Tag: Depression

Grief after suicide is not like other grief. In this episode, Terry speaks with Deb Sherwood, a longtime journalist whose husband, Bob, died by suicide after years of serious health challenges. Deb’s story traces the realities of caregiving exhaustion, the shock of discovery, the maze of law-enforcement procedures, and the heavy, isolating weight of secrecy—followed by the gradual healing she found through honesty, support groups, and compassionate listening.

Terry’s trademark tone—clear-eyed, kind, and stigma-challenging—threads through the conversation. The lessons below distill what emerged: practical guidance for people navigating suicide bereavement, and for anyone who wants to show up better for someone who’s grieving.

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1. Understand why suicide grief is different

Suicide loss brings a traumatic aftermath that can involve police, a coroner, and detailed questioning at the worst possible moment. Survivors often replay final moments, wrestle with stigma and shame, and grapple with a bewildering mix of emotions—sadness, anger, love, confusion, and self-blame.

Naming these differences doesn’t make the pain vanish, but it helps survivors realize they aren’t “grieving wrong.” Their experience is consistent with what many suicide loss survivors face. That validation—so central to Terry’s conversations—creates room to breathe and to begin healing.

Key takeaways:

• Expect intrusive memories and looping “what if” thoughts.
• Prepare for complicated feelings directed both at the loved one and at oneself.
• Know that traumatic stress and investigative procedures can intensify grief.

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2. Caregiver exhaustion is real—and it matters

Deb describes “empathy exhaustion,” a moment familiar to many caregivers. After a night of repeated needs, she told her husband, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” She meant it in exhaustion, not rejection—but she still carries the weight of those words.

Caregiving for serious illness is a marathon of love, logistics, and sleep deprivation. It is not weakness to feel spent; it is human. Recognizing caregiver burnout and building supports early can reduce risk for everyone in the home.

Quick supports to consider:

• Respite care (family, friends, or professional services)
• Flexible work arrangements where possible
• Caregiving check-ins with a therapist or peer group
• A clear “ask system” so the person receiving care can flag “I need you home today”

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3. The shock of discovery can freeze the mind

Deb describes returning home on a day when her husband hadn’t answered texts. At first, her mind registered relief—he hadn’t fallen. Only moments later did the full reality register. This “staggered knowing” is common in traumatic shock. The brain protects itself, letting in the truth in increments.

After calling for help, Deb stepped outside—a decision informed by her years as a reporter who had covered suicide. It was an act of self-preservation and clarity: letting professionals take over while she focused on safety.

If you’re confronted with traumatic discovery:

• Get to physical safety and call emergency services.
• Avoid disturbing the scene; let responders do their work.
• Contact a trusted support person to come now, not later.

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4. The investigative process is routine—and wrenching

Law enforcement must determine what happened. For survivors, this means deeply personal questions at a moment of raw shock: relationship history, finances, health, fears, recent conflicts. It can feel like an interrogation even when officers are doing their jobs compassionately.

Being prepared for this reality—no matter how difficult—can prevent secondary shock. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. It means the system is ruling out every possibility.

Grounding ideas in the moment:

• You can take slow breaths and ask for water or a pause.
• You have the right to ask officers to explain the next step.
• You can call a friend, family member, or clergy to sit with you.

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5. Guilt arrives uninvited—and often overstays

Deb’s mind went straight to guilt: Did her exhausted words nudge Bob toward a decision he had been contemplating? Her therapist later acknowledged her words likely had some impact—and that acknowledgment, painful as it was, validated Deb’s intuition and allowed honest processing.

Guilt in suicide grief is nearly universal. It feeds on hindsight and the illusion of control. The work is not to erase accountability for what we said or didn’t say, but to right-size it inside the larger reality of mental illness, pain, and the complex reasons people die by suicide.

Ways to work with guilt:

• Write a letter to your loved one, naming love, regret, and context.
• Ask a therapist to help “widen the lens” beyond one moment.
• Learn common cognitive distortions (mind-reading, catastrophizing, over-responsibility).

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6. Silence can delay healing

Friends urged Deb to hide the truth to protect Bob’s reputation—and, by extension, her own. Because he had been ill, there was a plausible “cover story.” She kept the secret for a year. The result? Fewer chances for others to offer the specific support suicide loss requires—and a grief she had to carry largely alone.

Deb’s turning point came through support groups and an intensive outpatient program, where honest sharing proved transformative. Transparency created connection. Connection accelerated healing.

Deb reflected:

I think I realize that even going to suicide support groups that people need to talk about it and it does help to talk about and it can make a difference for other people, as well.

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7. Language matters—especially the “he’s in a better place” reflex

Well-meaning phrases can unintentionally romanticize suicide or shut down conversation. For people with suicidal ideation, hearing that death brings relief may function as confirmation. Survivors often need language that honors the pain without glamorizing the outcome.

Try these alternatives:

• “I’m so sorry. This is devastating. I’m here for the long haul.”
• “I can’t imagine how heavy this is. Can I sit with you or help with calls?”
• “Your love and care were real. You are not alone in this.”

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8. Name the “burden” belief for what it is: a symptom, not a truth

Terry notes how common it is for suicidal people to believe their loved ones would be better off without them. That thought—“I’m a burden”—is a classic marker of risk and a sign of how illness distorts reality. Deb believes Bob didn’t want to “burden her anymore—financially, physically, psychologically.”

Naming this belief as part of the illness, not a final verdict on one’s worth, can be life-saving. It’s an invitation to counter with concrete, loving facts and to mobilize additional supports.

What helps in real time:

• Reflect back specific value the person brings (“You make our mornings steady.”).
• Offer practical load-sharing (“I’ve lined up two respite days this week.”).
• Involve professional help and crisis resources.

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9. Support groups reduce isolation and build language

Deb’s healing accelerated in suicide loss groups—places where “you don’t have to translate.” Being with people who understand the unique pain of suicide bereavement normalizes the messiness and removes the pressure to make others comfortable. It also provides scripts for difficult conversations and ideas for managing holidays, anniversaries, and secondary losses.

How to engage:

• Try several groups; each has a different culture.
• Give yourself 2–3 sessions before deciding it’s not for you.
• Look for groups specific to suicide loss (not just general grief), if available.

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10. Honesty can honor a life more fully than secrecy

Some urged Deb to protect Bob’s professional reputation by hiding his cause of death. Deb ultimately concluded that silence—meant to shield—kept her suffering private and stalled her healing. Honesty, by contrast, allowed others to know her real story and allowed Bob’s story to help others.

Honoring a loved one includes telling the truth about their struggles. It is not reductive; it is complete. Honesty combats stigma and opens doors for communal care.

Deb’s hope was clear:

That’s really my hope is that it can make a difference. I can’t change what’s happened in my life… but I need to share the experience to let people know that it is okay to talk about it. It’s really important to talk about it… to help heal because that was probably the worst decision I made—to not tell people.

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11. Healing is personal—and nonlinear

Deb describes herself as stronger and more empathetic now. She listens for how people say they’re “okay,” and she gently probes when something sounds off. She accepts that everyone’s path through this landmine field is different—and that what helps one person may not be right for another.

Healing doesn’t mean never feeling guilt or sorrow again. It means carrying those feelings in ways that make room for meaning, memory, and forward motion.

Deb shared:

Well, I’m a stronger person now. I’m much more empathetic… And if somebody says, “I’m… okay…” you kind of go “Is something going on?” You kind of push a little more.

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12. Practical steps for the first days and weeks

The immediate aftermath is overwhelming. Survivors benefit from checklists and gentle structure when cognitive load is high.

A short, humane checklist:

1. Call 1–2 anchors (the friend who will show up; the relative who can field calls).
2. Assign a communicator to relay accurate information to extended circles.
3. Secure the home (pets in a safe room, a quiet place for you).
4. Limit solo decision-making—bring someone to appointments and viewings.
5. Start a “log” for tasks, names, funeral details, and bills to revisit later.
6. Plan your first week with meals, rides, and one daily “outside” moment.

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13. What to say—and what to avoid

Friends often feel tongue-tied. Survivors often feel abandoned when people avoid them for fear of “saying the wrong thing.” Guidelines can help.

More helpful:

• “I can do Tuesday grocery pickup and Friday laundry—okay?”
• “Would you like me to tell people the truth so you don’t have to?”
• “Anniversary dates matter. May I check in that week?”

