Balancing Success and Setbacks: What I’m Learning About Growth, Grace, and Rest

Success is a complicated subject for me. If I’m honest I’ve always feared success more than I have failure. Failure is easier to overcome and far less daunting than the pressure you feel when you succeed at something. Failure means you still have mountains to climb, obstacles to overcome, goals to achieve and dreams to hope become reality. Success on the other hand can feel like a dead-end street. You have walked the path, you have climbed the mountain, you have reached the top and when you look back you can see all the faces of those that helped you achieve your goals and make your dreams come true.  You can see the pride in their eyes, the joy in their smiles and the hope that you will continue on to greater things…but what if the greatest thing you will ever achieve is happening at the dead-end street called success? What if you can’t reach higher, be better, do more than you have already done? What if you can’t work faster, harder, smarter to achieve greater success?

The thing about success versus failure is that one breeds high expectations and the other low. When you are staring from the bottom you have somewhere to aspire to be–the top. When you reach the top all you worry about is the fast and hard fall to the bottom where life isn’t full of high expectations and even higher risk. So which should I prefer, which brings me more comfort? Failure or success? I have experienced both and currently I am seeing more wins than losses but regardless I feel fear. 

The title of this article is Balancing Success and Setbacks but because of who I am and where I come from I chose to use the term failures going forward. You see, a “setback” can only be categorized as such once a success is born from it and truth be told success in my lived experience can only be born from a flat-out, in-your-face, soul-crushing, disappointing failure. 

No one knows a setback is happening except in hindsight of its occurrence and in my case hindsight hasn’t always been 20/20 rather its been finding balance in the setbacks of my past a.k.a failures, so that I can learn to feel gratitude for the success I have and faith that I will continue to achieve the goals that I have set for myself and continue to make the people who love and support me proud. There is no guarantee that my long and lofty hopes and dreams will ever become a reality. 

There is every possibility that I will experience failures on my journey to achieving my goals but its how I choose to handle those failures, what I choose to learn from each experience that will determine whether my failures will one day be considered setbacks on the road to success rather than a crippling defeat that keeps me stuck and stagnant. 

Over the course of my life I’ve learned that for myself the only way to avoid getting stuck in your past failures is to challenge yourself and condition your mind to practice what I call the Four G principle of turning setbacks into success. Growth. Grit. Grace. Gratitude. 

A Bipolar Woman’s Lived Experience: When Growth, Grit, Grace and Gratitude Align

For several months in 2023 I lived in a women’s shelter in Whitby, ON. The shelter was minutes away from my family’s home but I was deeply in my illness and my family and I were estranged. No one could help me (believe me they tried), I had spiraled out of control both in my mental health and my previous substance use disorder. 

For the first time in my mental health journey I had fallen so far and fast but there was no one to pick me up, dust me off and set me back on the right path. I was alone, I was sick, I had failed myself and disappointed the people I loved. I consider the shelter experience the beginning of hitting my rock bottom. I had no idea what awaited me that year–9 hospitalizations, an attempted assault, a robbery and an eviction. The year 2023 essentially kicked my ass. 

The failures/setbacks seemed never-ending and it was during this difficult period I realized that regardless of the chaos around me I needed to find the blessing in the hard lessons I was learning. It was slow forward movement but I began to re-introduce principles like structure, routine and good habits into my daily living. I ensured that I managed my medication regimen, I began to practice self-care and I addressed my substance use through addiction’s counselling. 

I began to do all the things that I knew previously would get me on the right track only this time I had to be self-motivated. There was no social worker or nurse to take me to appointments or manage my mental health schedule. For the first time on my mental health journey I had to walk alone and learn how to manage my illness independently and with minimum support. I call this process of learning, implementation and the unwavering fight to better my circumstance Growth and Grit.    

Fast forward to the present. It has been two years since my shelter experience and today I live in Oshawa ON, in a beautiful private home where I rent. I've been in mental health remission for a year and a half as well as sober for the same amount of time. I draw on all my community mental health resources such as case management, psychotherapy and trauma treatment programs to continue to address my mental health concerns. I manage my medication as well as my mental health schedule such as psychiatrist appointments and blood work on my own. 

