the one about suicide.

September is National Suicide Prevention month and I have some things I need to say.

I am not a clinician. I do not specialize in suicide prevention. I am not presenting research based information.

But I would like to share my experience. 

I am someone who suffers from suicide ideation on a daily basis. Sometimes it is quiet in the back of my mind. Frustrating, but not consuming. Sometimes it is so loud it is all I can hear. 

This looks often looks like: 

rapid fire repetitive thoughts, rumination, and an ongoing, screaming argument inside my brain. 

Most of the time it is passive, meaning I don’t agree with the thoughts in my head and I am not planning to act on them. There have been other times it has been active, and I have made plans, collected methods, and chosen when and where I would take my life. 

I have made 5 suicide attempts throughout my adult life. Several of them were planned. I had been in crisis for an extended period of time and thought it through over the course of weeks or months. Some of them were impulsive, meaning I had an acute mental health crisis and acted quickly without premeditation. 

The truth is, suicide is on my mind often. 

I’ve had seasons where I kept a suicide note in my phone, just in case.

I expend a lot of energy surviving. Literally. 

Many people have shared that most individuals who are contemplating suicide or suffering from SI don’t actually want to die, they just want the pain to end. This resonates with me.

When I am struggling, the appeal of death is that it feels like a relief from overwhelming pain. There is a part of me that has become very attached to this strategy (suicide) as a solution to overwhelming experiences. I have only recently discovered compassion for this Part. It is real, and it is trying to do its job to keep me “safe” in its own way. 

I have several mental health diagnosis that all seem in some way connected to C-PTSD and PTSD. I have struggled with anorexia for over half of my life. Suicide is the second leading cause of death for individuals with eating disorders.

My experiences of crisis have varied in their presentation. Sometimes I am high functioning. I make myself busy to escape my thoughts. I become very social. I am physically active. I am ambitious at work or school. I attend and plan various events. I reach out to others to offer support, finding solace in focusing on someone else’s problems to avoid my own. Sometimes I can’t get out of bed. I don’t shower. Simple tasks are excruciating and overwhelming. I cannot function. For me, being suicidal doesn’t actually have a “look.”

But there are some consistent warning signs  I have identified over the years:

I feel like my brain is on fire. I feel numb. I feel stuck. I feel like what I am facing or feeling does not have a solution or “other side.” I don’t feel like myself. I am struggling to stay present or stay in my body. I am dissociated, or feeling detached from reality.  I don’t feel like I can trust myself. I start considering or researching methods. I withdraw or isolate when I am unable to conceal how much I am hurting. 

It’s National Suicide Prevention month and I’m seeing messages everywhere encouraging people to talk to someone if they’re struggling. It’s a nice sentiment. This seems like a simple step to get help. But I REALLY want you to hear this: the reality of having those conversations is risky. 

It isn’t simple. 

You risk involuntary hospitalization, which may seem to providers and loved ones to be a solution. But my experiences in psychiatric hospitals have been mediocre at best and traumatic and dehumanizing at worst. Yes, there are times where going to a hospital has provided me with physical safety in a crisis. There is value in that. But all my experiences in the hospital have been, for the most part, therapeutically negative. 

You risk disruption and destabilization in your life caused by hospitalization or going into intensive treatment. Loss of routine and the everyday things that might provide comfort. Missing loved ones, pets, personal belongings, the safety of your home or bed.

You risk financial loss and insecurity for medical bills, loss of employment, or time off work. 

You risk harmful reactions from those you confide in. I have been told I have a demon, or hidden sin that is manifesting as SI. I have been told that I am “just trying to get attention.” I have been told that I “don’t want to get better.” I have lost friendships entirely as a result of reaching out for help. 

You risk the impact of your SI on your loved ones. Worry and fear for your safety. Frustration for years of being in and out of crisis. When I am struggling intensely with thoughts of suicide, I am unlikely to reach out to my loved ones. I do not want to cause pain. I am concerned about their emotional reaction, feeling the weight of that on top of the heaviness I am already carrying. I am naturally very sensitive to other’s emotions, and when my feelings are screaming, adding someone else’s feelings only turns up the volume. 

