You Don’t Know What You Got Til It’s Gone

My Journey Back to Baseline - Part 2

As I sat in the waiting room of Dr. A’s office at the hospital I once called home, I was terrified. To my right was the door to the inpatient unit, and I knew that after this difficult conversation, I might be returning there once again. Grama Judie sat to my left, quietly holding space beside me. I was in the midst of a hypomanic episode and I knew it, Grama Judie knew it, and soon my doctor would too. I sat in silence, rehearsing what I could possibly say to avoid being admitted behind the reinforced steel doors of the psychiatric unit I feared more than anything. When I looked up from my thoughts, Dr. A appeared, summoning us into his office.

My psychiatrist is a well-dressed, well-spoken Nigerian man who always seems in motion but somehow manages to slow down and give my care his full attention. We have worked together for almost three years, during which he has seen me in hypomania, mania, and psychosis. His decision to refer me to long-term care at a local psychiatric hospital once saved my life. It gave me the space to rebuild, rediscover hope, and find a healthier way to manage my bipolar disorder. If baseline represented recovery, this latest episode felt like relapse. I could only hope that my unconventional doctor would hear and support my unconventional idea for how to find my way back to baseline once again.

Dr. A began our appointment as he always does.

“What’s going on with you, Onika?”

That simple question broke me open.

“Doc, I’m having a hypomanic episode. I’m averaging one to two hours of sleep a night. My thoughts are racing. I spent my rent money impulsively. I’ve blown through my inheritance. I’m overwhelmed by family responsibilities. I’m hypersexual, though I haven’t acted on it. My appetite is gone. I have endless energy, and I can’t regulate my emotions. I keep crying without knowing why.”

I told him everything.

He listened, then spoke with honesty and care. He reminded me that he had warned me about overextending myself. The constant travel, the time zone changes, the lack of rest—all of it had pushed me past my limit. He had hoped I would slow down after my trip to Guyana last December, but instead, I took on more. A vacation in the Bahamas, followed by a 12-hour family road trip to New York City, then another flight soon after. He explained that for someone living with bipolar disorder, these disruptions can be dangerous. I had burned out my brain, and now it was no longer a question of if hypomania would escalate to mania, but when. His recommendation was voluntary hospitalization for two to three weeks to regulate my sleep.

In that moment, a lyric from Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi came to mind: “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” My baseline was gone, and with it, my freedom felt threatened. I knew what hospitalization meant. They would take my clothes, my jewelry, and my phone. I might end up in the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit, where nurses could strap me to a bed or place me in isolation. I wouldn’t eat what or when I wanted. I couldn’t call my loved ones or return home when I wished. I would become a name on a whiteboard, a patient with no autonomy.

The weight of his recommendation hit me hard, and I made a decision in that moment: I was not going to be hospitalized. I believed there was another way to recover, another path to remission, and I was determined to prove it.

I made my pitch. I told Dr. A that being admitted to a psychiatric ward would set back my progress. The environment there was not conducive to healing. There was little trust, little communication, and too much control. I proposed an alternative, to heal at home. I promised to take the prescribed medications despite the side effects, to rest, to avoid driving, to reduce family involvement, and to listen to my body’s signals.

Healing on my own terms had helped me maintain stability for nearly two years, and I was desperate to try again. Something in my plea must have resonated because I noticed his expression soften. His eyes, behind his bright blue glasses, seemed to smile. Victory.

Dr. A agreed. He said I had shown great insight and accountability by coming to him before things worsened. He told me he was proud of my honesty and my commitment to wellness. Because our relationship was built on mutual trust, he would allow me to try recovery at home, under strict conditions: 

• Take the new medications exactly as prescribed and prioritize sleep

• No driving for three weeks

• Skip the 5 a.m. gym workouts and stick to light walks in the neighbourhood

• Complete all required blood work

• Most importantly: stay out of family business

I left the office with Grama Judie by my side, clutching a new prescription and a fragile sense of relief. I had convinced my doctor to believe in me, to trust that I could find my way back to baseline outside hospital walls. His faith felt like a gift, and I was determined not to waste it.

