of bed stretching. I call out to Alexa to play CeCe Winans. I sit at the side of my bed, touch my heart, and thank God for getting me through. I had to learn to trust that emotional states shift, high or low, over time. I had to trust that day one would come to an end, and day ten might be the day I am ready to get up. In my experience, depression is about endurance, not resolution. Endurance with patience, self-compassion, and grace. Since I was 16 years old, I have lived with some form of depression. I am 43 years old now, and I still experience severe symptoms. Depression is not going anywhere, so I had to place in my mind the ideas of sustain and withstand. By definition, endurance means the ability to sustain prolonged physical or mental effort, withstanding hardship, stress, or fatigue to continue a task. So, the only thing required of me was to endure, and I would survive depression? I tried it, and it changed the course of this ongoing journey. A big part of returning to myself was understanding who I became when symptomatic and who I am now that the depression has lifted. Holding on when the light is low means holding on to hope. Hope that I make it through the storm. Hope that there is sunshine after the rain. Hope that I never give up. Hope that I always reach for the light at the end of the tunnel. Hope that I endure. A Question to My Readers:What helps you stay connected to yourself when everything feels distant or quiet inside? |
Thursday, May 14, 2026
When the Light Fades: Let's Talk About Depression and Its Role in Bipolar Disorder - Part 2
Tuesday, May 12, 2026
When Worry Doesn’t Stop: Let's Talk about Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Its Overlap with Bipolar Disorder - Part 1
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| When Worry Doesn’t Stop: Let's Talk about Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Its Overlap with Bipolar Disorder - Part 1 of 5 |
Anxiety: The Worry That Lingers
I remember the exact moment anxiety entered my life. It was brought on by abject terror.
As a child, I had anxious moments when the anxiety-driven voices in my mind became so loud that I would have to shake my head a few times to quiet the noise. It felt normal, even manageable, until one spring afternoon outside my sixth-grade classroom when anxiety attacked me out of the blue.
To my recollection, here’s what happened.
The Day the River Threatened to Pull Me Under
It was the final few months of grade six, and everything seemed normal. We had just finished recess, and the playground was its usual discord of harshness, where bullies moved from group to group unleashing their cruel brand of humour on any kid who would listen, and especially on any kid they knew it would affect.
There was one boy in particular they reserved the worst of their venom for. That day, the boy, whom we can call Christopher, simply couldn’t take it. He let out a giant scream that echoed across the playground. Every kid stopped and turned to see where it was coming from.
It was coming from Christopher.
It’s still unclear how I got involved, but knowing me, I was always a champion of the underdog and went to his defence. I had a fixer personality even when I was young. Christopher did not seem to want me to fix things. I remember the angry look directed at me before he stomped off inside the school.
That afternoon, as I walked to my backpack cubby to get my notebook, I found a threatening letter instead. It read, “This will be you in five days,” with a disturbing drawing meant to frighten me.
That was the moment my mind began to race with thoughts of danger and death. My breathing became shallow, my vision blurred, and I collapsed on the hallway floor with the letter in my hand as my world fell off its axis and spun out of control. I remember my fingers going numb and taking on a distorted shape that can only be explained by the lack of oxygen moving through my body. My lungs felt as if they had stopped working, constricted in my chest, until eventually I could feel only the last shallow breaths I took before I fainted.
That is how my teachers and classmates found me. The ambulance and police were called once they realized what had put me in that condition. My vitals were checked, and I was given oxygen, although I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. My parents were called to take me home for the day to rest after my traumatic ordeal. It was promised to my family that the police would investigate and “get to the bottom of this.”
For the next two days, I stayed home from school. When I got home, my mother put me straight to bed, and that was when the anxiety and fear entered my sleep. I tried to rest but got very few hours, waking from nightmares of red walls and ropes tangling around me, squeezing the air out of me. My anxiety manifested as screams in the middle of the night. Screams that took my breath away. My stomach refused to hold down any meal, no matter how small. My head throbbed with agony, like a hammer beating against my brain, repeating the same rhythm over and over: “three more days until you die.”