Everyone seems to want to support those with mental illness. Until it gets messy. Until it costs money. Until God doesn’t fix it. Until it makes you uncomfortable. Until someone has been struggling for years and still isn’t “better.” Until it doesn’t make sense to you. Until that person doesn’t want your “solution” to the problem. Until mental illness gets in the way of family gatherings, and doing dishes, and showering, and paying bills. 

I don’t have a solution. 

But I have my experience. 

So I want to share what has felt supportive to me when I am severely struggling. 

Be there. Hold space for an experience that you may not understand. Sit in your own discomfort of listening to someone else’s pain. Try not to react with big emotions. Be regulated. That helps the other person to find regulation, and helps them feel like you are a safe person to confide in. Listen. Listen. Listen. Ask about the pain. What does it feel like? What’s the heaviest part? Are you planning? Be curious instead of swooping in with answers.

Help in practical ways. Provide meals. Provide financial support if needed. Remove barriers to help and care. Offer to drive someone to the hospital if that is what they need. Do some dishes. Pick up medication.

Do life. Invite them to go for a walk, share a cup of coffee, read a book on the same sofa. Watch a movie, go to stand up comedy, send funny videos. Don’t just show up when there is a crisis. Do life with them. Set a place at your table. Send a text when something makes you think of them.

Be honest. If you are not in a place to offer support, communicate that. Set clear boundaries. But own it as your own experience instead of blaming someone for struggling. Don’t just withdraw. If I ask for support and you stop responding to me and interacting with me, the conclusion my brain offers is that asking for support is not a safe option. I am too much. My pain is too big to share. 

I also want to share personal strategies that I do to keep myself safe. This is how I help my brain cope:

“Not yet.” I want to kill myself, but I’m not going to do it yet. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” This is something I tell myself a lot. It reassures my brain that I only have to survive Today. And the trick here, is that tomorrow never comes. This helps in an acute crisis when there is desperation and urgency to die “right now.” 

“Small” things to live for. This is key for me. If I try to think of “big” reasons to stay alive, it.does.not.help. Sometimes, it makes it worse. Loved ones, a dream career, finishing school, having a family, etc. Absolutely not. This is very overwhelming to me and adds to the pressure of “being ok” when I am anything but. These things feel impossible and unattainable in a moment of crisis. I believed for a long time that there was something wrong with me because I was not motivated by these things to stay alive. It might work for some people, but it doesn’t work for me. Instead, I focus on small things that provide comfort. My feet on a sandy beach, drinking a cup of tea or coffee, snuggling with my dog, cute videos of kids doing silly things, my favorite music. These are low stakes things to stay alive for. I remind myself I want to experience them again. 

Writing. Especially poetry. Finding words and images that express what’s going on inside me. Describing the pain. Giving it a shape, depth, edges, texture. And then sharing it with those close to me so that I feel seen. 

Taking myself to a public place. Being around people without the pressure to talk or socialize. A park, a store, a library. A setting where I know I won’t hurt myself because there are people around. Being around people who are doing everyday things can be regulating, and help me feel a little more human. 

Staying in bed. It’s not always helpful, but sometimes it is what is accessible. Staying in bed and watching a TV show until my brain calms down can be crisis management. I tell myself “don’t move” and wait it out. Sometimes a nap helps me feel a bit better. The trick with this one is that when I am in a state of “freeze” as a result of panic, staying in bed is NOT effective. Getting up and moving my body is more helpful. 

Moving my body. I used to run, but I can’t anymore so I have turned to walking. Walking outside in a beautiful place, running an errand, walking to a coffee shop. Being in motion. Engaging my body. Getting the panic or depression or trauma moving through my body instead of stuck in my chest. 

I don’t have a solution for how to “get rid of” SI. I have explored countless options. I have tried so many medications, modalities, and therapies. I used to believe that God would heal me, had healed me, or was in the process of healing me. I sought answers in many directions, trying to get to the roots of why I can’t “get better.” In my journey I have gained bits and pieces along the way. I continue to learn how to show love to the different parts that make me “me.” Parts that have worked so hard to help me survive. I have come, and am still coming, to a place of acceptance that SI is a chronic condition for me. Maybe someday that will change. But I’m not hanging my hat on that anymore.

