Content warning: this post discusses supporting someone whose loved one has attempted suicide.
I knew 2025 was going to be bad. (I feel like that could be my “Once upon a time” line for this year.) We all braced for it, but we couldn’t have known how quickly everything would start to feel like it was unraveling. And that’s just the macro environment – politics, economy, foreign relations.
I did not know that 2025 was going to be bad on a personal level. Since Christmas (close enough to count as 2025), my circle of friends has been hit by the loss of four human loved ones, two and a half beloved pets (the third pet is recovering from a serious stroke), and a near successful suicide-attempt. It has only been three months.
Of course, these awful events are not about me. I am not the one who lost someone. But two things: 1) it’s hard to see friends in pain, and 2) every death is a trigger for me because of my mom. Neither of those is going to stop me from supporting my friends with everything I have when they need me. But in order to do that, I need to take a little extra care and pay a little more attention to myself.
Unfortunately, these kinds of things have happened often enough that I have plans in place to deal with my re-triggered trauma. After all, you can’t be in the healthcare advocacy space without people around you getting hit with some awful medical developments. I am also at an age where parents are reaching the natural ends of their lives. So, I have escape hatches I can use when I need to hunker down away from my feelings – reading, plants, a stuffed animal I’ve been crying into since I was seven, even work. Most recently, I joined a role playing game with a fun community that strategizes on Discord. Which is a little, uh, I don’t know. Let’s just say that my age doesn’t even rank as a Discord demographic.
But sometimes all the things you put in place to protect yourself are not enough.
The suicide attempt came out of nowhere. It was a 1:30 a.m. text that led to a 90 minute call going over the little known at the time. It was filled with sadness, speculation, tears, fear, and anxiety.
The day after we found out, it was beyond difficult to concentrate. I was tired and emotional, and I did something I almost never do.
I took a step back and purposely connected with my overactive brain.
It takes a lot of time and energy to slow it down and figure out what’s going on in my psyche and subconscious. Usually, I just let it follow its own crazy paths and patterns, focusing on one direction when I need to. It’s why I don’t do yoga. The brain-body stuff is harder than the actual movements.
But suicide is a step out of time for me. It’s a matter of choice vs. circumstance, a choice so foreign I don’t think about it until it crashes into me. And when it does, I am shaken.
It does make me think more. Compels me to assess where I am in my life, in my relationships, and reach out to reassure myself of their solidity.
So, stepping back didn’t really feel like much of a choice that day.
I sat down cross-legged, closed my eyes, and rested my hands on my knees. I started at the top of my head, finding a clenched jaw, tensed shoulders, and stiff muscles around my spine – my problem areas – and relaxing each one as I went.
I practiced deep breathing. In through my nose for a few seconds, with a hand on my stomach to make sure my breaths are coming from my diaphragm. Out through my mouth slowly.
Finally, I allowed my consciousness to step into my brain space. I explored my feelings, my actions, my reactions, my whys. I let myself feel my exhaustion; to float in my mind.
I don’t know how much time passed. Not much.
When I brought myself back, my foundation was solid, my brain was slightly calmer – for once – and I was ready to be a supportive friend.
I’m still in my head about it, and I will be for a while, especially since there is still a lot of information missing.
And I will continue to check in with myself more often than usual until I am out of my head about it, because that’s what needs to happen for me to play the role I need to play for my friend and still function within my own life.
And if my psychologist is reading this, no. I doubt deliberate brain connection and self-care are going to become my norm. But a little bit is better than none, right? At least I know I can do it when it’s necessary.
Agree to disagree on “when it’s necessary.”