Less helpful:

• Explanations that assign blame or spiritualized platitudes
• Comparisons (“I know just how you feel… when my dog died”)
• Prying for details beyond what the survivor offers

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14. Reclaiming meaning without rewriting history

Deb doesn’t erase her marriage’s joy or complexity. She refuses to let the manner of Bob’s death swallow the decades of love, partnership, and shared craft. She also refuses to edit out her own humanity on the hardest night of her caregiving life.

This is courageous integration: holding a full story instead of a single, devastating chapter. Meaning-making is not spin; it’s the sacred task of grief.

Gentle practices:

• Create a “two-column letter”: What I cherish / What I regret—and read it aloud to someone safe.
• Start a “memory ledger,” adding one concrete memory a week.
• Choose one value your loved one embodied and practice it in their honor.

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15. If you’re supporting a survivor, think in seasons—not days

Support is most visible in the first week—but the hardest terrain often arrives in weeks 3–12 when the world looks “normal” again. Mark calendars for the one-month, three-month, six-month, and one-year points. Plan tangible care that acknowledges the slow, nonlinear nature of healing from traumatic loss.

Seasonal check-ins can include:

• A walk-and-listen date with no fixing
• Help sorting papers or household tasks avoided since the loss
• A simple text on hard dates: “I’m holding you and Bob in my heart today.”

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16. Tell the truth so others can find you

By sharing publicly, Deb turns private pain into communal wisdom. Her honesty offers language and permission to those still hiding. It tells another survivor, “You are not the first to carry this, and you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Stories like Deb’s don’t sensationalize. They humanize. And in doing so, they chip away at the silence that isolates survivors and distorts how we understand suicide and the people we love who die by it.

Deb’s words to others resonate:

I could only appreciate all that we had together… but I need to share the experience to let people know that it is okay to talk about it.

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17. A note on prevention embedded in the story

This is a grief episode—but prevention is present throughout. The “burden” belief, empathy exhaustion, and the importance of speaking plainly about suicidal thoughts all point toward earlier conversations. Deb’s sharpened listening—hearing the “I’m… okay” with a question mark—models the micro-prevention moves ordinary people can make.

Everyday prevention looks like:

• Asking directly: “Are you thinking about suicide?”
• Normalizing help: “Lots of people need backup right now. Let’s text your therapist together.”
• Removing means and building a safety net when risk is high.

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18. Holding love, regret, and hope—together

Deb holds deep love for Bob, regret for a sentence spoken in exhaustion, and hope that her story will help others. None cancels the others. Terry’s conversation honors that complexity, and it invites readers to honor their own.

There is no perfect language, perfect timeline, or perfect survivor. There is only honest story, shared in community, slowly turning pain into connection and, eventually, into a different kind of strength.

How to use this article

• If you’re a survivor, circle the sections that felt most validating. Consider bringing them to a therapist or group.
• If you support a survivor, pick two concrete actions from Sections 12 and 15 and put them on your calendar.
• If you’re a caregiver, build a small support plan now—even if things feel manageable today.

No one has to navigate suicide bereavement in silence. Deb’s story—and Terry’s steady, stigma-cutting presence—shows that honest conversation can restore connection and begin to lighten the weight.

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This article is a summary of a powerful and candid episode of the Giving Voice to Depression podcast, hosted by Terry McGuire. In this episode, Terry and Dr. Anita Sanz speak with Wally, a U.S. Coast Guard veteran, mental health advocate, and survivor of childhood abuse and chronic pain. Wally lives with daily suicidal ideation, and bravely shares their perspective to help dismantle stigma, promote understanding, and encourage honest conversations.

While conversations around suicide often trigger alarm, this episode asks listeners to pause, listen, and reflect. It introduces a more nuanced understanding of suicidal ideation as something that can be chronic and managed—not always an emergency, but always important. Through Wally’s story, the episode makes space for honesty and complexity, ultimately showing how lived experience can be a source of both pain and profound insight.

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1. Recognize That Suicidal Thoughts Exist on a Spectrum

A major theme in this episode is the distinction between suicidal ideation and suicidal intent. As Dr. Anita Sanz explains, suicidal thoughts fall on a continuum—from passive thoughts like “I wish I wouldn’t wake up” to active planning or attempts.

The Columbia Suicide Severity Rating Scale (CSSRS) is one evidence-based tool to help assess the degree of risk. It asks questions such as:

• Have you wished you were dead or not wake up?
• Have you thought about how you might end your life?
• Have you taken steps to carry out a plan?

As Wally clarified:

I’m not in a position where I need to be saved. I’m in a position where I’d rather talk about anything but that, because I’m managing it.

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2. Create Space for Conversations Without Panic or Stigma

Wally is vocal about the need for open, honest dialogue—without the knee-jerk panic that often surrounds the word “suicide.”

As Wally explained:

When we attach the stigma of shame and guilt to these words, then we send a lot of conversations into the closet.

Panic reactions can silence people who most need to be heard. Wally urges a shift away from assumptions and toward curious, compassionate questions.

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3. Understand the Impact of Chronic Pain on Mental Health

Wally lives with chronic physical and emotional pain, stemming from childhood abuse, multiple traumatic brain injuries, and a life-altering fall during military service.

As Wally recalled:

I basically broke every bone on my body from my skull to my right knee… Within a few months, it had become chronic.

Pain affects Wally daily:

• They rate their average pain level as a 7 or 8 out of 10.
• Waking up each day involves battling what they call the “pain body.”
• Morning routines include mindfulness to challenge trauma-based thoughts.

Chronic pain can be an overlooked risk factor for suicidal ideation, making it essential to treat both physical and emotional suffering together.

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4. Use Personalized Tools for Daily Mental Health Management

Wally doesn’t just talk about surviving—they have created structured systems to manage their mental health proactively. One of these is a daily mental health inventory, adapted from AA materials:

Wally’s Daily Check-In Includes:

• What do I like/dislike about myself today?
• What is my greatest strength and weakness right now?
• Am I staying in alignment with my values?
• Am I backsliding?

As Wally described:

I call it a check-in and an inventory because it just sees where I am.

This self-awareness practice helps Wally take an honest look at their mental state before it escalates.

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5. Learn and Practice Grounding Techniques

Wally credits mindfulness and breathwork as life-saving tools they use regularly:

As Wally shared:

I can bring my heart rate from like 200 on a bad anxiety attack down to 60 in about 20 minutes, just with my breathing.

These techniques help regulate their nervous system, particularly since brain injuries have impaired their thermoregulation and heart-rate control.

Other practices they use include:

• Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT)
• Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT)
• Mindfulness meditation

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6. Develop a Suicide Ideation Assessment Plan

Wally uses a three-tier personal assessment system to gauge when they need more support:

1. Flirting with the idea – Feeling low but no concrete thoughts or plans
2. Active ideation – Thinking about dying and spiraling into toxic thought loops
3. Red alert – When managing ideation becomes a full-time job, Wally activates a safety plan

As Wally explained:

If managing my suicide ideation becomes what I call a full-time job, I activate my plan.

Having this internal “early warning system” helps Wally act before thoughts escalate.

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7. Ask Better Questions When Someone Opens Up

One of Wally’s biggest messages is that unsolicited help isn’t always helpful. Instead of reacting with panic, try asking clear, respectful questions.

As Wally poetically noted:

Unsolicited help is not help. It’s an assumption inhabiting a spot better filled with questions.

Questions Wally recommends:

• What kind of suicidal thoughts are you having?
• Are you planning, or just thinking about it?
• Do you have an emergency plan?
• Do you have someone you trust you can talk to?

These questions open the door for meaningful, nonjudgmental conversation.

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8. Acknowledge That Some People Live With These Thoughts Daily

Wally’s honesty reminds us that for some, suicidal ideation is not a crisis—it’s a constant. They manage it the way someone else might manage diabetes or chronic pain.

As Wally clarified:

I ideate nearly every day: the pain is that bad. I’m not suicidal at that point. Don’t try to save me… I manage it.

This doesn’t mean they’re in danger—it means they need support, tools, and acceptance.

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9. Set Boundaries When Supporting Others

Wally deeply values supporting others in crisis, but also recognizes the importance of boundaries.

As Wally explained:

If they’re suicidal, then I say, do you want to get some help on this? Because I can’t help you with this… I have boundaries.