When someone loses their life to suicide, the response is often shock. Anger. Confusion. That makes sense. But I feel a significant sense of compassion. I have been to the edge. I know the pit can seem bottomless. 

Everyone’s experience is unique. And as I mentioned before, I am not an expert. My hope in sharing all of this is that it will give you a glimpse into an experience you may not understand. And maybe it will help cultivate some compassion for the experiences of those around you. Everyone is carrying their own version of pain. So be kind. And don’t assume you understand. Listen. Listen. Listen. 

And if you are reading this and you have lived experience with SI or other forms of mental illness, I hope you know you are not alone. Keep fighting. Keep staying. 

All my love,

Jo

the pain.

It started out small

With a little bit of kindling

The light hurt my eyes

My face began to thaw

I recoiled from the pain

Longing to stay numb

But it was too late

The feeling woke me up

I held my fingers out

Passed my hand through the flame

But only for a moment

To avoid the searing pain

I know it's what I need 

To turn my back toward the chill

But there's comfort in the cold

Lullabies me til I'm still

I used to feel the ache

Felt the shiver in my bones

But I learned to love the ice
I made it my home

Without the heat I'll die

Too much and I will burn

Can I learn to love the blaze

And toward the warmth, turn

The fire purifies my past
The ice preserves my wounds

Pain going forward and back

And I get to choose

Like a hand on a hot stove
I'll touch it for a moment

The heat surrounds me

The sting begins to fade

So I'll gather my courage

Take a step towards the flames

I'd rather feel alive

Than forever freeze the pain

here's to (twenty six).

here's to quiet mornings and fresh brewed coffee

to wet puppy kisses and soft clean fur

to deep conversations and playful banter

here's to silhouettes of mountain ranges

to homemade pasta and olive oil and parmesan

to crackling fires and fuzzy blankets

here's to hello's after it's-been-too-long's

to popcorn and late night movies

to steep hikes and breathtaking views

here's to belly-laughter and happy tears

to holiday spices and giant snowflakes

to clacking keyboards and brand new paintbrushes

here's to sunset beaches and sandy toes

to empty airports and used book stores

to sloppy kisses and children's games

here's to favorite playlists and horseback rides

to inside jokes and nicknames

to sore muscles and deep stretches

here's to road-trips and waterfalls

to much-needed hugs and encouraging words

to brunch and grapefruit mimosas 

here's to sparkles and streamers

to hot tubs and heaping bowls of ice cream

to new tattoos and old hoodies

here's to wisdom (from hard earned lessons)

to kindness, and joy, and connection

here's to twenty six.

twenty five.

1.     Food past the expiration date isn't worth it. 

2.     Spiritual, emotional, and physical connection with others is vital to life.

3.     Questioning what you believe requires integrity.

4.     Friendships/relationships are allowed to grow, change, and disappoint without devaluing the individuals involved.

5.     Cat urine is the worst smell in the world.

6.     There is absolutely no sense in keeping (or wearing) clothes that no longer fit.

7.      Nobody has all the answers.

8.     Sometimes self-care just looks like survival.

9.     Persistent, domineering self-talk can still be completely false.

10. Buy the non-slip shoes.

11. Just because you can stay up past midnight doesn’t make it a good idea.

12. It’s perfectly ok and healthy to change your mind.

13. To-do lists are a magical game-changer.

14. Debt is not the end of the world.

15. Pray bigger prayers.

16. Life is harsh. Cherish the beauty.

17. Humans in the church are just as messy as humans outside the church.

18. Being ignorant when you are young is not a failure – it’s normal.

19. Don’t get drunk…but if you must, do it around sober, safe people.

20. Seeking professional help is underrated.

21. Advocate for yourself in the doctor’s office.

22. Gaining weight is not the end of the world.

23. You are allowed to let go of harmful beliefs,

24. There is tremendous healing potential in vulnerability…There is also tremendous potential for wounding.

25. Art is underrated in the adult world. Do it. Share it. Celebrate it.

because it matters (be kind).

