Onika L. Dainty

Last year I took my first solo trip to Guyana in South America post-diagnosis and after twelve months of recovery. Historically, air travel has not been kind to my mental health. I often believed I was well before departure, only to spiral into hypomania that tipped into mania upon arrival, leading to hospitalization for manic-psychosis once I returned home.

It wasn’t until that trip I realized my Bipolar disorder had a predictable travel cycle—one that could be managed with preparation. After speaking with my psychiatrist, I was advised to create a Mental Health Travel Crisis Plan. I had packed every physical item twice for reassurance but hadn’t considered what my mind truly needed.

A week before departure, I began researching and building my plan. Travel can be exhilarating, but it is also emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausting. For those living with Bipolar disorder, it can be unpredictable—even dangerous—triggering Mania or depression. I came to understand that knowledge and preparation are essential travel companions.

In this blog, I’ll share how to recognize travel triggers, outline my lived experience with a travel cycle, and guide you in creating a practical, empowering mental health crisis plan.

Why Travel Can Be a Trigger—Even When It’s Excitement You’re Feeling

Travel challenges anyone’s mental health because of the disruption to daily routine, structure, and sleep patterns. For those with Bipolar disorder, the stakes are higher: the excitement of new experiences can destabilize moods and amplify symptoms. Careful planning helps minimize risks while still embracing the joy of exploration.

Common Travel Triggers for Bipolar Disorder

• Sleep Disruption
  Travel anxiety, jet lag, and changing time zones can disrupt circadian rhythms, often worsening bipolar symptoms. Lack of restful sleep is one of the most common triggers of Mania or depression. A travel sleep schedule, naps, and rest rituals can help re-establish balance.
  
  

• Environmental Change
  Leaving the comfort of home means leaving behind familiar routines that support stability. New environments—whether exciting or overwhelming—can destabilize mood. Building in grounding practices like mindfulness, breathing exercises, or journaling helps ease adjustment.
  
  

• Overstimulation
  Bright city lights, bustling airports, or even serene beaches can overwhelm the senses. Overstimulation often leads to loneliness, irritability, or racing thoughts. Pausing to reset—through journaling, walking, or retreating to quiet spaces—can help restore equilibrium.
  
  

Travel often pressures us to “just enjoy” the experience. But it’s vital to honour your mental health needs first. There will always be future opportunities for travel.

Building Your Travel Crisis Plan and Checklist for Bipolar Disorder

A Mental Health Travel Crisis Plan ensures peace of mind and provides clear steps if symptoms escalate. Paired with a Travel Checklist for Bipolar Disorder, it helps you anticipate challenges before they become crises.

What to Include in Your Mental Health Travel Crisis Plan

• Emergency Contact List: Psychiatrist, therapist, close family or friends, and substitute decision-maker.
  
  

• Preferred Safe Spaces: Local hospitals, clinics, or wellness centres at your destination.
  
  

• Medication List: Updated prescriptions, allergies, extra doses, and storage methods. (Consider blister packs for convenience and reassurance.)
  
  

• Coping Tools: Grounding exercises, playlists, affirmations, journaling prompts, or fitness facilities at your accommodation.
  
  

Travel Checklist for Bipolar Disorder

Track symptoms to stay self-aware and intervene early:

• Depressive symptoms: low mood, excessive sleep, anxiety.
  
  

• Hypomanic symptoms: insomnia, impulsivity, racing thoughts.
  
  

• Mania/psychosis symptoms: hallucinations, aggression, delusions.
  
  

This checklist is not meant to alarm, but to help you recognize your bipolar cycle in new environments and respond proactively.

How to Talk Mental Health and Travel: Preparing Others Without Over-explaining

Traveling with Bipolar disorder often means educating companions or hosts. On my trip to Guyana, I explained to relatives the mood shifts, highs, and lows I’d experience. Many dismissed symptoms as “jet lag,” but I knew they were part of my cycle.

Being transparent about your mental health needs—like requesting quiet accommodations or early check-in—empowers you and fosters understanding. Stigma still surrounds mental illness, but avoiding conversations to make others comfortable can leave you unsupported.

By explaining your needs with honesty, you shift the narrative: people with mental illness are capable of managing both their health and their travel itinerary.

Final Thoughts: Travel Doesn’t Have to Be Perfect to Be Worthwhile

Travel with bipolar disorder has taught me:

• Restful sleep is essential to mental and emotional stability.
  