While empathy is essential, burnout and vicarious trauma are real. It’s okay—and necessary—to know your limits.

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10. Encourage Conversations That Make Space for All Emotions

Wally sees value in sitting with others through hard conversations—not to fix them, but to witness and validate their pain.

As Wally expressed:

There’s just no practice on how to talk about these things.

Creating a world where suicidal thoughts can be talked about without fear can:

• Save lives
• Foster belonging
• Replace shame with support

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11. Know When to Escalate for Safety—and When Not To

Dr. Anita Sanz urges therapists, doctors, and loved ones to respond proportionally to suicidal ideation:

As Dr. Sanz emphasized:

Just having thoughts and ideation does not mean that a person is actively suicidal or needs to be immediately hospitalized.

When professionals and peers overreact, it can cause people to hide their distress. The right response might be:

• A hotline call (e.g., 988 in the U.S.)
• A therapy referral
• A safety plan—not always hospitalization

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Final Thoughts

This episode doesn’t offer easy answers—but it does offer honesty, clarity, and hope. Wally’s story stands as a reminder that even amid immense pain, it is possible to develop a meaningful life, one grounded in routine, self-awareness, and purposeful dialogue.

We see how tools like mindfulness, mental health check-ins, and open conversations can allow people like Wally to live—not just survive. These aren’t miracle cures, and they don’t erase the pain. But they do make space for healing, choice, and agency.

Their courage to speak openly—despite stigma, misunderstanding, and chronic suffering—is not just brave; it’s generous. It teaches others how to hold pain without judgment, how to build systems that protect life, and how to meet people where they are.

As Terry eloquently put it:

If someone else is struggling, take the time to listen.

The invitation is simple, yet radical: talk about it. Listen. Be present. You don’t need all the answers. Sometimes, showing up and asking the right question is enough to shift everything. This episode reminds us that mental health conversations don’t always have to be emergency interventions—they can also be everyday acts of connection, compassion, and care.

If Wally’s story resonates with you, or if you know someone who navigates similar waters, let this article be a starting point for dialogue. Let it encourage you to check in—on others and yourself—with curiosity and kindness. and yourself—with curiosity and kindness.

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Key Takeaways

• Suicidal ideation is a spectrum—not every thought requires hospitalization, but every thought deserves compassionate attention.
• Wally’s approach includes structure—from breathwork to daily inventories, they build systems that help them cope and check in.
• Boundaries are essential—especially when supporting others. You cannot pour from an empty cup.
• Words matter—avoiding panic and using direct, gentle questions can create safer space for honest discussion.
• Stigma silences—and Wally encourages us to bring these conversations out of the shadows.
• Pain is real, and so is resilience—Wally’s daily management of their ideation is not just survival—it’s a form of activism.
• Shared experience can be powerful—Hearing from others who live with suicidal thoughts reduces isolation and creates connection.
• Tools can be learned and practiced—Skills like CBT, DBT, and mindfulness are not just buzzwords; they can be lifelines.
• Community and support are critical—Even when professional help isn’t available, trusted friends and mutual check-ins can make a difference.
• Conversation is prevention—Being willing to talk about suicide openly and without panic could save a life.

Families rarely get a neat storyline when mental illness is part of their history. They get real life: messy, loving, contradictory, and often courageous. In this conversation, veteran investigative journalist and memoirist Meg Kissinger shares the truth of growing up in a large Irish Catholic family where depression, bipolar disorder, psychosis, and two sibling suicides coexisted with laughter, neighborhood joy, and loyal affection. Terry and Carly invite Meg to unpack lessons from her reporting on the U.S. mental health system and from the heartbreaks and hard-won wisdom inside her own home.

Below are 12 takeaways—practical, humane ways families and communities can reduce discrimination (often mislabeled as “stigma”), make space for grief, and move toward connection and help.

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1. Name it: move from “stigma” to discrimination

Words matter because they shape what we believe we can change. Terry underscores that the problem isn’t merely vague “stigma”; it is discrimination—policies, attitudes, and actions that deny people with mental illness full dignity. Meg echoes that reframing, noting that discrimination puts the moral spotlight where it belongs: on the systems and behaviors that harm, exclude, or silence people.

Meg explained:

My number one wish is that people would see people living with serious mental illness as human beings and not discriminate against them, not consider them to be a burden and not consider to have caused their mental illness through some kind of character flaw or bad parenting, not a moral failing. It’s an illness that affects people who need help. And not to put the burden on them to prove that they are worthy of our care and our love and our concern.

This shift is crucial: stigma is internalized, but discrimination can be named, challenged, and dismantled.

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2. Tell the human story—fully

Meg’s family story holds both pain and delight. Even with serious illnesses and tragedies, she remembers a childhood rich with neighborhood fun, sibling closeness, and humor. Terry highlights a phrase that becomes a throughline for the episode: “shown in all of their humanity.” Meg’s memoir does not curate out the hard parts—but neither does it flatten people into diagnoses.

Terry emphasized:

Shown in all their humanity. Boy, let that phrase settle in for a minute. Imagine how different the world would be for those of us who live with mental illnesses or mental health conditions if that is how they were understood.

Families are never just the sum of their hardships. By holding joy alongside struggle, they remind us that identity is larger than illness.

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3. See mental illness as illness—not moral failure

As a reporter and as a sister, Meg pushes back on the shame-based storylines that still cling to mental illness. She calls out the cultural reflex to treat depression, bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia as character flaws or poor parenting outcomes. Instead, she urges a posture of care over blame.

Meg explained:

People living with mental illness are not problems to fix but human beings deserving of care, respect, and full citizenship.

This means swapping judgment for compassion, suspicion for understanding, and isolation for inclusion.

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4. Break silence inside the family—kindly and clearly

Silence teaches children to feel ashamed and to question their own perceptions. As a little girl, Meg noticed her mother’s absences and her father’s mercurial swings but had no words—and no adult guidance—to understand what was happening. Without information, children make meaning around self-blame (“What did I do to make Mom leave?”).

Meg shared:

My mother struggled with depression and anxiety. Of course, we didn’t know—those were words that were never spoken in our house. And we were never sat down and told that. It’s just what we observed.

Breaking silence doesn’t require brutal honesty; it requires gentle, age-appropriate truth that removes shame.

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5. Grieve truthfully after suicide loss

When Meg’s sister Nancy died by suicide, the family faced an impossible bind common in their era: protect religious rites by calling it an accident, or tell the truth and risk condemnation. Fear and shame won in the moment, and the children absorbed the message that suicide deaths must be hidden.

Meg recalled:

That night my dad gathered us all into the living room and looked at us sternly. And said, if anybody asks, this was an accident, which of course is a scary thing to hear. And the takeaway is that this is something to be ashamed of.

Today, survivors have more freedom to tell the truth. Honesty allows communities to rally, grief to be shared, and legacies to be remembered with dignity.

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6. Practice the listening that saves lives

Years after Nancy’s death, Meg’s brother Danny voiced suicidal thoughts during a walk. Startled and depleted, Meg told him to “shut up.” She regrets that now—and shares the story to help others learn a simpler, more helpful response.

Meg reflected:

I’m so sorry. And that’s understandable. And that it’s normal. A lot of people feel that way. You’re no different… I’m here for you. There’s a lot of really good things you can say. “Shut up” is not one of them.

Terry added:

Listen, don’t challenge them. Don’t say but you have so much to be grateful for. Don’t say how could you be sad? Listen to them. And I have now interviewed dozens of attempt survivors… What would have helped? What could someone have done? Listened, they could have listened.

The most powerful tool isn’t advice—it’s presence.

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7. Use a simple tool: “Heard, helped, or hugged?”

Carly shares a memorable, low-pressure check-in she and Terry use with each other: “Do you want to be heard, helped, or hugged?” It’s easy to remember, especially when emotions spike, and it respects the person’s agency.

Carly explained:

Sometimes I’ll call and you say, do you want my help and advice or do you just want me to listen? And sometimes, I just want you to listen… ‘Heard, helped, or hugged’ can be really powerful.

This tool defuses panic and restores clarity in tense or emotional moments.

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8. Honor different disclosure styles—and still connect

Not everyone wants to write a book, post on social, or speak publicly. Meg makes it clear that openness has many forms.