It's been a hell of a season, hasn't it? 

In conversations over zoom, in person, through face masks and over copious cups of hot beverages I have heard it again and again. We are weary. We are struggling. We are aching.

We got the proverbial wind knocked out of us. We have been repeatedly kicked while down. We have absorbed multiple "last straw" moments and yet we are still standing...Or crawling...Or at least, breathing. 

God only knows the details of my hard season and I don't know yours. The struggle has taken many different shapes, colors, and sizes. No two of us share the exact pain, and yet we can share a collective sigh that somehow sums up the experience.

And so here we are. 

And yet, in a season where so many are feeling different shades of the same struggle, we find ourselves increasingly divided and hostile. As a natural-born peacemaker, it's exhausting to watch. I have dear friends and family that span a vast range of opinions regarding political, religious (or non-religious), economic, and scientific worldviews (to name a few). It seems that I know people on all extreme ends of the spectrum of opinions. 

This is what I have concluded...

Nobody has all the answers... if any. 

Most people are doing the best that they can with the resources that they have. 

We are not all that different.

...And if ever there was a time to be kind, it's now. 

2021 was hands down the most difficult year I have lived yet. The perfect storm of circumstances collided during the pandemic for me resulting in the loss of so many precious things. One of those precious things was certainty. 

Things like my purpose, my faith, and my passion feel shaken to the core. 

I have been questioning so much and so often that some days it feels as if  I will wake up and realize I have been unknowingly cast as a supporting character in a satirical TV show. So often I have felt as if nothing matters anymore. As if life is a meaningless and cruel joke. In the chaos of everything that has happened and is happening in the world and in my personal life, is there meaning to be found? 

In the ashes of everything I thought I knew, I have discovered something that I believe does matter.

It's love.  

See, we humans are so messy, so awful, and so desperately beautiful that it takes my breath away. To experience love is so painful and so necessary that we will stop at nothing to obtain some version of it. We each carry the ability to love and be loved and yet for whatever reasons we withhold it, extinguish it, or abuse it. 

This is my plea. 

Be kind. 

You have no idea the pain that another human is carrying in their soul. 

You are no better and no greater than your neighbor that you mock. We are all simply human. You cannot begin to boast of knowing the why behind someone else's behavior. You can speculate, you can guess, you can even puzzle together the handful of facts you hold. But it is not yours to know or to judge another soul. It is yours to love. 

That's what makes your life beautiful. Not your opinions, not your knowledge, not your certainty. It's your love. 

We are all tired. We are all struggling. We are all aching.

Please, be kind. 

Be defined by the one thing that makes humanity beautiful, that makes human life worth living. Be defined by love. 

Because it matters.

At the end of the day when everything else has burned to ashes, love matters. 

Be kind. 

Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13

crying over brownies.

I jumped behind the couch before I had a chance to process the peculiarity of it. I tucked my knees, wrapped my arms around my body, and the dam broke. As I cried, it began to dawn on me how ridiculous this must look.

After all, the crammed-between-the wall-and-the-back-of-a-sectional in a dark room doesn’t really scream “dignified” in my book (or “sane” for that matter).

And why, you may ask, am I hiding behind a couch, crying and shaking like it’s the start of the apocalypse?

Because I ate a brownie.

I ate a brownie to challenge my eating disorder. Clearly the eating disorder fought back (I’ll spare you the inner dialogue).

I discovered something in that moment behind the couch:

It is incredibly vulnerable to cry over brownies.

I have a loud inner critic that informs me almost 24/7 that the things that hurt me “shouldn’t hurt” or that the feelings I have shouldn’t be “that intense” or that those raw, sensitive parts of my heart “shouldn’t exist” and/or “don’t matter.”

You’re crying about a BROWNIE, Joanna! C’mon! This is idiotic.

And that’s the reason I jumped behind the couch.

Because in my heart of hearts I believe that no one should see me cry over such a “stupid” thing. That my feelings are wrong and nobody should see them. My feelings are too much. I am too much. That the most appropriate and logical thing to do in moments of intense emotion is to go away.

