Onika L. Dainty

Choosing Between Recovery and Rent

I lay strapped to a hospital bed in the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU), cut off from the outside world. I didn’t know the day or time until meals arrived, each tray accompanied by a slip of paper telling me my name, location, and menu. Only then did I have any clue what might be happening beyond the cinder-block walls. When psychosis had me in its grip, nothing mattered beyond my next manic thought.

As my mind slowly cleared, I realized life outside had kept moving. Bills still needed paying. Rent was still due. Bipolar disorder demands consistency—structure, routine, and healthy habits can mean the difference between stability and relapse. But when a severe episode leads to long-term hospitalization, maintaining financial consistency becomes nearly impossible.

This is the reality for many living with chronic mental health conditions: the rising cost of housing compounds the struggle to recover. Financial stress and mental health are deeply intertwined.

The Unseen Price Tag of Stability

There’s an invisible cost to stability that many in mental health crises can’t afford. I’ve been fortunate to have the support of family, friends, my mental health mentor Grama Judie, and the income from work during periods of wellness. Others aren’t so lucky.

For many, the choice comes down to paying rent or buying medication. The cost of living—and managing bipolar disorder—rises each year. Private therapy, even on a sliding scale, can be out of reach. Virtual sessions still carry a fee. Add in the cost of transit, gas, and basic necessities, and the expenses pile up.

Living with bipolar disorder often means an inconsistent work history, making income unpredictable. Missed bills, partial payments, or skipped rent become common. The emotional toll—shame, guilt, anxiety—feeds a survivalist mindset where thriving feels impossible. Even when stability returns, another episode may be waiting to unravel it all.

Budgeting While Battling Bipolar

Budgeting with bipolar disorder isn’t just about money—it’s a mental health tool. Cognitive fog during depression can make bill-paying overwhelming. If possible, set up automated payments for essentials like rent, insurance, and utilities before a crisis hits.

For me, mania has led to impulsive spending followed by guilt and anxiety. To counter this, I automate bill payments at the start of the month and move a small “mania spending” budget into a separate account. My mentor acts as my financial accountability partner.

Living on a low income with bipolar disorder is challenging, but not impossible. Create a budget based on guaranteed income, manage supplemental income cautiously, and consider strategies like:

• Separate savings accounts not tied to debit cards
  
  

• “Cash life” budgeting for groceries, gas, and personal spending
  
  

• Early payment of recurring bills
  
  

Survival mode won’t last forever. Structure, routine, and healthy habits around money can lead to both personal and financial growth.

Traditional Homes, Unreachable Dreams

Transitional housing has become a lifeline for many with severe mental illness, especially when hospital discharge is delayed due to homelessness, lack of family support, or loss of income. But the dream of stable, traditional housing often fades in the face of gentrification, rising rents, and strict lease requirements.

Since age 24, I’ve relied briefly on family for housing stability, but have mostly lived in basement apartments, community housing, rent-geared-to-income units, Airbnbs, shelters, and now a transitional home. These weren’t the homes I imagined while working toward my degree in the early 2000s. After my diagnosis, I found myself chasing stability in places where mental health stigma made renting difficult, often trading safety for affordability.

Eventually, transitional housing became the goal—traditional housing, the dream. Even now, in a stable program with potential for permanency, I know the decision to keep me here isn’t mine. By definition, transitional programs are temporary. I could be moved at any time, forced to rebuild the stability I’ve worked years to create.

For many living with bipolar disorder, housing instability is not a temporary setback—it’s a recurring reality.

Final Thoughts — Health vs. Housing: Why Should We Have to Choose?

How do you choose between mental health stability and housing security? There’s no justice in that choice. As the World Health Organization reminds us, “mental health is health.” Without mental stability, even securing a roof over your head becomes nearly impossible.

Safe, stable housing is essential to recovery. It provides space for rest, healing, self-reflection, and planning. Without it, recovery from bipolar disorder, trauma, or addiction becomes far harder—and communities feel the ripple effects. It’s a domino effect of impossible choices and unnecessary sacrifices.

Recovery requires rest. Rest requires security. I’ve lived both realities—housing stability and housing insecurity. Remission isn’t a choice; it’s a necessity. Stability makes it possible, and for too many, it remains out of reach.

In this piece, I share hard-earned lessons from both managing and mismanaging my finances, and offer strategies that have helped me stay afloat—even during the worst episodes. Success, for me, means accountability, self-reflection, and building a money relationship rooted in honesty and awareness of my patterns.

Surviving on Long-Term Disability

Despite my education and work history in communications, event planning, and healthcare, my illness has led to recurring hospitalizations and job loss. Over the past 15 years, I’ve relied on long-term disability to survive. The paperwork and emotional labour of proving my illness to access support is overwhelming, and this latest application process has left me feeling scrutinized and vulnerable.

I’m grateful for the safety net—but I’m also scared. Scared of becoming stuck. I still want to build something meaningful and live a life my younger self would be proud of. Living with an invisible disability means constantly reckoning with what I can do, and letting go of what I wish I could.

Reclaiming Purpose Outside the 9 to 5

Filing for financial security forced me to confront some truths: I can’t function in a traditional 9–5. I do well at first, but stress leads to anxiety, then insomnia, hypomania, and ultimately, hospitalization. It’s a cycle I’ve repeated for over a decade.

But I also know this—I don’t want to live dependent on someone else’s signature on a monthly cheque. I want freedom. I want to earn in ways that honour my limits and ignite my passion. Lately, I’ve found hope in honorarium-based work: peer support, advocacy, storytelling. It’s not about big money—it’s about meaning, and reclaiming my path on my terms.

Real Financial Strategies That Work

I’ve had to rethink everything about money. I used to say, “You have to spend money so you don’t spend money,” which justified all sorts of reckless habits. But when I realized no one was coming to rescue me, I knew I had to change. Here are strategies that have helped:

• Budget with Mood in Mind: Plan for highs and lows. A budget rooted in your real habits—not just your best ones—can help manage hyper-spending and avoid rock bottom.
  
  

• Automate Bill Payments: Set up auto-pay for essentials like rent, insurance, and subscriptions. It’s a lifeline during episodes.
  
  

• Two Budgets Are Better Than One: Create a high-functioning and low-functioning budget. Pre-pay essentials like meds and food when you’re well.
  
  

Rebuilding Identity Through Money Management

Financial independence isn’t just about numbers—it’s about rebuilding who you are. I used to rely on my parents when I didn’t have to. But being unhoused, living in a shelter, forced me to grow. I stopped fearing risk and started taking control.

Now, I earn by sharing my story. I’m not chasing titles. I’m building a life I can actually live. I don’t define success by how much I earn—but by how my experiences help others.

Final Thoughts

Managing money with Bipolar Disorder is a journey. Whether you’re on disability, returning to work, or saving $20 a week for the first time in years—you’re still moving forward. Here are some mantras I say to myself. Maybe they’ll help you too:

• “You’re not lazy—you’re strong.”
  
  

• “It’s okay to receive support and still want more.”
  
  

• “Your financial past doesn’t define your future.”
  
  

Money isn’t your purpose—but it can support your purpose. Build routines. Make mindful choices. Forgive your slip-ups. Learn your patterns. And most importantly, ask yourself:

What small step can I take today to feel more empowered about money?