There is this story I was given many, many years ago about a guy in a subway car. His kids were running amok, tearing up and down the car in a hyper mess of a ball of action much to the dismay of the many passengers in the car while the guy, the responsible adult, the father did nothing. Finally, one of the passengers in the car turned to the uninterested dad and said, “hey, buddy, your kids!” The uninterested father turned to the put out guy and replied, “sorry, their mom died today and I don’t know how to tell them.”
Paradigm shift.
What if the distraught dad who was facing the loss of his wife and companion lashed out and just decked the guy for not understanding his grief? What if the annoyed and inconvenienced passenger told the guy he was a lousy father and unfit to have kids? What if the whole thing ended in a fist fight instead of an exchange of words and, hopefully, understanding? Words matter.
Tonight, my life was again touched by suicide, and I cannot help but think “what words mattered?” What words, if any, could have altered the path that led to today, and why do we as a collective refuse to stare down the demon of mental illness facing us right now? Why is it still taboo to discuss that occasionally life isn’t perfect and rainbow and unicorns? Why don’t we all admit that every once in a while we have a supremely craptastic day, or week, or month, or year? Why don’t we feel comfortable admitting to others how the words they uttered as a toss away aren’t toss away but are blunt daggers tearing into us? Why do we carry these harsh words closer to our hearts than the many words of love and acceptance thrown our way?
Mental illness within my familial unit has been a concern of mine for decades. When one feels deeply, one can be wounded deeply. Plus, there is so little tolerance for the need of “mental breaks” in our society. “Buck up,” we tell people. Your life will be amazing if only you accept these criteria for success we’ve outline for you. “Soldier on” we expect out of others. Well, I call foul. Why is it wrong to feel, to grieve, to mourn, to rage, to elate, to feel? Why can’t we be upset that someone was harsh and cruel and insensitive? Why can’t we be confused that we may want something different out of our lives than those who love us? Why can’t we just be and be the best version of ourselves that WE deem to be? Why do people feel so free to fling harshness in the direction of others to alleviate their own pain because they are too cowardly to tackle them themselves? You are right. That statement is too harsh. It comes from a place of loss. It comes from a place of pain. It come from a place of dread for all others who are sad and lost and wandering. Maybe it comes from a place of hope.
If you feel alone, please know you are not. This is one freaking big planet. There is someone out there who understands your position, your feelings, and your thoughts. Please don’t give up, but go find that person. You never know if your words might be ones that save him or her… or even yourself. You are beautiful and to be celebrated and if the people around you can’t see that, then it’s ok to find people who do. Words matter. Keep the affirming ones and toss all the others.
1-800-273-8255 – National Suicide Hotline
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