So, I hide. Behind couches, yes… but most often beneath a mountain of “right” answers, independence, introvert excuses and productivity.

In truth, I would rather discuss difficult emotions for hours upon end than feel them for 90 seconds. And heaven forbid there is another human in the room with me when I feel them. I don’t want to be seen crying over brownies. How embarrassing.

Let’s be real, I wasn’t crying about the brownie.

There is a tender part in my heart that aches from years and years of believing that what I eat is a direct reflection of my value as a human being. That if I don’t do that area of my life perfectly, I won’t be seen and I won’t be loved.

So, I wasn’t crying about the brownie. I was crying because it hurts to be unseen, unknown, and unloved. It’s hurts to challenge the voice in my head that is convinced that this is all dependent on the brownie. Even more than that, it hurts that I have believed this since I was a little girl, and as a result, invited the wrecking ball of an eating disorder into my life.

It hurts.

I was crying because it hurts.

And pain is so vulnerable.

Maybe for you it’s not a brownie. Maybe it’s a comment your partner made (or didn’t make), or the job you didn’t get, or craving the substance you are trying to give up, or the flashbacks, or the cancelled appointment, or coming home to an empty apartment, or the unmet expectation that your family will know what to say and when…

Sometimes it just hurts.

Can we learn how to say things like that? To feel things like that? Things like:

I’m hurting
I’m sad/mad/disappointed/confused..etc
It hurt when…
I feel unlovable
I’m struggling with my inner critic
I’m so tired
I need encouragement
I’m scared
I feel ashamed
I don’t have all the answers
Will you help me?

And I don’t just mean when life is crisis. I mean in the brownie moments. In those little things that really are not little at all. I personally try to wait until the big moments to have my meltdowns. You know, the screaming-in-my-face-billboard-you-are-DEFINITELY-not-ok moments.

I want to learn to be brave in the brownie moments.

To tell those tender parts of my heart “you matter” and to invite them to have a place in my life (my not-hiding-behind-the-couch-life). To feel the hurts, even if the cause seems “idiotic.” To allow myself to be seen and loved in those spaces.

This is new territory for me.

I’m scared
I feel ashamed
I don’t have all the answers
and sometimes it just hurts.

If that means crying over brownies, so be it.

taste.

I took a sip and tilted my head back.

The flavors of bitter and sweet lingered on my tongue with stunning complexity

I was flooded with sensations of vibrant joy mingled with the sharpness of grief

Powerful currents in a torrent racing the full spectrum of emotion

My chest tightens and expands

I make the conscious choice to open the windows of my heart

To freefall

To feel

To fully experience the colors of my life requires that I release control

I find it impossible to embrace the rawness of joy without these pangs of sorrow

This is the reality I am learning to savor

To both laugh and cry freely

To feel the refreshment of peace and the intensity of anger

To hold them gently in my hand like the fine crystal glass I am sipping

There will always be things to celebrate and things to mourn

I want to run from celebration because I fear the mourning

But hiding from joy has never chased away sorrow

And running from grief has only kept joy at arm’s length

I choose to taste the richest tones of my life, both bitter and the sweet

To pause in awe of a sunrise or a mountain range

Or the worn lines of age etched in the faces of generations before me

To throw my head back and laugh

To feel the grass between my toes

To sip my coffee slowly and sprint the mile

To feel warm sunlight on my skin and cool rain splash on my head

To allow the reality of new life and the reality of death to both rock me to my core

To be hospitable to the imperfections of myself and others

All the while holding onto hope for something better

To press into the discomfort of labor and breathe in the relief of rest

To choose to engage in both

To taste the full-bodied complexity of life for what it is

Not my fantasy of pristine safety and black and white security

All the while knowing and accepting that tomorrow holds the unknown

Blended torrents of joy and pain

I want to inhale the aromas and feel the textures and taste the fullness

For this is a wonderful, difficult, joyous, painful, and breathtaking life

I refuse to survive in a state of numbness and self-protection

For my terror of the depths of my heart is matched only by my determination to live

To truly live