My parents, being strict about school attendance, refused to let me stay home for the entire five days. So, on day four, I returned to school. I couldn’t concentrate. I sat at my desk in a state of hypervigilance. Sounds were too loud, lights were too bright, and my thoughts continued to spin out of control.
By day five, what I believed would be the final day of my life, I was a ball of anxious energy, no longer my cheerful, outgoing self. On that day, however, it was discovered by police and staff, after comparing handwriting samples from each student, that the culprit was Christopher. My parents were called in and told that he had behavioural problems at other schools and would be expelled as punishment for what he had done.
The punishment for me would be the beginning of a mental health condition I did not yet understand. I had no name for it, but I would experience it daily, living from anxiety attack to anxiety attack.
This blog is a reflection on my lived experience with anxiety. I will discuss living with both Bipolar disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder, also known as GAD, the challenges I have faced while trying to balance co-occurring disorders, and how changing my mindset helped me create a space where anxiety could exist.
This is the worry that lingers.
Some worry does not end. Instead, it loops, deepens, and stays.
When Anxiety Persists: A Bipolar Woman’s Reflection
After that incident, I started calling anxiety “the voices.” Throughout my adolescence, I would worry about anything and everything. I created scenarios in my head of negative events that were not actually happening and might never happen, but to my fragile mind, each scenario held some truth.
From the day I found that letter in my backpack, I lived in fear that something just as terrible would happen to me again. The sad part was that even my 11-year-old self knew it would be a hard road between me and regaining my peace of mind.
What I know now, that I did not know then, was that I would experience a series of life-changing events until one day I found myself in a child psychologist’s office being diagnosed with depression and a mild anxiety disorder. Mild anxiety would later develop into Generalized Anxiety Disorder as I got older and continued to struggle with processing painful experiences in a healthy way.
There is a difference between everyday concern and persistent anxiety. Persistent anxiety does not simply affect your thoughts. It also affects your perception of the world, your self-perception, your self-esteem, and your self-worth. Anxiety can even shape your behaviour.
It is not just persistent. Sometimes the worry that comes with anxiety is all-consuming.
Anxiety during a Bipolar manic episode is something I can only describe as loud and chaotic. Because one of the symptoms of mania is disorganized thinking, anxiety in mania can take on a disorganized, even paranoid form. In my experience, when Bipolar disorder occurs alongside anxiety, it can feel as if the extreme worry itself triggers hypomania, the precursor to mania.
When your body is in a constant state of fight, flight, or freeze because anxious thoughts persist day after day, your mind starts to break down. If you live with another mental health condition like Bipolar disorder, that internal pressure can increase the risk of a serious mood episode.
What Generalized Anxiety Disorder Feels Like: A Lived Experience Perspective
I moved to Toronto, Ontario at 33 years old to start working in the event management industry. I was fresh out of school when I was hired by a boutique events company where the staff consisted of myself, my boss, and another woman.
At first, things went well. I was securing big accounts, much to the excitement of my boss. Then one day, there was a notable shift between myself and my co-worker. She seemed to begin a passive-aggressive campaign to undermine my work and shake my confidence. She told me that if I did not find a way to bring in more clients, my boss would be forced to fire me.
That was the moment my anxious mind took control of my rational brain.
When you have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, unless you are experiencing visible physical symptoms or an anxiety attack, people cannot see the internal war you are fighting with your own thoughts. The moment I perceived that I could be terminated, I believed I was already terminated. The worry became persistent, excessive, and all-consuming.
I couldn’t eat or sleep because I was constantly thinking about being fired. Questions raced through my head one after another:
“When am I going to get fired?”
“What is my boss going to say to me?”
“How much time do I have left?”
“Should I start looking for another job?”
“Should I quit before he has a chance to fire me?”
“Should I just work harder to get the big accounts?”
“If I get the big accounts, will he still fire me?”
“Fired, fired, fired. You are going to get fired.”