As we walked toward my car, Grama turned to me and said with a grin, “If I think this isn’t working, I’m calling Dr. A and forming the hell out of you!”

I kissed her cheek, laughing through tears. My eighty-year-old grandmother, my advocate, my friend, and my fiercest protector had once again saved me from myself. Together, we walked toward my uncertain future, one built on hope, faith, and the belief that I could find my way home to baseline once again.

Holding It All Together: Caregiving, Grief, and the Fight for Stability

My Journey Back to Baseline - Part 1

My journey back to baseline has never felt harder than it has in recent weeks. Over the past 20 years of living with this complex and unpredictable illness, I have experienced countless hypomanic, manic, and psychotic episodes. I have been hospitalized for extended periods while doctors worked to guide me through cycles of mood swings, insomnia, and emotional instability. I have always known that psychosis lurks somewhere between my present and my future, an inevitable part of my bipolar cycle on the road to recovery.

One Year of Onika L. Dainty: Over 43,000 Views, Real Stories, Real Growth

The Post I’ve Dreamed of Writing

One year ago, I pressed publish on my first blog post with a mix of fear and hope. Today, I sit here in awe: over 43,000 views in 12 months. That number represents more than traffic. It means reach, resonance, and community.

This space was never about numbers, it was about honesty, about putting lived experience with bipolar disorder on the page and trusting that someone, somewhere, might feel less alone. Along the way, I’ve written through highs, lows, and all the in-between spaces of recovery.

The Personal Wins: Living the Dream of Writing

For years, I dreamed of being a writer. This blog made that dream real. Weekly practice gave me courage to tell the truth, even when it felt risky. Vulnerability became a ritual, not a performance, and self-trust slowly replaced self-doubt.

Every time I published, even on the toughest days, I met a truer version of myself. And in doing so, I also get to lead by example, showing my two nieces that you can follow your dreams, even when the path is complicated by mental health struggles.

Readers’ Favourites: The Posts That Traveled Farthest

Some pieces traveled farther than I ever imagined:

• The Impact of Blogging on Mental Health: Woman With Bipolar Disorder Shares Her Lived Experience - This post resonated because it wove lived expertise with practical hope.

• The Role of Gratitude in Recovery: Sharing Stories - Readers responded deeply to community-driven reflections on gratitude as a daily practice.

• Access to Mental Healthcare: Challenges Faced by Women with Bipolar Disorder - Naming systemic barriers sparked conversation and connection I hadn’t anticipated.

• Life Lessons Series - This ongoing series of reflections has become a hub of dialogue. Posts on validation, resilience, and self-love showed me that sharing “small” lessons can carry immense weight.

Together, these four pillars helped carry us to nearly 43K+ views—proof that honest, grounded stories matter.

The Professional Wins: From Blog to Real-World Impact

The Honest Lows: What Was Hard and How I Coped

It wasn’t all triumph. Creating while living with bipolar disorder meant navigating cycles, hospitalizations, and travel that disrupted consistency. Family duties and responsibilities demanded renegotiated boundaries. And sometimes, I had to pause projects or choose rest, learning that stepping back is also part of moving forward. 

You may have noticed that this past month, September, and also in May, my posts were limited. That is because I have been moving through bipolar depression and hypomania, and I chose care over output. I will share more about this in future posts.

My Support Team

I have often spoken about the importance of having a team around you, and mine has been incredible. A special thank you to Grama Judie for everything she has done for me, for being my advocate when I cannot be my own. And to my family, who have been on this journey with me and stayed by my side, you know who you are.

Sidebar: My Relief Kit

What’s Next

Gratitude Roll

To every reader, commenter, collaborator, and quiet supporter: thank you. Thank you for trusting me with your stories, and for letting my words walk alongside yours.

I’d love to hear from you: Which post spoke to you most? Explore my previous posts and the Life Lessons Series and let me know.