Meg emphasized:

Not everybody’s meant to write a book or speak publicly about it. It starts with really just acknowledging that mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of… Stand up for yourself and ask for what you need.

Respect looks like meeting people where they are, not forcing disclosure.

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9. Learn the family patterns—and plan around them

Terry notes how families track cardiology history without blinking, yet stumble when asked about psychiatric history. Meg’s scientist sister frames it simply: we hunt for symptoms to understand causes and find cures.

Meg explained:

How the heck are we ever gonna get on top of helping people with these big time illnesses—depression, anxiety, schizophrenia—if we don’t talk about it? If we’re silent about it then we’re not gonna understand it.

Recording family mental health history creates a map that can guide care across generations.

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10. Choose compassion over perfection in hard moments

Even people who talk about this professionally can freeze with fear when someone discloses suicidal thinking. Terry reminds listeners that perfection isn’t required.

Terry reflected:

Easier said than done but also easier than what we might think we have to do… If we can all learn that’s what’s needed, that’s what helps.

What matters is humility and the willingness to circle back if you stumble.

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11. Let truth-telling evolve across generations

Carly points out a hopeful arc: seeds planted quietly in one generation sometimes bloom into fuller truth in the next. Meg’s family eventually embraced her writing as a form of processing.

Carly reflected:

Being seen in all of your humanity seems like it would be the most humiliating thing ever. But it’s also showing everything that’s right about your family… Meg does such a beautiful job of holding the both-and of her family and the pain and the joy and the humor and the deep connection.

Generational shifts take time, but each act of honesty loosens shame’s grip.

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12. Choose connection as a daily practice

Perhaps the most practical medicine woven through the episode is this: keep showing up for joy. Meg refuses to let illness or loss define the totality of her family.

Meg shared:

I just think if more people kind of took that example and went with it they’d be better. I think just knowing that you’re not alone at all. There’s many, many people who are going through what you are and we’re in it together.

Connection doesn’t cancel pain—it companions it.

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Key Takeaways

• Use precise language: Shift from “stigma” to “discrimination” to emphasize accountability.
• Balance the narrative: Families are never just their struggles—love and humor coexist with illness.
• Speak openly: Age-appropriate honesty prevents children from internalizing shame or blame.
• Listen, don’t fix: Validation and presence matter more than perfect words.
• Use simple tools: Phrases like “Heard, helped, or hugged?” make conversations manageable.
• Respect disclosure differences: Healing doesn’t always look public.
• Learn the patterns: Treat psychiatric history like medical history for clarity and care.
• Normalize imperfection: If you falter, circle back; repair is powerful.
• Celebrate generational progress: Each era can move closer to openness.
• Choose connection daily: Joy, rituals, and humor sustain families through grief.

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Final Thoughts

Meg Kissinger’s story is both intensely personal and universally resonant. Her memoir, and her conversation with Terry and Carly, remind us that mental illness is not a moral failure—it’s a human experience. Families can carry unthinkable loss and still cultivate laughter, closeness, and resilience. Communities can choose to respond with compassion rather than shame.

Healing does not happen in a single sweeping gesture. It happens in listening when it feels uncomfortable, in telling the truth even when it feels risky, and in showing up for one another day after day. Whether through conversation, small rituals of joy, or simply sitting with someone in silence, these practices accumulate into hope.

The most radical act families can take is to insist on connection—connection that tells the truth, makes space for grief, and still celebrates life in all its ordinary, messy humanity.

This article summarizes a conversation from the Giving Voice to Depression podcast, hosted by Terry McGuire. In the episode, Terry and co-host Bridget talk with John, a man from Ontario, Canada, who openly shares his journey through depression, a suicide attempt, and the ongoing challenge of forgiving himself.

John’s honesty offers an important perspective rarely discussed: what it means to survive a suicide attempt and still struggle with guilt and self-compassion, even when loved ones have already offered forgiveness. His words remind us that recovery is not a neat or linear process, but a deeply human one.

Below are nine insights from John’s story that highlight the complexity of healing, the persistence of shame, and the slow, meaningful work of learning self-forgiveness.

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1. Forgiveness from Others Does Not Guarantee Forgiveness from Ourselves

John emphasized that his loved ones, especially his son, forgave him immediately after his attempt. Yet he continues to carry guilt within himself.

John explained:

One of the things that depression gives you is a great deal of self-loathing. It destroys, erodes your self-esteem. It’s very difficult to rebuild self-esteem, to rebuild compassion for yourself when you can’t forgive yourself.

This disconnect—between the love and acceptance offered by others and the harshness we continue to impose on ourselves—is a central theme of his story. Many survivors discover that external validation doesn’t automatically translate into internal healing. The voice of self-criticism can drown out even the kindest gestures from those who love us most.

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2. Guilt and Shame Shift but Rarely Disappear Overnight

Before his attempt, John carried guilt about being “not a good dad.” He believed his son might be better off without him. After his attempt, that guilt transformed into something different: shame that he hadn’t let his son’s love give him hope.

As John described:

Post-attempt, it was guilt at not allowing my son’s love to give me hope. So the creature of guilt and shame remained, simply the focus of it was changed.

This demonstrates how guilt and shame can evolve rather than evaporate. Survivors often find that even as they heal from one aspect of depression, new layers of self-blame emerge. The work of recovery, then, is not only about staying alive but about continually reshaping how we relate to our own past.

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3. The Power of Immediate, Unconditional Forgiveness from Loved Ones

When John told his son about the attempt, his son’s response was instant and full of compassion.

John recalled:

He forgave me right away, and he then reached over, gave me a hug.

That hug carried immeasurable weight. For John, it was one of the most powerful and humbling moments of his life. Forgiveness that comes so quickly can feel both healing and confusing. Survivors may question why they cannot extend to themselves the same grace that others so freely give.

It is a reminder to family members and friends: sometimes, the simplest act of compassion—saying “I forgive you” or offering an embrace—can be a turning point in someone’s recovery.

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4. Self-Forgiveness Is Blocked by Feelings of Unworthiness

When Terry asked why he could not extend the same forgiveness to himself, John was clear:

John admitted:

The feeling of unworthiness remains. And because I feel unworthy, I cannot forgive.

This sense of unworthiness is common among people living with depression. It’s not just that forgiveness feels difficult—it feels undeserved. Until worthiness is rebuilt, self-forgiveness often remains out of reach. This is why mental health professionals emphasize self-compassion practices. They create the foundation needed for forgiveness to eventually take root.

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5. Recovery Tools Help, but Sometimes Feel Incomplete

John actively works on his recovery with therapy, meditation, audiobooks, and research. But he still longs for something that feels transformative.

As John shared:

For me, I’m looking for a magic tool. The tools that I’ve been given or shown or told to use so far haven’t worked. So I’m looking for that little nugget that will magically, “Ahh, okay, this is what it is.”

This longing for a breakthrough is familiar to many who live with depression. Coping tools are essential, but survivors often wish for a single, decisive shift that makes healing feel less like a grind. While the “magic tool” may not exist, the ongoing search keeps survivors engaged in trying new strategies—an act of resilience in itself.

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6. Progress Can Be Measured by Perspective on Suicidal Thoughts

John acknowledged that while suicidal thoughts occasionally return, they no longer hold the same dangerous power.

John explained:

Suicidal thoughts have, for the most part, stopped. They’re there from time to time, but there’s no planning going on, there’s no desire to bring them to fruition. They are there, almost like a pesky mosquito that shows up when you don’t want it to.

This metaphor offers hope. Even if suicidal thoughts persist, their intensity and control can diminish over time. For many, progress looks less like complete elimination and more like a shift in how manageable those thoughts feel.

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7. Healing Takes Time—Sometimes Years

After decades of negative self-talk, John has come to accept that forgiveness will not come quickly.

As John reflected:

I recognize it may take years for that to be addressed, for the self-forgiveness to happen because of the years of negative self-talk. It made sense to me just as a rational thinker that if you’ve spent 35 years not liking yourself, it’s not going to change overnight. It’s going to take time to undo all of that damage and create a new sense of self.

This perspective is freeing in its realism. It acknowledges that there is no timeline for recovery. Each small act of compassion toward oneself is a building block. Self-forgiveness is not a switch but a gradual construction.

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8. Conversations Provide Healing in Themselves

Even when forgiveness feels far away, John finds value in conversations like the one he shared with Terry and Bridget.