With every thought came another and another. The thoughts, or voices, invaded my mind at work, and my performance declined. I started taking two and three days off so I could try to catch up on the sleep I was lacking, but also so I could isolate myself, untangle the anxious thoughts in my mind, and come up with a plan to keep my job.
I could not see how illogical I was being. Based on one person’s thoughtless comment, I was spiralling out of control.
I began to see danger around every corner, as if the world was not meant for me, as if I was not enough. There was nowhere I felt safe or secure, not at home and not at work. I eventually did get fired from that job, but I cannot blame my co-worker. She planted the seed, and I watered it with anxiety until the thoughts overwhelmed me.
Anxiety can feel like your mind is always preparing for something that has not happened. When something does happen, like me getting fired, anxiety can become deliberate, telling you your thoughts were right and that you have every reason to constantly worry.
Bipolar Disorder and Anxiety: When They Overlap
Trigger Warning: The below section discusses suicidal thoughts in a non-graphic way.
When you have a co-occurring condition like Bipolar 1 disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder, the emotional complexity can present as constant mental confusion and chaos. When you are in crisis, it is hard to tell where your thoughts end and anxiety begins.
During my depressive cycles, anxiety and the intrusive thoughts that come with it have sometimes deepened my distress and contributed to dangerous thoughts about my own life. For me, those moments often begin through the lens of anxious thinking, negative self-perception, diminished self-worth, and lowered self-esteem.
When depression shifts into hypomania, mania, or psychosis, my anxiety moves into that same realm of dysregulation and can take on a voice of illogical fear, paranoia, and emotional instability.
Anxiety has always felt different depending on my internal state. During remission or baseline periods, I have a firmer grip on my thoughts, and I can recognize more clearly when anxiety is trying to overtake me. I use tools like breathing exercises, meditation, and positive self-talk to calm the waves of anxiety that pass through me, attempting to pull me under into a dark place where my life has no value beyond what my anxiety dictates.
During episodes, however, it has always been difficult to distinguish mood shifts from anxiety symptoms. It becomes a constant question: which came first, the shifts or the symptoms?
When I reflect on my past experiences with Bipolar 1 disorder and GAD, I come to the conclusion that although Bipolar 1 disorder is my primary condition, Generalized Anxiety Disorder often acts as a trigger and causes my moods to shift.
For example, although I experience anxiety throughout the day, at night the voices often become louder and more persistent, disrupting my sleep. When I have insomnia for days at a time, when my thoughts will not quiet and prescribed medication does not have the desired effect, lack of sleep can lead to elevated mood and eventually mania.
Anxiety does not always stand alone. It often moves through mood states differently.
Living With Both: Emotional Weight and Exhaustion
There is an emotional fatigue that happens when living with overlapping mental health conditions, especially when each has its own dialogue inside your head. You become constantly alert, fearing relapse and living with uncertainty.
My past experiences with both conditions often creep into my present-day anxieties, especially when my mood shifts from elevated to low, or from low to elevated. The emotional weight and exhaustion of living with both Bipolar disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder can be overwhelming at times.
Then I remind myself that my mood disorder and GAD are both part of the lived experience that has shaped who I am today, both good and bad. Managing more than one internal experience can make even calm moments complex, but the calm moments, though rare, do exist.
At present, I practice self-awareness. When possible, I do not allow the voices inside my head to lead me. Instead, I show myself compassionate grace and remember that with inner strength and time, the voices can move from a loud roar to a dull silence.
I still hear and feel my anxiety when it creeps in, but with the self-care tools I have acquired, the emotional weight and exhaustion of living with anxiety has become less and less. It is not about ignoring my inner dialogue. It is about making space for it inside my head, a space where I can choose to listen to the anxious roar or turn it down to a dull silence I have learned to live beside.
Final Thoughts
Finding a Name for the Worry, Reclaiming Peace
Many years ago, the writer inside me decided to take control of the narratives in my head, the voices in my mind that I called anxiety. I realized one day, as I listened to the worry, that it often came in the form of a storyline. There would be one worrisome thought, and then that thought would build upon itself, creating a full story of anxiety.
