Breaking the Silence: A Story of Suicide, Stigma, and Healing

Suicide doesn’t happen in some distant place. It’s much closer than we want to believe, woven into families, friendships, workplaces,

neighborhoods, and all around us. When someone takes their own life, it's estimated that the impact spreads to more than 100 people. Family,

friends, co-workers, neighbors, each left carrying the pieces of the pain, the questions, and the guilt. Suicide is never an isolated act. It is a shockwave that shakes entire communities.

One Person commits suicide every 43 seconds commit suicide. It does not wait for a moment, and the fallout ripples through entire communities.

That is why this article matters.. World Suicide Prevention Day is held every year on September 10 and is co-sponsored by the World

Health Organization to encourage open conversation and promote action worldwide. For me, it is far more than a date on the calendar. It is my story.

I am no longer willing to let secrets of my family linger in the shadows of shame. Untold trauma is like overstuffed rucksacks that you carry around through life. Burdens that become impossible to enjoy freedom. Today is an unpacking. To hold those stories close to my heart and transform the message into healing, light, and truth.

My story:

“When you share your story, you free yourself and give others permission to acknowledge their own story.” -Oprah Winfrey.

My mother grew up in the 1930s, and from her own childhood stories, it was clear she suffered from depression from a very young age.

Later, we understood that she was bipolar, which was never named or treated. She carried enormous guilt regarding her behavior and an inability to understand her emotions.

Mental illness ran in our family like an unspoken thread. My great-grandfather was an alcoholic and died from suicide, my grandfather had long bouts of severe depression, and my mother inherited the same torment. Without real treatment, her life became a cycle of rage, shame, and quick prescriptions like Valium and Xanax that only made things worse.

From my earliest memories, I could feel the shift in the air when something was about to break. The screaming. The crying. The suicide attempts. My fear is that this time she might succeed. She would die. I would be responsible. My family would collapse.

My childhood wasn’t about play. It was about survival. Taking away knives and hiding pill bottles. Talking her off the ledge. Protecting my little sister. Carrying responsibilities no child should bear.

Sometimes her attempts included us. I remember being forced into the car, her face twisted into someone unrecognizable, eyes vacant.

She raced the engine towards a bridge, screaming that we would all be better off gone. I tried to calm her, but the fear was unimaginable.

I can still hear my little sister screaming. And the panic etched on her face.

I do not know how we survived. But survival shaped me. I became the peacemaker, the rescuer, the prayer warrior, the therapist for a family drowning in silence. It was a battleground. And, I had nowhere to turn. No safe place to talk. No outlet for the trauma. To the outside world, my mother was beautiful, perfect, and untouchable. Every episode was followed by apologies and promises to try harder.

The secrets stayed locked in shame.

As an adult, I knew I could not carry it forever. I needed help. But the truth is, it has taken me most of my life to forgive, heal, and ensure that I would break the cycle of trauma that haunted generations. Regretfully, that lineage runs deep. And my family is still battling mental challenges.

You might wonder, why tell the story now?

I share this not for pity but for purpose. Silence nearly broke me. And secrets break families every single day.

Suicide is not a statistic. It is the child forced to grow up too soon. It is the mother battling demons behind a smile. It is the family fractured by guilt and questions that will never be answered.

This is why I write now. On the eve of World Suicide Prevention Day, I choose to tell my story. Until we speak, stigma wins. Until we talk, healing cannot begin. “When you share your story, you free yourself and give others permission to acknowledge their own story.” – Oprah Winfrey

My Healing:

Healing has been a long road. A lifetime, really. It came one step at a time, sometimes forward, sometimes backwards, but always moving toward freedom.

I’ve discovered seven guiding principles that have been absolutely essential in my mental recovery, the foundation for true healing and freedom from trauma.

1. Talk therapy. From the first time I said the words out loud. Naming my truth, I was releasing pain. It was terrifying. But it is the path to freedom. Secrets lose their power when they are spoken.

2. No more hiding. I stopped apologizing for my story. I embraced it. I held it close to my heart. Thanked my little girl for keeping me safe. Holding the family together. Living out loud was my way out of the dark. Owning your story is the beginning of rewriting it.

3. Focus on health through your recovery. This process is hard but worth it. You need your health to recover. Stress causes disease. So begin your health journey with your recovery. I began treating my body as part of the solution with nourishing food, consistent movement, and rest. I learned that health requires the trinity: mind, body, and spirit. Frequency and nature became medicine. Sunrise light, grounding barefoot in the earth, deep breathing outdoors, and leaning against the strength of a tree rebuilt my nervous system. I also discovered the power of frequency-charged nootropics and adaptogens. They gave my brain the rest it needed, lifting the fog, restoring the clarity, and building the resilience I had long prayed for. Healing begins when you treat your body as a partner, not an enemy.

4. Spiritual practices. Prayer, meditation, and stillness gave me the strength to forgive and space to grieve. I installed a mammoth swing in my backyard between two towering trees that became my sanctuary. Many breakthroughs occurred swinging beneath the canopy, giving gratitude for my respid. My faith reminded me that I was never walking alone, even in the darkest of moments.

Stillness is medicine for a racing mind.

5. Creative expression. Writing, art, and storytelling became outlets for emotions I had carried since childhood. Creativity allowed me to release what words could not hold. I believe we are closest to God when we are in creation mode. Isn’t He the ultimate creator, and aren’t we made in his image? What you create can also heal you.

6. Community. Healing deepened when I surrounded myself with people who listened, encouraged, and reminded me I was not alone.

I learned that connection is one of the most powerful forms of medicine. In fact, recent studies have found that it is the single most important

practice for a longer life. And Community is the antidote to shame.

7. Serving Others. Purpose became my greatest healer. Transforming pain into service. Using my story as a torch for someone

else’s darkness. Offering my hand to say you are not alone, you can survive this, too. And what if we all become so enlightened that we have a profound impact on World Mental Health? Let’s begin with mental wellness. Healing multiplies when you turn your pain into purpose.

Today, tomorrow, during suicide prevention day, my prayer is that my story sparks just one conversation, lifts one heavy burden, or gives just one person the courage to say I need help. We cannot change the past, but we can rewrite the future. It begins with truth. It begins with healing. With courage. It begins with choosing life.

You are not alone.

Your story matters.

Together, we can change the ending

If you need Help, please reach out.

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