I have not seen the inside of a Psychiatric Unit in over a year. I have started a successful blog chronicling my experiences, both the successes and the setbacks, to share with others on similar journeys. I have reconnected with family and friends that I previously believed were lost to me (they look at me with pride and admiration now). 

Finally, I continue to develop structure, routine and good habits that are designed to keep me in remission and experience wellness despite my illness. I still have moments of extreme highs that can lead to impulsive behaviours and rapid mood shifts  and low-lows that will have me in bed for a week at a time. During these periods I give myself Grace and allow myself to feel every emotion rather than avoid what I’ve learned is unavoidable. I practice a lot of self-care or as I call it my “eat, pray, love" moments and allow myself to step back from the full and robust life I’ve created for myself knowing that when I get through the hypomania or depression my beautiful life will be waiting on the other side. 

For all these successes born from what I know now was never abject failure but rather temporary setbacks, I feel a daily sense of Gratitude, for all the experiences past and all the experiences to come.

Words of Encouragement for Women Looking for Balance in Success and Setbacks

For the women of the world trying to balance success and setbacks whether it's finding equilibrium in mental health, managing a mental illness, dealing with the stress of your career, balancing being a caregiver and a parent, building a business, starting something new or learning to let go of past experiences I encourage you to take a deep breath, close your eyes and hit pause. As people we are in constant motion, mulitasking, wearing multiple hats, juggling all the elements of our lives, like a circus act. However, what would happen, what could you learn about yourself in stillness? There is wisdom that lies beneath the surface of chaos but it can’t be seen or heard through all the noise of the world. 

Once upon a time I bought into the lie of productivity, the untruth of “do more” even when you find success. Recently, because of the success I have been experiencing I took a break from my blog to focus on the opportunities that have been born from my commitment to succeeding on this platform. My mind told me I could do it all but the growth I have experienced over the last two years reminded me that I don’t have to. I can pause, I can be still, I can stop and smell the sweet rose of success without feeling I needed to achieve more in that moment. I gave myself grace and allowed myself to take a break for the month of June in order to reflect and realign, asking myself where is my creative energy needed the most? Where will it serve me best when trying to achieve success? Finally, where will I experience setbacks if I don’t allow myself to experience grace?

 Final Thoughts

Although I stated this in the above article I believe that it is important to state it again: There is nothing more powerful or precious in this constant world in motion than Pause. Taking a break from the chaos that often life can bring is okay. I want to be clear however pause does not mean running away. Pause does not mean avoiding your life and pause does not mean letting go of your responsibilities to participate in self-destructive behaviours. Pause can mean taking deep breaths when you are feeling overwhelmed. Pause can mean practicing self-care like mindfulness activities, meditation or taking a walk. 

Pause can also mean breaking away from  the people, places and things that drain your energy and replacing them with people, places or things that fill your cup. When you embrace “the pause” you can also practice self-reflection and come to the realization  that you are more than just one experience, one success or one setback. As humans we experience duality in our emotions. For example, it's okay to feel pride and pressure over your successes and disappointment and relief over your failures. By taking a pause to reflect on your emotional experiences it will be easier to understand the why behind your feelings and how they ultimately affect the path to success you are on.

A Bipolar Woman’s Self-Reflection: Black Privilege - A Dedication to My Ancestors

The following piece of work was a reflection written in 2016 after experiencing what I call ‘polite racism’ now known as microaggression in my workplace. The interaction that occurred was so quick and seemingly insignificant but it had a profound effect on me. It wasn’t that I couldn’t feel the presence of racism as it stared me in the face the morning I made coffee in my office kitchen and was told it was my job to serve others in my office and I should feel grateful to be there. Rather, it was the privilege of knowing my lived experiences to that point that dictated that walking away from the indignity being handed to me was my right as a Black woman who had fought and earned her seat at every and any table I chose to sit at.

There are always small minds lurking around every corner but It’s how you choose to react to their attempts to tear you down, upset your spirit or steal your joy. On that day in my history I thought it was important not to feel anger and indignation but to reflect on the lived experiences of my ancestors and myself that make me privileged to be black in the world that I inherited and to express empathy and understanding for those who still can’t embrace my blackness.    

Black Privilege-A Dedication to My Ancestors 

I studied history at Carleton University for four years and I have a Bachelor of Arts Honors in the subject. It’s not a Master’s or a PhD and I am not professing to be an expert but I do have four years (+) foundation on the topic.