Calling my worry one of the storylines in my head helped me untangle whether it was fiction or non-fiction, real or imagined. Although this has never been the solution to my anxiety, it was definitely a turning point in how I experienced it.
This new awareness created a space of understanding rather than a resolution to my condition. It allowed me to reflect on my ongoing relationship with anxiety.
Understanding anxiety does not end it, but it can change how you carry it.
To my readers: Have you ever experienced worry that felt constant or hard to quiet, and what helped you begin to recognize it for what it was?
Saturday, December 13, 2025
More Than One Battle: Living with Bipolar Disorder and Substance Use Disorder | Being Diagnosed with Multiple Disorders Series - Part 1
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| More Than One Battle: Living with Bipolar Disorder and Substance Use Disorder |
Being Diagnosed with Multiple Disorders Series - Part 1
Saturday, August 30, 2025
Life Lessons Series: Be in your skin and fall in love with the feeling. - Onika L. Dainty
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| Life Lessons Series: Be in your skin and fall in love with the feeling. - Onika L. Dainty |
Life Lesson #15
“Be in your skin and fall in love with the feeling.” — Onika L. Dainty
Learning to Live in My Skin
It took me nearly 42 years to embrace this lesson—and I’m still learning. Self-love and body acceptance don’t come easily when you’ve wrestled with body image issues most of your life. For over two decades, I’ve dealt with weight gain as a side effect of mood stabilizers and antipsychotic medication prescribed to manage Bipolar disorder. Even before my diagnosis, my self-esteem was fragile. I wore a mask of confidence—intelligent, funny, charismatic, and beautiful—but underneath, I was struggling.
From childhood, food became my battleground. At first, I starved myself, skipping meals for days at a time until my grade six teacher reported it to my mother. As a nurse, she adjusted her night shifts to watch me eat. But that surveillance pushed me into binging and purging, giving me a false sense of control while my mind unraveled.
Trauma, Diagnosis, and Body Image
By my teens, depression and anxiety consumed me. At 14, a brutal assault deepened my mental chaos and reinforced my eating disorder as a form of punishment. My body felt like both the scene of the crime and the enemy. Into my twenties and early thirties, those patterns stayed with me, compounded when I was diagnosed with Bipolar I disorder at 24. Medication stabilized my mind but made me feel trapped in a body I no longer recognized.
It wasn’t until homelessness, repeated hospitalizations, and addiction forced me into long-term care that I realized how deeply connected my body image and mental health had always been. My psychotherapist helped me see that sexual trauma often distorts one’s relationship with the body—leading to cycles of self-punishment that only break with forgiveness, compassion, and healing.
Writing an Apology to My Body
After a pivotal therapy session, I sat down and wrote an apology letter to my body. I apologized for starving it, for purging, for smoking marijuana until my lips and fingers bore the scars, for binging as a side effect of medication. I promised to let go of shame and guilt and instead honour my body with care, nourishment, and respect.
That was the turning point.
Redefining Self-Love and Acceptance
Nearly a decade later, I’ve kept that promise. I haven’t binged, purged, or starved myself. I’ve been sober for almost two years. I eat to nourish, not punish, and I’ve incorporated fitness into my life—not as penance, but as a way to feel strong and alive.
Yes, my weight still fluctuates. But instead of spiralling into self-loathing, I now meet those moments with grace, self-compassion, and resilience. I remind myself: I only get one body in this lifetime, and it deserves love in every season.
My body has survived trauma, illness, and recovery. It carries my creativity, my laughter, and my strength. And no matter its shape or size, it is mine. Today, I celebrate it—not as a project to be perfected, but as a partner in my healing journey.
Final Thought
Being in my skin and falling in love with the feeling isn’t about flawless self-confidence. It’s about daily forgiveness, compassion, and choosing to honour the body I once punished.
Self-love is not a destination—it’s a practice. And every day I continue this practice, I reclaim more of myself.