If a post has helped you, please share it with someone who needs lived-experience hope today. Together, we can keep this community growing.

When Hypomania Feels Like Home: Living with a High Baseline in Bipolar Disorder

When Up Is Your Normal

For years, I thought I was just naturally energetic, creative, and always “on.” I felt things intensely like joy, laughter, even ordinary experiences seemed electrified. My reactions were often impulsive, erratic, and overwhelming, yet I didn’t see them as symptoms. I thought this was simply who I was. In truth, I was living in a constant state of hypomania. It became my baseline, my “normal.”

Hypomania can be seductive, especially when it feels chronic. It disguises itself as personality: the life of the party, the funny friend, the student with brilliant answers but a compulsion to talk too much in class. My parents were relieved when my bubbly, singing, over-expressive self returned after depressive lows, never realizing these drastic shifts were early signs of bipolar disorder, not just extroversion.

This blog explores what it means to live with a high baseline, why it’s so difficult to let go of the high, and how learning to trust the quiet version of myself became a turning point in my healing.

Defining Hypomania vs. Hyperthymic Temperament

Clinically, hypomania cannot be a baseline. It is episodic, a distinct shift from stability marked by elevated mood, energy, and activity. Some people, however, naturally have a hyperthymic temperament: consistently high energy, optimism, sociability, and productivity. This temperament can mimic hypomania and is even linked to a higher risk of developing bipolar disorder.

For those of us living with bipolar disorder, the line between personality and illness can blur. What feels like drive, creativity, or charisma may in fact be sustained symptoms like rapid speech, reduced sleep, impulsivity, and inflated confidence. Without awareness, these traits can be mistaken for identity rather than signals of dysregulation.

Why It’s Hard to Let Go of the High

Hypomania often feels like a gift. Increased productivity, endless creativity, and social magnetism make it easy to believe this is who we were always meant to be. For me, these highs often felt like freedom, like finally stepping into the version of myself that the world wanted. Stabilizing felt like losing my spark, my voice, my power.

But this self-awareness comes with a cost. The ego boost of hypomania can mask denial. When you feel invincible, it’s difficult to admit that you are, in fact, unwell. I feared that medication or balance would steal my creativity. I worried that slowing down meant settling for less. It took years of therapy, self-reflection, and painful trial-and-error to accept that stability wasn’t stealing from me, it was protecting me.

The Hidden Costs of Living Too High for Too Long

Sustained hypomania may look like success on the outside, but inside it chips away at emotional and physical health. Irritability, impulsive spending, risky decisions, and strained relationships often followed my “best days.” My body, constantly running hot, eventually gave out with crushing fatigue.

The truth is that hypomania rarely stays contained. For many with bipolar disorder, it is the precursor to mania, psychosis, or depressive collapse. What feels like endless possibility can lead to burnout, hospitalization, or starting over from rock bottom. Learning this pattern in myself was both devastating and liberating.

Reclaiming Balance Without Losing Yourself

Letting go of chronic hypomania didn’t mean losing my essence, it meant reclaiming it. Through mood tracking, therapy, and radical honesty, I began to distinguish between my personality and my illness. Medication and treatment no longer felt like joy-killers but as tools of protection, allowing me to build a life I could sustain.

I also had to learn to love calm. At first, stillness felt foreign, even frightening. Without constant motion, who was I? Slowly, I began to see clarity in the quiet. Creativity that wasn’t chaotic, joy that wasn’t fragile. My wellness plan now includes consistent sleep, journaling, structured routines, and boundaries that protect me from spiraling too high.

Final Thought: You Deserve to Feel Good—Just Not at the Cost of Yourself

For so long, I equated my “highs” with my worth. But I’ve learned that stability isn’t boring, it’s sustainable. Hypomania may feel like home, but it is a house built on fragile ground. My real home is in balance, where both the electric and the quiet versions of myself are loved.

To my readers: Who are you when you are not producing, performing, or powering through? Can you honour that version of yourself too?