As I drove over the bridge this morning that crosses the freeway I saw that we were in for some significant rain. It seemed apropos, even though I hadn’t expected it. I was on my way to join my first Out of the Darkness Community Walk, a fundraising event hosted by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. So if the sky and I cried at the same time, it seemed fitting.

Dirt Therapy is a site about the outdoors, mental wellness, getting in touch with our peace, etc. I apologize in advance that my review of outdoor activities today comes with a dose of rain, reflection and a lot of concrete. For numerous reasons, suicide prevention is close to my heart. And because this is a platform for mental wellness, I have been thinking all day that I can’t shrug that off.

I have become very knowledgeable in statistics. I can rattle off percentages, risk factors, protective factors, and comparison data. Unfortunately, I feel as if I am always assessing for suicide risk in every conversation that I have. The boon of this is that I have become comfortable with an uncomfortable topic. The challenge is that I have chosen careers and a lifestyle that keep it in my mind often enough that I think I sometimes get a little cavalier to the subject.

This week has felt emotional to me, so when I arrived at the high school track this morning and met up with part of our #dirttherapycrew, I warned them that I was likely going to cry. Everyone agreed they were in the same place.

There are times when I wish I could crawl inside the body of a person experiencing depression and suicidality. That probably seems insane. I can’t think of a single person I know who struggles with depression or suicidality who would ever wish it on someone else.

The reasons I wish I could crawl inside someone’s mind and heart are many. I cannot bear it that someone would feel so alone, so desperately separated from the hope of living that they would prefer to stop living altogether. I want to climb inside their hearts and minds to understand. To be with them. To allow them to take my strength or peace or whatever it is that they need. (#readthefootnote)

We tell people who are managing suicidal thoughts, feelings or actions that they are not alone. That they can ask for help. That people are there for them.

It is just that sometimes we speak without thinking. We speak in hashtags and slogans. Unless you have been in that place, I advocate for being very cautious in saying those words without really committing to it. Sometimes they need someone to look at them, acknowledge their pain and not try to fix it. To just feel with people. America in particular is a fix-it country. I am so very, very guilty of the “fix it” tendency.

There was an Honor Bead ceremony prior to our walk this morning. It had stopped raining by then, but everyone still had drops rolling down their faces. The colors of the beads represented a reason that each person was there: loss of a child, parent, friend, relative, first responder or military. A color for those who struggle themselves, with their own attempts or their own feelings of suicidality. Or representing those who were friends and loved ones of those who struggled.

The beads were held up in honor of each group and we were asked to look around and see who held up what color. And the words were spoken from the mic that we honor their loved ones.

I looked around that soggy artificial turf at people who all looked very different from each other, holding a rainbow of beads. The thing we all had in common was pain and hope. Pain for losses, for internal wars won every day or never won at all. Hope, that one day we will do enough and be enough to make a dent in this epidemic.

The work that foundations like American Suicide Prevention Foundation, Lines for Life, the World Health Organization, NAMI and so many other amazing groups do is unbelievably essential.

My bias is that the absolute best intervention for suicide is SEEING someone. It takes practice. It takes patience. It takes genuine empathy and respect for others’ autonomy.

Nothing will ever replace real human connection. Letting ourselves be vulnerable enough to look around the astro-turf and cry over other people’s pain. To sit and hold someone’s hand in the emergency room or in a car or a house and not try to fix it, but just feel it with them.

We walked for ourselves. We walked for each other. We walked for those we have lost or almost lost. We were outside in the rain and the sun and got a bit dirty. We didn’t get lost, but we might have found a bit of peace. Day by day. Fight by fight. Some we win, some we lose. But at least we are trying to do it together.

“Don’t think it doesn’t matter.” Lines for Life: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Kaela Anne

Photo: Dirt Therapy Crew, Lebanon High School Athletic Field, Oregon

Footnote: These are PERSONAL feelings. As a clinical mental health counseling intern I receive excellent clinical supervision and instruction. I would not want anyone to feel that I misrepresent the role or practice of a clinical mental health practitioner. I always follow best practice in suicide assessment, treatment and working with clients or students, and always work with my supervisors to do so.