I have studied Canadian, American, European, Asian and African history. I have studied the history of the world, which is re-written as everyday passes, so it is impossible to ever study it fully.

But this is what I have learned and some of the conclusions I have come to, again based on what I learned.

In the history of the world, at some point EVERYONE WAS OPPRESSED BY SOMEONE FOR SOME SEEMINGLY VALID REASON THAT MADE SENSE IN THAT TIME AND AT THAT TIME.

The English, for example, oppressed the Europeans, the Indians of Southeast Asia, the Asians of South East Asia, the Irish, the Scottish and Africans—this period in history is called Colonization.

They justified their actions with religion and man-made laws and years of feudal tradition and a variety of other territorial ideologies that I won’t go into, because it doesn’t really matter the reason…it’s a fact…it happened.

Before the British Empire, there was the Ottoman Empire and the Roman Empire etc. And for some reason they thought it was a good idea to repress and place value on people and their families and their lives.

A hierarchy was created, the concept was developed, and it has existed since the beginning of time.

Leaders, lead and followers, follow. Sometimes there were good leaders who had the best interest of the people at heart.

More often there were leaders that made selfish decisions, let absolute power cloud their judgment and cause immeasurable, reprehensible damage.

To rule is to serve, some people serve others, and some serve themselves. This is a face for the Ancestors of the people who currently inherit the world.

I have now given you a very broad and general statement about centuries and centuries of history—social history to be specific. It is up to you to go and do your research and then see if you truly agree or disagree with the next statements I am about to make.

Though I have studied world history, the history that I am most concerned with is my own.

I was born in Guyana, South America. My ancestors were a part of the Transatlantic Slave Trade. Essentially, the ships that left from Africa went to different parts of the world, not just North America.

If I were born a slave, I would have been raised on a Guyanese sugar plantation. If I looked the way I do now, had the same spirit or energy, if I could make people laugh or sing a song or had any special talent, I would have been a House Slave.

If I had no value beyond the ability to work long hours in extreme conditions, I would have been in the fields.

Based on my knowledge of the Slave Trade and Slavery, I believe this is all true. This is what African slavery looked like all around the world.

I have also thought about what I would have done if I were a slave. Would I be born and live and die a slave? Would I rage against the injustice of the experience and fight and flee to freedom?

I can say with some measure of confidence that I would run, fight and flee. I would risk getting caught and beaten and killed. I would do anything I needed to do to get out.

But I am not a slave. I was not born a slave. I have not lived as a slave and I will not die a slave. So, I can’t say what I would have done, only what I hope I would have the courage to do in that situation.

I am so grateful to my Ancestors for carrying that burden, for being strong, for trusting in God to cast away their worries and fears, for falling in love and making babies and preserving traditions; for being resilient so that I would never have to be in the world that they left me, in the world that I inherited.

Now when I speak to you about my Ancestors, I am not talking about the experiences that shaped an entire faction of people.

I am speaking about the Ancestors that are directly responsible for me being alive because they are the only people I feel I have a right to speak on behalf of. They are a part of me, they make up my history and therefore I have that right.

Based on what I know about my Ancestors, I would say half made the best of an extremely, horrifically bad situation and found a way not just to survive but to thrive in their new circumstance—the other half did not;

They were bitter and angry and resentful and afraid and that was their choice. That was how they dealt with the destruction, degradation and devastation that slavery caused.

There are 400 (+) years of history documenting the slave experience, interpreting and re-interpreting them and it is painful to listen to, look at and read.

So, I never tried to tackle it all but instead I tried to make sense of how I came to be here and what I wanted my living history to be.

This is what I know about how I came to be in the world that I inherited…

My family, my parents had a series of life experiences that led them to each other and then on December 30, 1982, I was born. That is when My History begins.

My parents worked hard, they sacrificed and fought for me. They took me from a place where our Ancestors were slaves, where I could have been born and lived and died as a slave and they freed me.

Because my parents grew up in Guyana, they knew all the challenges that I would have to face and that I would inherit if we stayed.

