"I don't want to kill myself but..."

It’s important to talk about suicidality but it’s also incredibly hard. For people who are suffering, there’s a lot of fear about admitting they may be even vaguely thinking about suicide. They’re afraid talking about it out loud will lead to a traumatic hospitalization or cops banging on the door. Afraid that admitting they’re struggling in this way will lead to dismissal or anger or a big reaction that they can’t handle. And afraid that if they say the words out loud, they’ll be more likely to act on them.

The truth is, talking openly about suicidality does not lead to suicide. Talking about it is actually a protective factor. Protective factors are just what they sound like: the parts (and people and pets) of our lives that keep us safe. Talking out loud about suicide does not cause suicide; research shows it actually can decrease the risk that someone will complete. Still, talking about it is extremely tough. Most people want to avoid bringing it up, especially if the thoughts are just… thoughts.

What I mean is that for many people, their suicidal thoughts are not active. They don’t intend to harm themselves. They don’t have a plan to die. They have protective factors: a pet that needs them; a family who would be devastated; a religious background. But they are suffering. They have thoughts about closing their eyes at night and not waking up in the morning. They wonder what would happen if they were in a serious accident. This is called passive suicidality and even if it doesn’t necessarily mean someone will become actively suicidal, it still bears discussing. It is a sign that more support is needed.

Being honest about your passive suicidality is a good thing to do. Even if you think you would never actually hurt yourself; even if the thoughts are just passing and not intrusive; you deserve support. Help is out there. Don’t wait to call someone.

When someone we love is suffering

The problem with loving someone—there are many but let’s start with this one—is that sometimes the person you love will suffer. They will have pain or disease or grief or distress and you will not be able to magically take it away from them. Watching someone you love suffer, physically or emotionally, is awful. And yet, it’s part of the whole deal.

Once, after my mom died, I told a colleague, “I just don’t want my brother and my dad to be sad.” I ended up laughing instead of crying because of the way my sweet colleague stared at me and said, “Elizabeth.” It was, in fact, a bonkers thing to say. It was also true. My own grief was hard enough to bear; I couldn’t stand that the people I love were also suffering.

This is a common theme for my clients, whether they are caretakers or bereaved. Their own grief is awful, all-consuming, exhausting; and yet, they cannot bear to think that other people in their life are also having a hard time. Ignoring the grief and pain of others is doable but doesn’t feel great and also can be hurtful to said loved ones. On the other hand, taking on the pain of others also feels awful and doesn’t take anyone’s pain away. So what to do?

The answer, of course, depends: on what kind of day you’re having; on how the relationship usually functions; and on the cues you’re getting from the other person or people. But in general, as I’ve written ad nauseum, our grief is much easier to bear if it’s shared. You are not protecting your loved ones if you deny your grief or theirs. On the contrary, talking about it opens the door gives them permission to grieve with you instead of protecting you.

We don’t want the people we love to suffer but they will; that’s a part of life. And if that’s true, we may as well suffer together.