Onika L. Dainty

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.  

It is well past midnight and right outside the bolted window all I can see is darkness. The lights from buildings and the flicker of headlights visible only through the rod iron mesh meant to keep me in, keep me safe from myself. The mesh makes the outside world look as if it is caught in a fisherman’s net, trapped, unable to escape. The truth is that I am the one trapped and unable to move. Still, I think of escaping into the darkness beyond my barricaded window.

Even in the darkness I can sense new life forming. Trees pushing through the black earth, rising above the green grass until their branches bloom and breathe. Even the branches know there is nowhere to go but up toward the sky, toward freedom. At this moment I envy those trees. I envy their path to the heaven of the sky. I envy the seeds they sow, that bloom into beautiful buds that grow fearlessly. I envy their right to exist when all my rights have been taken away, when my feet are strapped to a metal bed frame making freedom impossible.

I look to my left to see soundproof, bullet proof, unbreakable glass. Still, I hear the cries for help and the violent rattle of chains, and I am reminded— Although the sun is starting to rise over my right shoulder, insanity waits for me over my left. As night turns to day and the sky goes from black to morning’s indigo I remember I am not outside these four walls where freedom lives and my right to exist is unquestioned. Instead, I am in a dimly lit, locked room, strapped to a bed, on a 72-hour hold in the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit of the hospital’s tenth floor.

Final Thought

The loss of my freedom is my biggest fear. While hospitalized I spend a majority of my stay strapped to hospital beds, shackled by my arms, chest and legs, unable to move, panicking and unable to catch my breath. There is no pretty picture I can paint of this barbaric experience. Whether it occurs because my sharp tongue has offended the staff or as an arbitrary solution to a non-existent problem it's wrong and inhuman and I have the right to feel fear. This is a fear that is born of past trauma that has gone unexamined by the individuals that wield the power to restrain me. I can’t find neutral words, or hope in a system that uses these tactics to subdue patients. There is no kindness in this process, there is no empathy, just cruelty and It is one of my greatest objectives to abolish this practice in Ontario hospitals. I feel fear recalling and reflecting on my experiences with restraints but I also feel a sense of determination and obligation to my fellow men and women who still have to endure this savage practice. 

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

Coming Soon

Everything feels so bright and blinding and all the pretty colours distracting you from everything else that’s going on around you. The kaleidoscope stops you from seeing what’s actually happening to you, because of you. You are trapped inside yourself and the voice of reason that’s supposed to warn you that things are not as they seem is drowned out by all the pretty colours. But if you just reach out in front of you, you will realize what you are seeing isn’t real, what you are feeling isn’t real, what you are experiencing isn’t real, you are trapped by your own thoughts.

Nobody ever tells you that when you lose your mind you are fearless, weightless, floating with no idea where you are going to land and because you feel no fear you, feel no worry and when you fall, crashing down from that high nobody ever tells you what happens when you land, no one tells you about the wreckage below when you finally stop floating aimlessly and weightlessly in a world only you can see. When your feet touch the ground and clarity hits you, your fear returns and the harsh reality of all that has transpired must be faced.

Nobody ever tells you the hardest part about losing your mind isn’t the losing, it’s the comeback afterwards. Many people are not fortunate enough to attain a second chance. Their minds are too far gone to comprehend a world without the lens of a kaleidoscope. I am fortunate however to have lived in a world of second chance, more chances than I care to remember that I squandered. I have lost my mind many times over the years, each episode more damaging than the last but I have always managed to come back from the edge of insanity though I am still not sure why or how I’m still standing.

Final Thought

Bipolar 1 disorder can be a terrifying, dangerous and destructive illness. It’s not in experiencing Mania that I have experienced fear, rather as I said in my entry from earlier on in my journey it's the kaleidoscopic chaos that occurs when you are in a delusional state. In my wellness I have learned that I like to maintain a certain level of control over every aspect of my life. I have created structure, routine and habits to mitigate manic behaviours. The problem is no matter what systems I put in place, manic chaos lurks in the wings waiting to destroy all the hard work I have done to maintain my sanity. Therein lies the fear of Mania. When I’m experiencing an episode I am completely unaware of the destruction I’m causing to myself, my finances, my home, my career, my family and my friendships. What I have always labelled the comeback after the comedown is a period in my life where I have to face the damage I’ve done that often I don’t remember. I can say I’m sorry, I can express regret but in reality I don’t remember what I’m sorry for and what I regret. What I can say is that I continue to do what needs to be done to manage my mental health, I choose not to let fear of Mania dictate my future, I have faith and hope and an unwavering belief in myself and those that love and understand my illness that when another episode occurs we will be equipped to handle it together, no collateral damage necessary.  

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

Coming Soon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Final Thought

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

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

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