They wanted better for me, more than they had, they had a dream just like Martin Luther King Jr. and they did everything in their power to make it happen; fast forward 42 years to today…

I am a 1st Generation Guyanese immigrant with a Bachelor of Arts Honors in History, a Graduate Certificate in Public Relations and Communications from Humber College and a Graduate Certificate in Event Management from Durham College.

I have a deep and abiding trust in the Lord that He continues to walk with me on my purpose filled journey through life and He will be there to catch me when I stumble or fall.

I am currently pursuing my goals of being an author and public speaker with dreams of pursuing other things and the confidence and security of knowing that everything I want is within my reach. I just have to keep working hard and I will get there.

My past experiences, my living history, the story I have written for myself because of my parent’s hard work, courage, perseverance, lack of pride, resilience, patience, tolerance, and overall awesomeness—I know every dream I have ever had is going to become a reality.

This glass ceiling that I heard so much about growing up; the limitations of Black People, my parents shattered that ceiling before it ever got in my way, so I have lived a life as if it never existed.

Ideas, criticisms, labels and stereotypes associated with black people, they always offended me, but I never let them affect the decisions I made about my life and future.

If the world said I couldn’t do it because I am Black, I was always hell-bent on showing them I could do it, not because I am black but because I am me…

Onika L. Dainty…the sum total of my experiences, living history, constantly learning, never asking permission or forgiveness (unless I really need it which, I usually don’t with permission but always do with forgiveness).

If I fail, I take a step back and ask myself why? I look to my support system of family and friends because I know they are always there.

And I ultimately learned not to blame people outside of my control for the things that are inside my control.

This security and freedom have given me the confidence to smile and laugh and talk to and listen to and learn from all kinds of people from all different parts of the world that I inherited. I look at things from my point of view and let people look at things from theirs.

I do not judge or diminish other people’s experiences. I do not subscribe to negative labels, and I do not let the concept of Racism and all the burdens it brings to dictate my actions.

I am kind to everyone until they give me a reason not to be. I try not to be cruel but instead remember that they are the sum total of their life experience and that they are living history so, every day is a new opportunity to change.

I believe in love and not hate, though I know they both exist in the world that I inherited. I know how conflict and wars between people and nations begin but I still can’t say I understand why because although it is happening in the world that I inherited it is not a part of my living history.

I can only be responsible and accountable for the decisions I make when faced with conflict, adversity and challenges because according to my Ancestors and my history and what I have learned, all that they expect of me is:

To do my best, to work hard, to trust in God, to fight when it is time to fight, to flee when it is time to flee, to love and fall in love and make babies and to pass on traditions; to respect them and the burden they carried on their backs across an entire ocean, beyond 400 (+) years of struggle and pain to give me the gifts I have today—the gift of security, safety, confidence and support.

That is the world that I live in, it’s the only one I can exist in, the only one I know and can survive and thrive in like they did. That is the world that they left me, the world that I inherited.

That is my Black Privilege. What’s yours?

In Recognition of Black History Month and My Ancestors

The Complex Mother-Daughter Dynamic: Growing Up with a Nurse Mom and Bipolar Disorder

Just Pray

My mother has always been a devout Christian, there are actually a number of God-fearing women in my family including my dearly departed grandmother Alvira. The irony about my mother is she is also a Registered Nurse, a woman of science which in today's society is considered a contradiction. 

Since I was a little girl my routine was school and homework during the week and church on Sundays. Sunday was God’s day and no sickness or exaggerated stomach ache got in the way of worshiping the Lord. To honour my mother I had to honour God which meant look good for Jesus, go to Sunday school followed by a two hour service where I was instructed to sit in silence so as not to say anything to embarrass my family.

Even when we were back home in Guyana I was more of a religious rouge than a good Christian girl. I rarely received the Sunday school lesson, listening only enough to get the jist so I could report to my mom on our walk home. I was always getting caught in lies and half truths and I forever questioned the word of God. 

When I was 12-years old I was kicked out of Sunday school to the utter shame of my mother. Yep folks, I was a Sunday school drop out but I would like to point out that was the only education I didn’t complete in my 35 years of academia. After this incident I announced to both my mother and grandmother that I would never set foot in church again. I say this all to say this inciting incident was the beginning of the tensions between my mother and I, a tension that would fester and grow especially in the years that followed when my mental health became more and more precarious. 