John said:

One of the things that I find that sharing does for me is it not only allows me to educate at times who I’m speaking with but allows me educate myself, because I get to hear two opinions as opposed to just the one. And the one that’s in my head isn’t always the nicest of opinions.

For John, dialogue interrupts the cycle of self-criticism. By hearing another person’s compassionate response, he can challenge the harshness of his own inner voice. This is a lesson for all of us: conversations about depression are not just therapeutic for listeners; they can be transformative for the speaker as well.

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9. Reframing Forgiveness as “Not Yet” Instead of “Never”

Terry suggested that instead of saying “I can’t forgive myself,” John might try reframing it as “I haven’t forgiven myself yet.”

John responded:

That may be the better way for me to look at it: that it’s just not happened yet, and the key being that word “yet.”

This subtle but powerful reframe softens the finality of self-criticism. It allows survivors to hold onto the possibility of growth without demanding immediate change. Even if it doesn’t instantly feel healing, it plants a seed for future self-compassion.

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Key Takeaways

John’s story offers lessons not only for suicide attempt survivors but for anyone navigating depression, guilt, or shame. Some of the most important takeaways include:

• Forgiveness is complex. External forgiveness doesn’t automatically lead to internal healing.
• Shame evolves. It may change form over time, but it rarely disappears without intentional work.
• Love matters. Acts of compassion from family or friends, like John’s son’s hug, can carry profound weight.
• Self-worth is the foundation. Until survivors feel deserving, forgiveness remains elusive.
• Progress is not perfection. Even if suicidal thoughts linger, their reduced power is evidence of growth.
• Conversations heal. Sharing openly provides perspective and interrupts negative self-talk.
• Patience is essential. After years of self-loathing, it takes time to build a new sense of self.
• Language shapes recovery. Reframing “never” as “not yet” creates hope.

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Final Thoughts

Self-forgiveness after a suicide attempt is one of the most difficult aspects of recovery. John’s story reminds us that healing is not about quick fixes or magical solutions. It is about showing up for ourselves daily, trying new tools, allowing time to work, and remaining open to connection.

Even when forgiveness feels impossible, the fact that John continues to seek healing is itself an act of resilience. His willingness to share openly does more than help listeners—it helps him, too, by reframing his story in a context of growth instead of shame.

For anyone walking a similar path, John’s honesty offers both companionship and hope. Self-forgiveness may not arrive today, but with patience and compassion, it remains a possibility. And sometimes, holding on to the possibility is enough to keep moving forward.

This article summarizes a deeply moving conversation from the Giving Voice to Depression podcast, hosted by Terry McGuire and co-hosted by Dr. Anita Sanz. In this episode, we hear from Jeannine Rivers, a survivor of a suicide attempt who bravely shares her journey through pain, stigma, healing, and purpose. What follows is a powerful list of lessons and truths drawn from Jeannine’s lived experience, her reflections on survival, and the insights of her compassionate hosts.

The conversation explores not only the darkness Jeannine experienced, but also the internal and external forces that helped pull her back toward life. From her struggle with the stigma of a mental health diagnosis to her awakening in the aftermath of a suicide attempt, Jeannine’s story illustrates how recovery is rarely simple—but always possible. Her account offers validation for those who feel invisible in their suffering, and encouragement for anyone who has doubted their worth, questioned whether they are “sick enough” to ask for help, or feared judgment for simply not being okay. With empathy, honesty, and hard-earned wisdom, this episode is a beacon for anyone walking through the shadows of depression.

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1. Depression Can Hide Behind a Smile

Jeannine explained:

People always telling you ‘Jeannine, I wish I had your life. You’re always so happy. You have it all together.’ Who wants to admit that they have depression? Who wants to admit that they’re struggling inside when everyone around them assumes they’re thriving? It’s easier to wear the mask than to deal with the judgment or disbelief that comes when you reveal you’re not okay.

Many people living with depression mask their pain with smiles and accomplishments. Outward appearance isn’t always a reliable indicator of internal distress.

Key takeaway: Just because someone seems okay doesn’t mean they are. Always check in on your “strong” friends.

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2. Stigma Makes It Harder to Speak Up

Jeannine acknowledged:

If they don’t know that you’re diagnosed with anything, then, oh, you’re just acting. You’re being dramatic. But as soon as they figure out that you have a diagnosis: “Well, you know, they’re mentally ill.” Or, “Something’s wrong with them.” And then who wants that stigma on them? Who wants to be treated like they’re broken or dangerous just because they live with a mental illness?

Even today, many avoid disclosing mental health challenges due to social stigma. This silence only deepens the isolation.

Helpful reminder: Destigmatizing mental illness starts with honest conversations and non-judgmental listening.

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3. A Diagnosis Can Offer Relief — and Clarity

Jeannine admitted:

I still squabble with the diagnosis, but lately when I was reading what my diagnosis is, I have to say I laughed. I said, “Oh, this is so me. Girlfriend, just go ahead and claim this because this is so you.” So yes, in 2003, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II disorder. And I say that proudly.

Helpful takeaway: A diagnosis doesn’t define you, but it can provide context and a path forward.

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4. You Are Not Your Diagnosis

As Jeannine powerfully stated:

I am not Bipolar Disorder. I am not crazy. I’ve been diagnosed with Bipolar II disorder. So I think sometimes we have to learn to realize that we are who we are as individuals and then we have this diagnosis. A person who has cancer or a person that has kidney disease, we don’t tell them you are cancer. You are kidney disease. When you have a mental illness, you hear, “You are crazy.” “You’re schizophrenic.” Why do we do that to people? We’re still people. We’re still wonderful, beautiful people. And we just may have a little something that’s just different about us.

Mental illness is something a person experiences, not their identity. It’s no different than saying someone has cancer — not is cancer.

Say this instead: “I live with depression,” not “I am depressed.”

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5. Suicidal Thoughts Are Often a Desire to End Pain, Not Life

Jeannine reflected:

You don’t want to die. You just want that pain to stop. You don’t wanna die. Wait! Pick up the phone, call someone. You just wanna stop hurting. The pain sometimes is so paralyzing that you don’t want to feel it. But if you wait and just pick up the phone and call someone and tell someone what you’re feeling, you will be really happy that you have not did that attempt — I’m glad I survived. You really don’t [want to die], you really just want to stop hurting.

Depression often warps thinking so thoroughly that suicide seems like the only escape. But it’s the pain, not life itself, that people want to end.

Important note: If someone is talking about suicide, they may be seeking relief. Help them find it safely.

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6. Survivor, Not Failure

Jeannine said:

I’m glad I failed [my suicide attempt].

As Terry eloquently put it:

No, you’re glad you survived.

Jeannine affirmed:

I’m glad I survived. Thank you. Because I consider myself a survivor.

Use empowering language: The term “attempt survivor” honors strength, not shame.

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7. Listen to the Voice That Tells You to Try Again

Jeannine described how, in the immediate aftermath of her suicide attempt:

Out of nowhere, I heard a whisper: ‘Jeannine, get up.’ … Panic and defeat fought within me. But something in that call gave me courage to try.

That voice may be your inner resilience or something spiritual. Either way, listen to it.

Even if you’re crawling to the door, it still counts as moving forward.

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8. Your Life Still Has Purpose

Jeannine shared:

If I hadn’t woke up, I never would have had my beautiful daughter. I never would have accomplished all the great things in my life.

She added:

If you Google my name today, you will find a world that never could have happened if I had been found 15 minutes later.

Lesson: Don’t let depression convince you that your story is over.

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9. Depression Lies About Your Worth

As Dr. Anita Sanz explained:

Depression just disconnects you from your sense of worth. And once that happens, it’s so difficult to imagine a life that you deserve living.

Feeling unworthy of love, attention, or even medical care is a common trap.

Counter the lie: Ask yourself, “What would I try to get for myself if I believed I was worthy of having it?”

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10. Help Is Available — and You Deserve It

Jeannine urged:

You will be really happy that you have not did that attempt. I’m glad I survived. You don’t want to die. Wait! Pick up the phone, call someone.

As Dr. Anita Sanz encouraged:

Call 988. You do not have to be in crisis to call. But it can really, really help to talk to someone.

Call 988 in the U.S. or find a local crisis line in your country. Don’t wait until it feels unbearable.

