Onika L. Dainty

Understanding Father-Daughter Relationships: The Unique Struggles of Women with Bipolar Disorder

A father is his daughter’s first love. He is your first male relationship that teaches you how to navigate friendships and partnerships with males. He teaches you the inner workings of a social system filled with disappointment and discrimination and how to achieve success even after you’ve failed. He teaches you to be tough in a world that owes you nothing except the opportunities you make for yourself. He teaches you how to keep your head down while holding it up high.  But what happens when that father-daughter dynamic is severed by the traumas and tragic circumstances associated with mental illness, specifically Bipolar disorder, which changes the way you relate to each other and threatens to alter the course of a bond forged in love and mutual respect?

My father is a formative, charismatic and dynamic man. He wasn’t present for the first five years of my life, not because he didn’t want to be but rather he was working hard to pave the way for my mother and I to move from third-world Guyana to a country with more opportunities for his daughter, Canada. However his absence in the first formative five years of my life took a toll on my emotional development. I often felt lonely or second-best to his life in Canada and I missed his presence in my day-to-day life back home. This feeling of second-best and sometimes neglect didn’t change once my mom and I moved to Canada. Rather it persisted because he still had to work hard at his job to provide for us and he had an active social life that seemed to take precedence over his relationship with me. 

I think these complex feelings of abandonment led to feelings of depression and anxiety at an early age. I was a highly emotional child and my dad was and still is more stoic in personality, so we had difficulty relating to each other then and now. Put it this way, my energy always leaned toward the manic and hyper and he was always still and calm. These differences led to a lack of understanding and a perceived lack of support especially when it was clear I was dealing with mental illness in my adolescence. 

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

Life Lesson #2

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.”  

A Bipolar Woman's Final Dedication - Let's Take A Walk

Dedicated to Kim: My Big Sister, My Person.

My phone would ring and on the other end of the line would be Kim, her voice soft and sweet and knowing. She’d say, “Hey Sis, let's take a walk.” These walks by the Ajax Lakeshore started in 2009 after I fell into a deep depressive episode. I was locked away in my room for months and no one could reach me, no one could understand. But one day I looked up through the sadness and pain and there was Kim with a smile on her face and determination in her eyes. She asked me what would feel good in that moment, what would relieve some of the pain and anxiety that had defined my days and I answered, “the lake.” Kim smiled and said, “I love the lake, let’s take a walk.”

It was almost spring and the cold was biting but I could tell she didn’t mind, Kim was always a child of nature. At first we would just sit on the bench and watch the water in silence because Kim knew instinctually I didn’t have the strength to walk after months of being bed ridden, she knew all I needed was to breathe and she would breathe with me, when the tears of frustration and hopelessness came, she would hold my hand offer her shoulder, hold me tightly in her warm embrace and let me cry encouraging me to release the pain. And only when she felt movement was the next natural step she would look into my tear filled eyes and smile that knowing Kim smile full of kindness and empathy, understanding radiating from every pore of her being but most of all determination ever-present then she’d say “Let’s take a walk.”

The process of getting me moving again took hours, days and weeks and Kim never gave up. She would call me everyday and say, “Hey Sis, let’s take a walk.”and we’d go and watch the sunrise over Lake Ontario, we’d talk about the miracles of God, we’d talk about our futures full of hope, joy and possibilities, we’d stop by our favourite Willow tree and practice Tai Chi, we’d walk barefoot on the sandy beach picking up heart shaped rocks for my collection. On our long walks along the shoreline Kim with her curious nature would often be the one to venture onto paths unknown and the roads less travelled. That was Kim, adventurous, fearless, risk taking, wise, with a free spirit that burst through her touching everything and everyone around her, simply making us better, making me better. 

For years “Let’s take a walk” was code for both our need to escape to our happy place. They say God is in everything but Kim and I never felt closer to God or each other than on those walks by the lakeshore. On those long walks we forged an unbreakable bond. At first it was she who supported me in my journey to mental wellness but after many years, dozens of walks, hundreds of conversations and thousands of steps we grew to support each other. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Kim took those steps with me. Her unconditional love, unwavering support, patience, non-judgment, empathy, acceptance and understanding are among the reasons I’m alive and well today. 

Kim had a unique way of knowing what you needed even when you didn’t know. She was stubborn in her determination and authentic and passionate about the people she loved. And Kim Taslim loved me. She walked with me, she comforted me, she danced with me, she laughed with me, she supported my dreams, she never gave up on me even when I gave up on myself. She was my Big Sister, My Mentor, My Teacher, One of my Greatest Advocates and she was and always will be my Person. So Taslim, Sis, I will be at the lakeshore where we had our best moments, our happiest memories, where you taught me what true love means. I will stand by our Willow tree, watch the sunrise and wait to hear you whisper from the sky above: “Hey Sis, Let’s Take A Walk.”