To my readers: How do you practice self-love when your body doesn’t look or feel the way you want it to?
Thursday, July 17, 2025
A Bipolar Woman's Self-Reflection - Go Where Your Heart Takes You | Special Edition 100th Blog
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| A Bipolar Woman's Self-Reflection - Go Where Your Heart Takes You | Special Edition 100th Blog |
The Power of Salt: A Little Girl’s Big Dream
When I was a little girl my mother and I would bake cakes together. She would put all the ingredients in a bowl–flour, butter, sugar, vanilla essence, eggs and a generous pinch of salt. She never forgot the salt even though it wasn’t a part of the recipe in the What’s Cooking in Guyana cook book that travelled with us from back home. One day curiosity got the better of me and I asked my mother why she put something salty in something that was made to taste sweet. The conversation went as follows:
“Mama why do you add salt to the cake? Won’t salt make the cake taste bad?” I inquired.
My mother smiled at me with a knowing smile she still gives me today and said, “You want to know a secret the recipe book won’t tell you? Salt will actually bring out the sweet flavour of the cake, it will make the cake taste better Nika.”
My little girl mind started to process what my mother was telling me and another question came to me, “So mama is salt in everything in the world? Does everyone know what salt is, what salt can do?”
She smiled again and gave me a surprising answer, “Yes Nika, salt is in most things it’s an essential part of life; it's in the Earth, in the animals, in us and the food we eat. Salt is a common thing but no, not everyone uses it in the right way, some people overuse it but everyone knows what it is.”
Because my mother was a registered nurse and a knowledgeable woman of science, I believed she was telling me the truth and from that truth came a surprising truth of my own. As I stirred the ingredients in the bowl, I considered each one carefully and realized that the one ingredient necessary for the world to be sweeter, better and nicer was a generous pinch of salt to bring forth its natural goodness.
I thought about the mean kids at school who bullied me relentlessly since my arrival to Canada the year before. I thought about the little boy that called me the N-word the first week of kindergarten and his father that encouraged him to do so. I thought about the challenges I had faced so far and were bound to face because I wasn’t like other kids. Then I thought about what it would be like to achieve the new desire growing in my heart and said with a steady and determined voice,
“Well mama, one day my name will be as common as Salt.”
That was where my heart led me at 6-years old after a seemingly ordinary conversation with my mother about salt. I was a little girl with a big dream and though I had no idea how to make it happen it was born and grew in my heart over a bowl of cake mix and a generous pinch of salt and I was determined to see it through.
The Long Painful Road to Losing My Way
When I was in high school I started scouting universities years before most students my age. At 15-years-old I went to a university fair and fell in love with Carleton University in Ottawa, ON. I took it as a done deal that I was destined to be there when I won a Carleton mug at one of the information sessions. I drank everything from that mug knowing that one day I would be sitting in a dorm room writing my New York Times bestseller in between lectures.
When my senior year came and it was time to apply for schools, It was time to follow my heart to Carleton University. However, my parents were against me going away to school. They were worried about the 4 hour distance from Toronto to Ottawa, they were terrified something would happen to me and they couldn’t protect me. They loved me and wanted the best for me. They wanted me to take the safest route to higher education, a life with financial security and very little struggle or adversity. I told them on the final day to send in an acceptance letter that it was Carleton University or nothing.
In September 2001, I sat on the front lawn of Carleton’s Glengarry residence–my new home–holding tight to my Carleton mug, watching hot air balloons float in the Ottawa skies like an oman of great things to come and waved goodbye to my family as they drove away. I had arrived, I had followed my heart and it was time to conquer the world. Go Where Your Heart Takes You.
During the five years I spent in Ottawa I made friends that I still have today, I wrote articles, literary papers, historical essays, an honours thesis and thought provoking poetry that I performed on slam poetry stages across the city; I struggled with Major Depressive disorder and Generalized Anxiety disorder; I fell in love with a beautiful man who broke my heart and I graduated with an Honours degree in History.