In 2016, ten years after my Bipolar diagnosis my mother and I were having a talk about some adverse effects I was experiencing from an antidepressant I had started taking. I was concerned because I had developed insomnia and hair loss. My nurse mother’s response was the following: “I don’t know why you have to take all this medication, you need to get off of them, you need to just pray.”

She had a history of giving religious-like advice when I tried to talk to her about my mental illness but on that day in history I had had enough and snapped. My response to her flippant advice was this: I asked her why it was okay for her to tell her Bipolar daughter that she didn’t need meds and the power of prayer would cure me. “Why do you think you can pray the cray away,” I continued my tirade and expressed how tired of her not taking my mental illness seriously. I accused her of being unsupportive asking her why she couldn’t just accept my diagnosis because it wasn’t up for debate. I told her when she spoke that way it diminished what I’ve been going through for over a decade. 

Now all of this was said with a lot of yelling, tears and years of pent up frustration so before things went further in an even more hurtful and negative direction I hung up the phone on her.

At that moment I realized that even though my mom is a woman of science and a believer in God she had no real knowledge of psychology or how the mind works.

My mother had been with me every step of the way in the first 10 years of my mental health journey. She was the parent who visited daily with lunch and dinner when I was locked in the psychiatric unit of the hospital. She attended all my psychiatric visits post-hospitalization. She managed my medication; she nursed me back to health; she financially supported me going back to school and yes she prayed for me when I didn’t know how to talk to God for myself. But after that fight I realized her actions though out of love were mostly out obligation rather than empathy and understanding. My mom is an amazing human and an even better nurse and she did what any nurse would do–she took care of me even when she couldn’t comprehend my illness or how that illness affected my life choices. 

One thing that was a constant point of contention was the weight gain the medication and depression caused. Before my Bipolar diagnosis I was a size 4 once I started taking mental health medication I ballooned to a size 14 and my mother had a hard time accepting that. She constantly made negative comments about my weight not out of cruelty but rather out of a need to hold onto the daughter she knew before the chaos and uncertainty of mental illness entered our lives. This weight expectation was hard on my self-image, self-esteem and ultimately had negative effects on my mental health.

There was a lot of fear and misunderstanding that clouded my relationship with my mother. Fear of disappointing her because as soon as things seem to be settling down, it could be for weeks, months or even years. Mania seemed to be waiting for us around the corner. My mother and I experienced a lot of misunderstandings due to lack of education on both our parts around my illness and substance use disorder. It was only when I stepped away from her and the rest of my family was I able to find stability without familial pressures. It was during this period as well my brave mother sought help to understand her Bipolar daughter and all the challenges that came with my mental illness. 

After the infamous phone call of 2016, I realized I had a lot of bottled up and volatile emotions toward my mother and I had to learn to express myself in a more meaningful and impactful way so I started writing her letters, taking time to think about what I wanted to say and the best ways to say it. Once, I invited her to a therapy session where I read one of my more difficult letters to her in a safe space. We both cried and hugged each other. I practice this method to this day.

Final Thoughts

Now, my mother and I simply talk to each other, we take time to have the difficult conversations we were always afraid to have with each other. We practice radical honesty even if it hurts or makes one or both of us feel uncomfortable. We cry together, we laugh together and we dance together because we are in a much better place. I set boundaries with her around my mental health and she respects them. We go to church (yes church) every Sunday together and I finally understand what she meant not “Just Pray,” but “Pray” to say thank-you to God for watching over us and bringing us to a happier healthier place in our lives. My mother is not the first one I call in crisis but as strange as it is she will always be my number one person. 

We are still on a journey of healing and self-discovery both together and individually. Continued growth and education on mental illness has come as a result of open and honest communication. We have conversations that take us beyond the stigma into a place where the mother-Bipolar daughter relationship isn’t just surviving its thriving. 

“I love you a Universe Mama, thank-you for “just praying” for me and supporting me no matter where in the world my journey takes me.”  

The Role of Gratitude in Recovery: Sharing Stories

Gratitude. It's more than just saying “thank you.” For many women living with Bipolar disorder, gratitude has become a powerful tool in their recovery journey. Research shows that practicing gratitude can reduce symptoms of Depression and Anxiety by up to 30%. That’s a huge impact for something as simple as taking time to appreciate the good in life.