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11. If One Person Doesn’t Help, Call Again

Terry advised:

If you are thinking, ‘I’ve called before and it wasn’t a good experience,’ next time, hang up and just redial until you get someone you do feel a connection to.

Just like finding a good therapist or doctor, finding the right voice on a crisis line might take more than one try. But it’s worth it.

Persistence can be life-saving.

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12. Your Future Can Still Be Bright

Jeannine concluded:

I continue to hear this voice during the most difficult times in my life. I hear that call as the voice of God reminding me to get to the door and open it, because on the other side there is a bright light filled with many more amazing opportunities.

Even in our darkest hours, the door to healing is still there. And behind it may be a life full of music, motherhood, meaning, and more.

Final Thoughts

Jeannine’s story is a vivid reminder that survival is possible — and that life on the other side of a crisis can be full of unexpected beauty. Her courage in sharing the depths of her pain, her suicide attempt, and her eventual healing offers a path forward for anyone who feels overwhelmed by darkness. Recovery isn’t instant or linear, but it begins with honesty, connection, and the willingness to reach for the door, even when it feels impossibly far away.

Through the compassionate guidance of Terry and Dr. Sanz, and Jeannine’s own words, this episode of Giving Voice to Depression delivers not only a powerful testimony of survival but also actionable encouragement to anyone struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts.

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Key Takeaways

• Depression often hides behind a smile — outward happiness can mask deep internal pain.
• Stigma silences people — we must create space for open, judgment-free conversations.
• A diagnosis can be validating — it offers language for what someone has long experienced.
• You are not your illness — you have depression, you are not depression.
• Suicidal thoughts are often about ending pain, not life itself.
• Surviving a suicide attempt is not failure — it’s survival.
• Listen for the inner or outer voice urging you to try again.
• Life after survival can hold unexpected gifts: children, careers, creativity.
• Worthlessness is a lie depression tells. You are worth help.
• 988 and other lifelines are here for you — and you deserve their support.
• If the first call doesn’t help, make another. Connection is worth seeking.
• The future is unwritten — and yours may be filled with light.

This article is a summary of a deeply candid episode of the Giving Voice to Depression podcast, hosted by Terry McGuire. In this conversation, longtime mental health advocate Michael Landsberg shares hard-earned truths about living with depression, battling stigma, and navigating antidepressant treatment. His voice is honest, unfiltered, and refreshingly human.

Through personal stories and lived experience, Landsberg helps reframe the conversation around antidepressants and depression—not as an abstract medical topic, but as something that deeply affects real lives. This episode doesn’t prescribe or preach. Instead, it opens space for honest reflection, hard conversations, and the reminder that you are not weak for struggling—or for seeking help.

Here are 11 powerful takeaways from the conversation.

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1. Medication Doesn’t Make You Weak—It Might Make You Stronger

Michael Landsberg doesn’t shy away from discussing the full truth of his mental health struggles. He opens the episode with raw honesty about what depression has cost him—and what medication has given back.

Michael said:

I suffer from an illness called depression, also anxiety. I have been taken down by this illness. I have been left understanding why people take their own lives. I have given up years of my life to this illness that I will never, ever get back. I have spent time where I knew that I was living but not alive. I understood suicide. I’m on medication today. I will be the rest of my life. But you know what? I’m not ashamed. I’m not embarrassed. And most of all, I’m not weak.

This message is especially vital for people—often men—who have absorbed toxic cultural messages about toughness and self-reliance.

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2. Stigma Can Be More Dangerous Than Depression

Throughout the conversation, both Landsberg and Terry reflect on how stigma prevents people from seeking help. For some, that resistance to treatment becomes generational.

Michael recalled:

My dad lived his whole life, since I was young, he drank every day. We never saw him smile. We knew that he was sick. But he said men do not go to psychiatrists or psychologists, men suck it up and do their job. And I’m my dad. Until I heard someone talking about this without shame and embarrassment, and without sounding weak, I always thought, ‘I can’t be that person.’ But then you hear someone say it, and it’s like, ‘Hey, I don’t care who knows, I want everyone to know.’ That’s empowering to other people.”

When we speak openly, we don’t just help ourselves—we free others to begin their healing.

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3. You’re Allowed to Hate Taking Medication—And Still Take It Anyway

Medication isn’t a magic cure. Michael is transparent about its downsides. But his framework for accepting it is profoundly insightful.

Michael explained:

You need to learn to love the thing that you hate least. So I hate my depression more than anything. I hate my medication too, but I hate it less than I hate the illness. So it’s like, do I like being on meds? No. Do I wish I was off meds? Absolutely. But I’d rather be on the meds where I am right now than be back to where I was.

This honest, nuanced perspective removes guilt from the equation.

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4. You Might Have to Try More Than One Medication (Or Round)

Michael describes how he cycled through different medications—Prozac, Zoloft, and eventually a long-term combination of Lexapro and Wellbutrin.

Michael shared:

I started on Prozac. It helped me, didn’t cure me, it helped me and then eventually I went off Prozac because I didn’t like the side effects and it came back. And then I went on Zoloft and again, it made me better. And I got tired of the side effects, so I went off it again thinking, ‘Okay, well, maybe I don’t need it anymore.’

His story normalizes the trial-and-error reality of mental health treatment.

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5. Relapse Is Real—But It’s Also Preventable

Michael’s most dangerous relapse happened after he convinced himself he could live without medication. He shares a vivid and deeply personal memory of where that decision led him:

Michael recalled:

I kept going off it, and then eventually the last time I went off it… I really was in a terrible position where—I talk about this—November 24th, 2008, Marriott Hotel, Montreal, Room 521, 4am in the morning. I was there sitting on the edge of my bed, I was working in Montreal at a sporting event and I thought, “Wow. I know why people take their lives.” I was not really a danger to myself because I’d been through it before. But that’s how far I had let myself slip, Terry. I had gone so far, so much in denial. And my wife had said, “You have to go back on medication.” I said, “No, I don’t, I can do it without medication.”

He goes on to describe how his refusal to take antidepressants led to dependency on benzodiazepines and a growing sense of hopelessness.

I started taking other medications like benzodiazepines, you know, Ativan or Valium. But then you get addicted and you realize you gotta use more and more and more. That was 12 years ago now, and I have not been off medication. I’ve been on 20 milligrams of what you would call Lexapro, and 300 milligrams, 150 twice a day of Wellbutrin. So, I have learned my lesson.

For Michael, that moment became the turning point—one that led to long-term consistency with medication and a deeper understanding of what his brain needs to stay stable.

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6. Fear of the Slide Is Sometimes Worse Than the Slide Itself

Even when things are going well, anxiety about relapse can taint good days. Michael has learned to stop that fear spiral.

Michael reflected:

We have the ability to take a good day and make it into a bad day and we do that by fearing the return of the bad day… And similarly, I can take a bad day and make it worse… ‘Oh my God, am I going back into the hole? Is my medication no longer working for me?’

Awareness of this pattern helps him avoid turning worry into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

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7. Recognize the Early Warning Signs of a Downward Spiral

Michael knows himself well enough now to detect when he’s slipping.

Michael said:

The first warning sign is that my wife asks me if I’m okay… For me, the biggest is I stop talking… When I realize that I’ve lost confidence in myself—that’s another sign about the slide. And when I retreat—when I search for ways to get away from people.

Catching these signals early can mean the difference between a bad day and a dangerous one.

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8. When the Slide Starts, Take Action—But Stay Calm

So what does Michael do when the early signs appear?

Michael explained:

I remind myself of how many times I have been in this position… It’s kind of like you’re on an airplane and there’s turbulence. Because there’s turbulence doesn’t mean that you’re gonna crash… I’ve had bumps before in bad days. It doesn’t mean that I’m relapsing.

Instead of panicking, he grounds himself in experience and trust in his treatment.

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9. You Don’t Have to Be “Cured” to Be Doing Well

There’s a common misconception that if treatment is working, there won’t be bad days. But Michael offers a more compassionate measure of progress.

Terry observed:

Just because you’re doing the right things doesn’t mean every day is going to be good… but that doesn’t mean they’re all going to be bad.

Michael literally tracks his mental health by marking bad days on his arm each month—and celebrating the good ones in between.

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10. You Don’t Have to Sell Hope—Just Live Honestly

Michael doesn’t sugarcoat the reality of living with depression. But he also doesn’t hide it.