  

• Mania often disguises itself as excitement and energy—until it crashes.
  
  

• A crisis plan allows flexibility, grace, and recovery when symptoms emerge.
  
  

Some trips require immediate rest; others allow exploration before fatigue sets in. Either way, I’ve learned to see healing as part of the journey, not a setback.

Travel doesn’t need to be perfect to be worthwhile. Crisis planning isn’t expecting the worst—it’s loving yourself enough to be ready.

I remember the exact moment my caseworker told me I had 30 days left in my first transitional home. My stomach dropped. Words failed me. I’d only been there six months—though four of those were spent recovering from multiple bipolar episodes, trying to claw my way back to stability.

Questions flooded in:
Was my instability the reason? Did my mental health mean I no longer qualified? Was I headed back to the shelter system?

She explained the whole house was being evicted due to the property’s sale. They were looking for a new space, but with limited options, nothing was guaranteed. I left that conversation with no plan, no income, and no idea where I would be in a month.

Transitional housing is meant to be a bridge—but sometimes that bridge ends before you’ve reached solid ground. For those living with bipolar disorder, the timing can feel especially cruel.

The Illusion of Time: When Transitional Becomes Temporary

Many unhoused individuals hear “you have a place” and think the chaos is over. Relief floods in: no more streets, no more shelter, just rest and recovery.

But transitional housing is always temporary—three months, six months, maybe a year. You trade one uncertainty for another. For me, stability—however fleeting—was still better than the nightmare of being unhoused. I convinced myself the time wouldn’t run out.

But mental health recovery doesn’t fit neatly into housing deadlines. Healing from trauma, bipolar episodes, and instability can take years. The countdown clock only adds pressure, forcing you to “be ready” before you truly are.

The Emotional Fallout of Another Ending

Housing loss has an emotional cost—panic, shame, insecurity, and grief, much like a breakup or death. You wonder if you’re “too slow” or “not good enough,” wishing recovery could happen faster.

I thought paying rent and healing was enough. It wasn’t. I had no control over the sale, no say in my eviction, and no certainty about my future.

Being forced to leave without a plan can reignite old trauma. For those with a recent history of homelessness, like me, the fear is sharper—you know too well what chaos lies beyond that deadline.

In the unknown, hope is replaced by anxiety and darkness. Your future feels hidden, unsettled, and unsafe.

The Search: Scrambling for Stability Before the Exit

After my eviction notice, I scrambled—adding my name to waitlists, contacting rentals I couldn’t afford, facing rejection after rejection. I wasn’t well enough to work, keep up with appointments, search for low-income housing, and manage my bipolar disorder all at once.

In desperation, I even messaged the landlord, pleading to stay. His refusal—steeped in stigma—left me crushed.

The last two weeks were spent in bed, consumed by depression and fear. Would I end up back in the shelter? Hospitalized? On the street?

Days before eviction, my caseworker found another transitional space. Relief came, but so did resentment—being placed last minute made me feel more like a file than a human being.

What Support Should Look Like—And Often Doesn’t

Housing support for mental health recovery should be holistic. Transitional housing should come with wraparound services—therapy, counseling, peer mentorship, and case management.

Too often, systems are disjointed. A shelter case manager may not connect with a transitional housing case manager. Without coordinated care, healing becomes temporary, not transformative.

Trauma from mental illness, addiction, or abuse needs more than a bed. Without the right support, reintegration into the community—the very goal of transitional housing—is rarely achieved.

My success now is due to self-advocacy. Once I realized my healing depended on me, I secured the services I needed during my stay.

Final Thought: Housing Is a Human Right—Not a Privilege

In my new transitional home, I learned that housing stability isn’t simply given—it’s fought for daily. The clock always runs out, and if you’re not prepared, you can fall back into uncertainty.

For months, I lived out of boxes, afraid to unpack. Eventually, I let go of fear, embraced my temporary space, and made it my own—painting walls pink, filling shelves with books, creating comfort where I could.

Housing is a human right. In our current system, it’s too often treated as a privilege, especially for those with mental health challenges. Without safe, stable housing, it’s nearly impossible to achieve emotional stability, financial security, or lasting wellness.

To my readers: Have you ever had to leave before you were ready? What would safety and support look like if it truly supported healing?