Saying the Hard Thing: Talking About Suicide

This week, my family lost someone we loved.

A young man, full of life. Someone I once held in my arms as a child.

A son. A brother. A cousin. My cousin. Deeply loved by so many.

And now, we are left trying to comprehend that someone we loved was carrying pain so unbearable that he ended his own life.

His suffering, once held within him, has become the epicenter of an earthquake, its tremors reaching everyone who loved him. The initial shock has left us devastated, and the aftershocks continue to ripple through our family and our hearts.

There is grief. Disbelief. Questions that may never have answers. And the painful realization that someone can be surrounded by love and still experience suffering others cannot fully see or understand.

As a therapist, I have spent years sitting with people in their darkest moments, listening to their despair, hopelessness, and longing for relief.

But this week, the conversation about suicide became painfully personal.

It reminded me why we must continue having conversations that are uncomfortable, frightening, and sometimes heartbreaking.

Because silence cannot be our only response to suffering.

There are moments in therapy when the weight of the room changes.

A client begins to disclose something deeply painful, sometimes quietly, sometimes all at once:

“I don’t want to be here anymore. I just want everything to end. I don’t want to hurt.”

These words demand clarity, presence, and courage.

As therapists, we are trained not to turn away. One of the most important skills we develop is the willingness to ask questions many people fear saying aloud:

“Have you thought about ending your life?”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Do you have access to weapons or other means?”

These questions may feel uncomfortable, but asking directly about suicide does not put the idea into someone's head.

Instead, it creates an opportunity for honesty, connection, and intervention.

Because beneath those words is often a depth of pain that feels unbearable and inescapable.

What I often hear isn't simply a wish to die, but a desperate longing for the pain to stop.

Many people experiencing suicidal thoughts feel ambivalent. Part of them wants the suffering to end, while another part still hopes life can be different.

That quiet part—the one that reaches out, comes to therapy, or tells someone how they're feeling—is the part we gently help grow.

And so we attune.

We acknowledge their suffering without judgment:

“I see how much pain you're carrying. It feels so overwhelming that ending your life seems like the only way out.”

This isn't agreement. It's acknowledgment. It's connection.

And then we turn toward the part of them that is still here:

“What has kept you from acting on these thoughts?”

“What feels worth living for, even a small part?”

“What helped you get here today?”

These conversations are not a substitute for assessing risk or developing a safety plan.

They are part of helping someone feel heard while we work toward keeping them safe.

Bringing Suicide Out of the Shadows

Suicide remains a leading cause of death in the United States, taking tens of thousands of lives each year. Millions more struggle with suicidal thoughts.

But these aren't simply statistics. They are people. Sons, daughters, siblings, parents, friends, and cousins.

And heartbreakingly, this time, it was my cousin.

People whose suffering may not be visible to those who love them.

Talking openly about suicide helps challenge shame and isolation. It creates opportunities for people to disclose their pain and receive support.

Recognizing the Warning Signs

Some warning signs include:

• Talking about wanting to die, feeling hopeless, or being a burden

• Withdrawing from loved ones or becoming increasingly isolated

• Sudden or significant changes in mood or behavior

• Giving away possessions or saying goodbye

• Increased substance use

• Researching suicide methods or obtaining lethal means

Not everyone displays recognizable warning signs, and their presence does not necessarily mean someone will attempt suicide. But they deserve attention and compassion.

What If Someone Says Yes?

If someone tells you they're thinking about suicide, stay calm, listen, and thank them for trusting you.

Ask directly about their thoughts, whether they have a plan, and whether they have access to means.

Help them connect with professional support. If there is immediate danger, stay with them if you can do so safely and contact emergency services.

In therapy, we often collaborate with clients to develop a safety plan, identifying warning signs, coping strategies, trusted people, crisis resources, and ways to reduce access to lethal means.

Treatment matters. Therapy, medication when appropriate, and meaningful social support can help people navigate periods of profound emotional distress.

You don't have to have all the answers. You don't have to become someone's therapist.

But you can listen. You can ask. And you can help them find support.

Saying the Hard Thing

At the heart of all of this is something simple, but not always easy:

We have to be willing to say the hard thing.

“Have you thought about ending your life?”

Not as an accusation. Not as a formality. But as an act of care.

Because when we name what is real, we create an opportunity to respond. We replace avoidance with presence and silence with conversation.

And sometimes, feeling seen, heard, and less alone can be the beginning of something shifting.

This week, my family is grieving a young man whose life meant so much more than the circumstances of his death.

He was loved. He mattered. And he will be missed.

My hope in sharing this is not to suggest that every tragedy can be prevented, or that those left behind should have somehow known what to do.

It is simply to remind us to keep making room for difficult conversations, compassion, and the possibility that someone who is suffering might find a reason to stay.

I wish JJ had stayed. I wish he had found the help he needed.

But most of all, amid these days and nights of shock and despair, I hope his family finds comfort in remembering his bright smile, his jovial laugh, and the life he lived.

That's what I'm trying my damnedest to do.

To remember the little boy he once was, so excited at our family Christmas party, waiting for Santa to come down the stairs.

If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline in the United States. If someone is in immediate danger, call 911.

JJ's grieving cousin,

Mandy