Terry put it this way:

What Michael was just doing is destigmatizing. He was talking. He was talking to us all. About his experience. Without shame, without embarrassment… just like if we were to talk about, you know, my morning routine or any other part of his life.

That kind of openness is what real hope looks like.

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11. Talking About It Reduces Shame—and Saves Lives

In his role as a public figure, Michael has used his platform to model what it means to speak out. The results speak for themselves.

Michael reflected:

Anybody who denies any form of treatment that has been approved has never experienced depression the way you and I have experienced it. Because if you’ve been down there, you tend to go: “Anything. Anything. Please just help me get out of this spot because I’m not living right now. I’ll do anything to get better.”

That urgency, that honesty—it changes lives. And every time he shares, he chips away at the silence that keeps others suffering.

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Final Thoughts

This episode is not a prescription. It’s not a one-size-fits-all solution. It’s a raw, compassionate reflection from someone who’s been there—who is still there, managing depression day by day with clarity, vulnerability, and courage.

Whether you’re considering medication, supporting a loved one, or just trying to make it through another day—Michael Landsberg’s voice is a reminder:
You’re not weak. You’re not alone. And you are so much more than your illness.

This article summarizes a deeply personal and practical conversation from Giving Voice to Depression, a podcast hosted by Terry McGuire, with the author of an article titled “10 Ways to Reach Out When You’re Struggling With Your Mental Health, In each episode, Terry talks to people with lived experience of depression or professionals working in mental health, helping listeners better understand the realities of depression, reduce stigma, and build hope.

In Episode 366, titled “Asking for Help Is Not Always Intuitive”, mental health writer and advocate Sam Dylan Finch shares five actionable ways to reach out for support when you’re struggling with your mental health. Sam speaks from lived experience as both a suicide attempt survivor and suicide loss survivor. His insights are born from the grief of losing a close friend and from navigating his own darkest moments.

This episode reminds us that asking for help doesn’t always come naturally. Many of us were never taught how to do it — or that we even have the right to. Sam’s practical language helps demystify what it looks like to reach out for support, even when you don’t know exactly what you need.

Here are five real, compassionate ways to ask for help — even when it feels impossible.

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1. “I’m not sure what to ask for, but I don’t want to be alone.”

When depression or suicidal thoughts take hold, it’s often hard to articulate exactly what help looks like. You may not have the words, the clarity, or the energy to explain. That’s why Sam encourages people to lead with honesty — not certainty.

As Sam Dylan Finch explained:

Sometimes the biggest obstacle is that people really don’t know what they need. And the expectation that people should when they’re in such a dark space is really like asking someone who doesn’t know how to swim, like you throw them in the water and you’re like, “I don’t know, just swim.”

And so allowing people to just name that, say, “I don’t know what I need,” and to just express like, “I’m not sure what to ask for, but I do know that I don’t wanna do this alone,” can be really, really powerful in letting loved ones know, “Yeah, I’m a little lost right now, but just having you here with me is important to me.”

Terry responded with a sentiment many listeners might share:

It’s actually beautiful. If someone said that to me, you know, I would so be there, and I could see myself saying it to someone, but I never in my entire life have.

Sam reflected on that shared struggle:

Right, and we don’t see it modeled. I can’t think of a time when someone said that to me. But I do know that if someone did, I would be there in a heartbeat. I think it’s just finding those words can be so difficult.

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2. “I’m struggling and what I’ve been trying isn’t working. Can we meet up and come up with a better plan?”

Sometimes, despite your best efforts, what you’ve been doing to manage your mental health just isn’t helping anymore. But creating a new plan — when you’re already overwhelmed — can feel like trying to put together a puzzle without any of the edge pieces.

Sam Dylan Finch described why this second strategy is so needed:

This one I knew had to be on the list just because the system is still so, so complicated. And I’ve watched so many people that I love try to figure it out when it’s too late, you know? When they’re already so depressed and things are just so dysfunctional that asking them to make phone call after phone call, set up appointments, figure out meal plans, or even like trying to figure out how to get an apartment cleaner — like so many little things that have to be put together like a puzzle to really get any kind of progress going…

That I realized that there’s no reason why that can’t be a team approach.

He also explained the importance of picking a specific time:

Setting a specific time, I think, performs a couple of functions. The first is so that the person you’re talking to understands that this isn’t something you’re asking for a month from now or like “whenever” — that it’s an urgent ask, that the stakes are there, that people understand that this is important.

And also I think it’s helpful for the person who’s struggling to just know like, “Okay, things are really cruddy right now, but I do know that on Wednesday night, I’m meeting up with X friend and we’re gonna come up with a plan.”

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3. “I don’t feel safe by myself right now. Can you stay on the phone or come over until I calm down?”

Safety can be a difficult topic to bring up. Many people worry about sounding “dramatic” or becoming a burden. But the truth is, there’s no shame in asking for help when your safety is at risk.

As Sam Dylan Finch carefully explained:

I think most people find it really difficult to say, you know, I don’t feel safe right now. But it’s also a really important moment to reach out and just figuring out how to assemble those words together.

The reason I kind of framed it the way that I did was because I wanted people to understand the urgency — so loved ones should know that you don’t feel safe — but also giving a direct ask: “Can you stay on the phone with me?” or “Can you come over until I calm down?” helps people understand like this is what I need right now.

Rather than just saying like, I don’t feel safe, fix it, because not everyone is really equipped to deal with a crisis. I think that’s a direct enough ask that people feel more empowered to be able to help because they’re not just being thrown into a situation where they don’t know what to do.

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4. “I’m in a bad place, but I’m not ready to talk about it. Can you help me distract myself?”

Many people believe they need to be “ready to talk” in order to ask for support. But sometimes, the need isn’t to talk — it’s to be with someone. Sam wants people to know that you can ask for company or distraction without opening up fully.

As Sam Dylan Finch stated clearly:

You do not have to be ready to talk about your trauma or your suicidality to be able to reach out to someone and get some support. It’s okay to say, “I’m not ready, but I would like some kind of distraction or some kind support or some connection that helps me, at least in this moment, deal with what I’m dealing with.”

He also reframed self-care in a more realistic way for those experiencing depression:

Obviously, if you’re depressed, you might think, “Oh, I shouldn’t even bother with self-care. Nothing’s going to make me happy.” But when you realize that nourishing yourself — or whatever synonym there works for you — whether it’s moving towards wellness or doing something that is caring, a caring gesture towards yourself: that’s like a much more pragmatic goal to have in mind.

I think a lot of the language around self-care doesn’t necessarily serve people who have pervasive mental health problems… you can’t always just like perk yourself up by doing some yoga. So it’s nice to have a different framework, as much as I love yoga.

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5. “Can you check in with me every day this week just to make sure I’m okay?”

The power of the check-in cannot be overstated. Regular, simple connection can be a lifeline during mental health struggles. And it’s often much easier to ask for ongoing small support than to raise a flag once you’re already in crisis.

As Sam Dylan Finch suggested:

One thing that intimidates people when they’re thinking about reaching out for help is that they don’t want to ask too much of people. So it can be anything from “Send me a selfie every day just to check in; it’d be nice to see your face,” or “Let’s text each other every morning or every evening to see what our plans are or how we’re gonna take care of ourselves.”

It doesn’t even have to be a big dramatic thing.

He went on to explain how even the simplest reply matters:

Even if it’s as simple as just saying like, “I’m sad — that’s how my day is going,” because even that gives you some element of being seen.

And I think that’s a big part of what makes a mental health crisis so toxic is day in and day out of not being seen and not being recognized when you’re struggling really can be its own kind of source of trauma because you start to feel invisible.

Finally, Sam likened check-ins to a kind of emotional safety net:

In the article I describe it as like buckling your seatbelt when you get into a car. It’s like one extra line of defense if things do start to get really difficult.

People won’t hear about it at the last possible minute; they’ll have a sense of what’s coming because you’ve been checking in with them, hopefully, and staying connected. And sustaining a connection is such a big part of staying mentally well, or at least survival.

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Final Thoughts: Asking Is a Learned Skill — Not a Flaw

At the close of the episode, co-host Bridget expressed her appreciation for the life-saving value of what Sam shared:

I found myself exhaling as I heard these, you know, it was like he was giving me permission to not know. He was giving permission and a life skill and a life-saving skill of learning how to ask for help.

