Onika L. Dainty

Supporting Without Understanding: Accepting What I’ll Never Fully Know

Guest Post by J.R.

I was home for the weekend when my mom told me what had happened. Onika had tried to jump out of a moving car on the highway. She was now in the psych ward at the hospital—just ten minutes away from my parents’ place. When visiting hours came, I never went.

I don’t know if it was fear, avoidance, or just not knowing what to say, but I stayed away. The next time I saw her was at our annual family gathering on Boxing Day. She was the same, but different. She smiled, laughed, made jokes. But there was something behind her eyes I couldn’t place.

Fast forward to the summer, and I got a call from my aunt asking me to come by. I showed up, not knowing I was about to walk into my first manic episode.

Onika thought she was under attack. She had hidden knives under mounds of clothes on the stairs of her family home. I only found out because I went to move the clothes, and she stopped me. I remember laughing—maybe out of discomfort, maybe because I didn’t know what else to do. But it wasn’t funny. This was my older cousin, the same one who used to sit on my head when we were kids until the day I finally punched her. But now, everything was different. She didn’t need a rival—she needed support. And at that point, I knew nothing about what that meant.

The ambulance came. I drove my aunt to the hospital to be there for the admission. That was the first time I heard the terms voluntary and involuntary hold. I was 22, and the whole system felt overwhelming. A few weeks later, I went back to visit Onika, determined to support her this time. But the reality of being buzzed in, the weight of it all—it was too much. I stayed, but I never did again.

Finding My Own Way to Support

I couldn’t be there in the way most people might expect. But what I could do was learn. I started researching bipolar disorder, reading everything I could, trying to understand what Onika was going through. That led to conversations, questions, and eventually, something bigger—a mental health podcast where I learned through the experiences of others, including Onika.

Over the last 20 years, I’ve seen several episodes, including the last one, when I called for a wellness check. That led to a four-month stay at Ontario Shores. I’ve witnessed the highs, the lows, the moments of clarity, and the moments when reality seemed to slip away. And through it all, I’ve learned that listening is one of the most powerful forms of support.

I don’t need to understand every thought that races through her mind. I don’t need to relate to the feeling of mania or the depths of depression. But I do need to respect her lived experience—because she is the expert of her own mind.

Finding Peace in Not Knowing

There was a time when I thought I had to get it to be a good support system. That if I could just understand everything about bipolar disorder, I’d be able to help the “right” way. But I’ve come to realize that support isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about showing up in the ways you can.

I still don’t fully understand what it’s like to live with Bipolar disorder, and I never will. But I do know how to listen. I know how to respect her journey. I know that my role isn’t to fix anything, but to be steady, reliable, and open.

For anyone who loves someone with a mental health condition, my advice is this: You don’t have to know it all. You don’t have to say the perfect thing. You just have to be present, however that looks for you. Because sometimes, the best support isn’t in understanding—it’s in simply being there.