I also developed a drug problem and experienced my first Manic-Psychotic episode and hospitalization in a psychiatric unit. When I moved back home with my parents I was unrecognizable. I continued to have rapid-cycle highs and lows for almost 17 years. I fell hard and fast and somewhere along the way I lost confidence in my internal compass, I stopped following my heart, allowing life to simply happen to me and allowing other people’s fear over my mental instability to dictate my actions.
There were events that felt like wins along this long and painful road. I graduated from Humber College with a graduate certificate in Public Relations and Communications, I moved to Toronto to be an event planner after studying Event Management at Durham College and I became a Peer Support Specialist working for a major Toronto hospital which made me feel I had regained my sense of self and that my internal compass was back on track leading me in the direction of my heart’s desire.
During this period of what I believed was wellness, I hosted a successful podcast, I became a mental health advocate and I had secured my dream job yet it all felt wrong, it all felt life the lies of an imposter. I knew in the deepest part of me that I was not listening to my heart anymore, rather I was leading with the fear in my head. I was living up to other’s expectations of me by pretending to be alright when inside I was not alright, I was dying and my heart was broken.
When Your Heart is Broken It Still Speaks
In 2022, two years after COVID-19 turned the world upside down I had to take a hard look at my myself and my life choices: I was a woman with an unmanaged mental illness, I was non-compliant with my medication, I was self-medicating with cannabis and I was smoking a pack of cigarettes daily all while trying to balance work obligation and life obligations. I was stressed, depressed, depleted, avoiding my unaddressed trauma, Hypomanic–on my best days, Manic–on my worst. I was an overweight, people-pleasing burnout pretending to have it all together, pretending to be happy when in reality I was drowning.
How did I get here? I truly believe it's because I did not go where my heart was trying to lead me. Instead of being the fearless little girl with a big dream I had turned into someone I did not recognize. I lost my way and had no idea how to find the right path, the one that would lead me down the road to fulfilling my big dream.
TRIGGER WARNING…
On November 7, 2022, I made a plan to end my life by driving into my parent’s poolhouse. My mind kept telling me I was an unloved, unwanted failure and I didn’t need to be here anymore. I remember the moment before I put my car into gear it was as if every broken piece of my heart went into gear as well and screamed at me, Onika! Stop! Don’t Do It! Remember Your Dreams! And at that moment, when it mattered the most my internal compass that lives in the centre of me came back to life and reminded me to lead with my heart and not my head.
I remembered I had parents, nieces, a grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends that loved me. I remembered that I had been lost before and found my way back to myself with hard work and unwavering determination. I remembered that the only way out is through, that there was light at the end of the tunnel, sunshine after the rain and that this awful time would pass if I just fought for the happiness I deserved. Go Where Your Heart Takes You.
Final Thoughts - Go Where Your Heart Takes You, It's Worth the Journey
Millions of words ago and hundreds of lived experience stories I started a blog and today I write #100. I’m a different person than I was at article #1. This blog has changed me but I had to make the necessary changes in my life to be able to be as real, raw and authentic as I’ve been with the readers that have supported me on my journey to wellness.
I’m still living with a severe mental illness but now with the support of my family, friends and healthcare team I’m not only managing my illness, I’m thriving in it. I’m over a year and a half sober as of this week and I have not touched a cigarette in the same length of time. I’ve lost 30 pounds by re-introducing structure, routine and healthy habits into my life. I practice self-care and mindfulness daily and I give myself grace and self-compassion when I fall short of achieving my goals. I’m kinder and more patient with myself accepting that I’m fabulous and flawed all at once.
I focus on my passions and staying well so I can simply enjoy my life. I experience peace, love, joy and happiness and don’t allow the stresses that inevitably come overwhelm me. I haven't seen the inside of a psychiatric unit in almost 2 years. I live to please myself rather than others. Finally, because I put the pieces of my heart back together through resilience and grit my internal compass has never worked better.