Terry added this powerful observation:

It’s a strange thing to think that we might need permission to ask for what we need, but we’re certainly not. At least, you know, we weren’t taught to ask.

These reminders anchor the episode’s central message: Asking for help is not a weakness — it’s a vital act of self-preservation. And it’s one we can all practice, learn, and get better at over time.

This article is a comprehensive summary of a powerful episode of the Giving Voice to Depression podcast, hosted by Terry McGuire. In this episode, mental health advocate and blogger Sam Dylan Finch shares specific, practical ways to ask for help when you’re struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts. The conversation draws from his blog post, “10 Ways to Reach Out When You’re Struggling With Your Mental Health,” which emerged from personal grief and lived experience.

Sam’s insights aren’t just helpful—they’re potentially life-saving. Rather than simply encouraging people to “reach out,” he gives them the language to do so. As Terry notes, we often hear the advice to ask for help, but few of us are ever taught how. This episode helps fill that critical gap.

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1. Understand the Importance of Specific Language

General advice like “reach out” can feel vague and inaccessible when someone is in crisis. Sam identified this gap in his own darkest moments:

Sam explained:

I hesitated to tell anyone I was struggling, largely because I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to ask for.

When your mind is clouded by depression, clarity is hard to come by. That’s why scripting out requests in advance—or using prepared language—can remove a huge emotional and cognitive burden.

Takeaway: Have pre-written scripts or phrases ready to use in times of distress. It lowers the barrier to asking for help.

Being prepared doesn’t mean you’re expecting a crisis. It means you’re equipping yourself with tools that give you a better chance of navigating one. Much like a first aid kit, having these emotional scripts nearby doesn’t mean you’re constantly injured — it means you’re self-aware and proactive about your mental wellness.

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2. Ask for Help with a Specific Task

Sometimes the most effective help is practical. One of Sam’s suggestions is:

Sam recommended:

I’m having a hard time taking care of myself. I need extra support right now around (a specific task). Can you help?

This could mean asking someone to:

• Do laundry with you
• Accompany you to the grocery store
• Help clean your space
• Cook a meal together

As Sam elaborated:

I don’t think every loved one is equipped to help me in a deep emotional space. But most can help me hook up my cable box.

Why this works: It’s actionable. It offers a manageable entry point for support and gives your loved ones something they can do.

Support doesn’t always look like therapy or emotional processing. Sometimes it’s just having someone there to keep you company while you take care of everyday life. And for many people struggling with depression, even simple things like cleaning the kitchen or opening mail can feel monumental. Sharing that load helps.

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3. Invite a Memory or Reflection

When depression is lying to you—telling you that you’re unworthy or unloved—counter it with truth from those who know you best. Sam suggests this phrase:

Sam suggested:

I’ve been feeling low. Could you please remind me what I mean to you or share a favorite memory? It would really help me.

This request might feel smaller or less risky than saying “I’m in crisis.” But the emotional impact can be huge. As Bridget shared:

Bridget explained:

My brain was just telling me horrid things about myself. I needed to stir in some positive, reality-based observations.

Bonus tip: Save the responses you get in a note or journal. You can revisit them later when you’re struggling.

This suggestion is powerful because it meets you where you are. It doesn’t require vulnerability beyond a simple ask. It allows others to reflect back your value when your mind refuses to see it — offering not only relief but sometimes even joy.

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4. Sound the Alarm Clearly

When you feel yourself approaching a dangerous edge, don’t stay silent. Use direct and urgent language, like:

Sam advised:

I’m struggling right now and I’m afraid I’m reaching my limit. Can you give me a call (at a specific time)?

Sam elaborated on why this script is so vital:

How do I introduce something really scary in a way that doesn’t catch someone off guard but also honors that this is urgent?

This script provides:

• Urgency without panic
• Clarity without overwhelming detail
• A clear call-to-action

This phrasing lets you remain grounded while communicating that the situation is critical. It’s a crucial skill — to ask for help before you break. It respects your needs and the listener’s capacity to respond, and it sets a clear boundary around your needs.

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5. Reach Out to an Acquaintance

What if you don’t have a close support system? Sam offers this script:

Sam suggested:

I know we don’t talk much, but I’m going through a tough time and I feel like you’re someone I can trust. Are you free to talk (specific day/time)?

Many people assume they have to wait until they’re “better” to form meaningful connections. Sam challenges that idea:

Sam explained:

If you wait until you’re what you think of as the ideal state to be enough for someone, you’re going to be waiting a really long time.

Consider this: Connection can grow because of vulnerability, not in spite of it.

By reaching out to acquaintances, you might not only get support — you might also forge a new friendship. It opens the door for connection in surprising places, and allows you to build a support network even during periods of struggle.

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6. Be Direct: Say You Are Suicidal

When you’re in a life-threatening emotional crisis, subtlety has no place. Sam offers the boldest, most essential phrase:

Sam emphasized:

I’m suicidal. I need help right now.

He reminds us:

Sam explained:

An emergency is just an emergency. If it’s the difference between life and death, there’s no reason to apologize.

Too many people hesitate, afraid of being a burden or misunderstood. But as Terry stresses:

As Terry eloquently put it:

Everyone who’s lost someone to suicide would rather have been called at 2 a.m. than gone to a funeral.

Bottom line: If you’re in danger, say so clearly. People who care about you want to help.

A mental health emergency is no different than a physical one. If you broke your leg, you’d go to the ER. The same principle applies when your emotional pain becomes unbearable. Treat it like the emergency it is.

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7. Let Go of Guilt and Stigma

One of the heaviest weights depression adds is the idea that you’re unworthy of support. But that’s not the truth—it’s the illness talking.

As Bridget shared:

Believing you are worthy — that’s the bottom line.

Sam affirmed:

Believing that you’re worthy of friendship right now and really asserting for yourself that you’re worthy of those connections — however you happen to be that day — is really, really important.

Ways to counter stigma-based thinking:

• Reframe help-seeking as strength, not weakness
• Remember that you would offer help to someone else
• Practice saying, “I deserve support.”

Letting go of guilt also means acknowledging that needing help isn’t a flaw — it’s a human experience. You don’t need to “earn” your right to support. You already have it.

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8. Don’t Wait for Crisis to Reach Out

As Terry wisely pointed out:

Terry said:

Say you’re having a bad time way before you’re in a suicidal crisis… Nobody waits until they’re dying of cancer to ask for help.

Mental health needs maintenance. You don’t need to be at rock bottom to deserve care.

Consider reaching out when you:

• Start withdrawing socially
• Notice increasing negative self-talk
• Feel overwhelmed by small tasks

Think of it as preventive care.

Just like we get regular checkups to stay physically healthy, we need emotional check-ins to stay mentally balanced. The earlier we act, the more options we have — and the more likely we are to avoid a full crisis.

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9. Remind Yourself You Are Not Alone

This podcast, like all episodes of Giving Voice to Depression, ends with the reminder that no one needs to suffer in silence.

As Bridget and Terry remind us:

If someone else is struggling, listen up. If you’re struggling, speak up.

Bridget and Terry model vulnerability with each episode, helping normalize these conversations. The scripts Sam provides are just that—starting points to make speaking up feel less scary.

Knowing that others have walked this path—and made it through—can be one of the most powerful reminders that healing is possible. You’re not weak for needing help; you’re brave for asking for it.

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Final Thoughts

Sam Dylan Finch’s list doesn’t just help people survive; it helps them stay connected, grounded, and reminded of their worth. Whether you use the exact words or adapt them to your style, having these tools can be the bridge between suffering in silence and receiving life-saving support.

We encourage everyone—whether struggling or supporting someone who is—to bookmark, print, and share these scripts. You never know when you’ll need them. In moments of crisis, they can serve as lifelines. In everyday life, they can keep relationships strong and supportive.

As Sam shared from the heart:

Really and truly, if my friend had called and had said any number of the things on this list, there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done.

These words aren’t just Sam’s—they echo the sentiments of countless people who’ve lost loved ones to suicide. So let’s take them seriously. Let’s normalize asking for help. Let’s practice saying the hard things. Let’s make sure no one feels like they have to face depression alone.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “That sounds like something I might need one day,” take a screenshot. Email it to yourself. Tape it to the fridge. Be ready, and more importantly, believe this: You are worthy. You are not alone. And help is available.