As I reflect on how far I’ve come in my healing journey, I think about the struggles I endured to reach a place where happiness and peace felt possible. For a long time, I believed they weren’t.
Depression had taken hold of me for several years. On the outside, I was functioning, I went to work, made meals, and took care of my responsibilities. But inside, I felt empty. Flat. Lifeless. My thoughts were consumed with one question: What could I have done differently?
Grief, I’ve come to understand, is a form of love.
In those first years, I didn’t know what to do with my grief—with the love that felt unexpressed, trapped inside my heart. I tried to bury it. I didn’t want to cause pain for anyone else. Carrying it alone felt heavy, but I was determined not to burden others with my despair.
It took years of research, lived experience, therapy, and deep self-healing for me to realize something profound: suicide loss requires connection. It requires community. It requires an outlet.
So often, we hesitate to reach out. We fear others won’t understand, won’t be supportive, or may judge us. We tell ourselves we shouldn’t burden anyone with our pain. But in doing so, we isolate ourselves in the very moment we need connection the most.
This is why this community matters.
Here, I want us to speak openly about suicide loss—freely and without judgment. I want us to build the kind of support that many of us didn’t receive from those who haven’t experienced this kind of pain and hopefully never will.
The truth is, I love my sister. And because of that love, I will always carry this grief.
The difference now is that I no longer carry it alone.
I am willing to let others in. To seek support. To be seen.
Because maybe, just maybe, when we share the weight together, the heaviness in our hearts can finally begin to breathe.