Since that day in my childhood kitchen, I have made it a habit to follow my heart even when logic dictates I should go in a certain and usually safe direction. I have always looked inside of myself, to my internal compass that lies in the centre of me and gone my own way. Even when bad things happen and I want to give up I remember that if I hold onto my 6-year old self’s courage and determination, listen to my heart and embrace the journey regardless of where the road takes me I will not fail and I will find my dreams waiting for me to catch them. Today, I’m a writer, a blogger, a public speaker, a daughter, a granddaughter, a niece, an aunt, a cousin and a friend to a tribe that loves me and that is a dream come true.
How did I get to this juncture on my journey? How will I realize all the little and big dreams that live inside the centre of myself? I followed my heart, I forged my own path and continue to take this journey to wellness and ultimate happiness one day and one heart decision at a time. So my advice to all the readers of my 100th blog is to Go Where Your Heart Takes You and you will never go wrong.
Saturday, March 8, 2025
Life Lessons Series: Life Is What Happens When You Are Making Other Plans - Musician John Lennon
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| Life Lessons Series: Life Is What Happens When You Are Making Other Plans - Musician John Lennon |
Life Lesson #7
Life is what happens when you are making other plans.
My grandmother Alvira died on December 30, 2004, my 22nd birthday, in Guyana South America, thousands of miles away but it was exactly where she wanted to be. They say there is no such thing as an untimely death but the timing of Alvira’s passing always felt planned to my broken heart. You see, I was in Ottawa, ON the day she died, making plans for my birthday, making plans to reunite with my estranged boyfriend, making plans for New Year’s Eve, making plans for my final semester at Carleton University and making plans for my bright and shiny future. Then life happened.
I walked into my 7th floor apartment the evening of New Year’s Eve, my mother standing by the dining room table tears in her eyes, my aunt and uncle stood frozen in my living room and three of my girlfriends who had proceeded me to the apartment stood awkwardly with party supplies in hand and regret in their eyes. I looked at my mom and the next words out of her mouth shattered my world, made all thoughts in my head disappear because life or rather death had happened when I was out making plans.
“Gran Gran Alvira died yesterday in Guyana,” my mother could barely get the words out past her tears.
My response to the devastating news is silly to me now, “Yesterday was my birthday.”
Then I fell to the floor and screamed from my soul where she had always lived and collapsed. I was never going to see her alive again, I was never going to smell her neck as I snuggled in her strong lap, I was never going to feel her arms around me or hear her soft voice telling her baby girl how I gave the best hugs, She wasn’t going to be at my graduation or wedding or the birth of my first child and we were never going to dance to Ella Fitzgerald or sing Summertime again. Life had gotten in the way of my plans.
After flying back home for the funeral and saying goodbye to my soulmate I simply stopped living life, I stopped making plans, I stopped smiling and laughing and loving the way I did when my grandmother was alive. She was 82 years old when she died and as an adult I understood she couldn’t live forever but the child she helped raise, that she encouraged to dream big couldn’t comprehend a world where Alvira didn’t exist. I spiralled out of control, I made a lot of bad choices after she died and two years later I found myself in a Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit being diagnosed with Bipolar I disorder. That was never the plan but life continued on around me, life continued to happen to me regardless of whether I had a plan or not. Sometimes choosing not to plan becomes the plan and life still happens whether you like it or not.
Fast forward 20 years, I recently went back home to Guyana following my spirit, my heart and my soul’s calling to be in the last place my grandmother was. I spent a month there including my 42nd birthday, I celebrated Alvira, I danced in the rain, I laughed until I hurt, I explored my birthplace and I remembered things forgotten long ago. I found what I thought I had lost so many years before: I found joy, happiness and the freedom to be me. I had no real plans for this restorative and transformative adventure home, It's how I’ve learned to live my life, minute by minute, hour by hour and day by day because when you deal with a severe mental illness characterized by unexpected highs and lows you learn to enjoy life taking things as they come and feeling gratitude for every little moment of sanity I’m blessed with.
Thank you Mr. Lennon, you taught me that living in the moment is better than making plans for an unknown and uncertain future because no matter which way the wind blows life is what happens when you are making other plans.
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