I Tried to End My Life 3 Times: Today, I Help Others Fight for Theirs

I’m a clinician, but I’m no more immune to mental health battles than anyone else. Before it all came crashing down a second time, I was living the life I had planned. I was a therapist, a healer, and a confidant for my clients. I had everything I said I wanted, but there was pain lurking behind my strong and confident veneer.

The warning signs were flashing again, but I ignored them, carrying on and projecting strength and stability to those around me. I had been dealing with depression and serious panic attacks, and anxiety for years, but I was managing to keep it together—sort of. I never let anyone in on what was really going on with me.

I thought I could manage it this time, that I could compartmentalize my feelings. But eventually, the cover-up crumbled. I felt utterly alone, despite being surrounded by people who cared. Yes, I was a therapist, but I was also a human being, one who was deeply flawed and in need of help.

The Happy Meal

The first time I tried to end my life, I was not yet a therapist. I was working at a bank, and it was an ordinary, busy Monday morning. I was with my kids, who were 5 and 6 at the time. I decided to treat them to a Happy Meal at McDonald’s before dropping them off and making my way to work. However, when I drove up to the window and tried to pay, my card was declined.

Feeling a knot in my stomach, I parked the car and quickly checked my bank account, only to discover that it was significantly overdrawn. Confused and a bit embarrassed, I reluctantly took the Happy Meals from my kids' hands and returned them to the cashier.

As I dropped the kids off at school, a wave of sadness hit me like a ton of bricks. Before I knew it, I was crying like crazy, like I was drowning in my tears.

Taking that Happy Meal out of my kids’ hands was one of the worst moments of my life. I felt like a failure. I told myself my kids deserved a better mother. In that moment, I surrendered to the unbearable sadness. Instead of going to work that day, I went home.

I sent my boss a text message saying goodbye. I sent another message to my best friend, also saying goodbye and asking her to tell my kids how much I loved them. Then I made my first attempt to end my life.

Soon after, I felt a blissful release, and everything went dark. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed.

In reality, I didn’t try to end it all over a Happy Meal. I had been holding onto some heavy stuff buried deep inside: childhood sexual abuse, rape, and domestic violence. I was also dealing with an all-consuming feeling of abandonment and inadequacy, and I just couldn’t talk about any of it. So, I didn’t. And what they say is true: silence kills.

The Client

I survived that attempt and kept going, but the thoughts of suicide never really left me. I lived with severe depression and anxiety that got so bad I started shoving furniture behind my doors out of fear.

But I just kept pushing my struggles to the side. I juggled school, work, and 2 kids all on my own. It was tough, really tough. Some days, I'd find myself daydreaming about ending it all and thinking about the “easiest” ways to do it. The only thing that kept me going was this little flicker of hope that I could turn things around for myself. I forged ahead, working toward my dream career as a therapist.

In my first counseling job, I felt like things were going as planned until I took on a young client whose life experiences mirrored mine. A friend of mine always says, "What you resist persists.” Well, that was true because suddenly, I was face-to-face with everything I had avoided dealing with for years.

When she told me her story, it felt like she was telling my story too. Sessions with her brought up everything I had struggled to push down for years.

After bringing up my concerns about treating her to my boss, I was told to get over it and do my job. This led me to a very dark place. I ended up attempting to take my life again.

The Survivor

After a long and bumpy road that included a third suicide attempt, I can say: I’m still here. Through unwavering perseverance and the support of loved ones, I found the courage to reach out for help. I sought therapy myself, a humbling experience for someone who had spent years on the other side of the couch.

I now understand that clinicians are not immune to the challenges and emotional burdens faced by our clients. We, too, go through our own struggles and must seek support when needed.

The Light

Today, I stand before you not just as a survivor but as an advocate for open discussions about mental illness. At a certain point in my journey, I realized that my fight wasn't just with my illness, but also with the perceptions and attitudes that often come with it.

I’ve made a heartfelt decision to no longer keep my story to myself. I want to speak up and be heard. I refuse to be silent because I believe that healing happens when we stop blaming each other for our mental health challenges, when our pain is acknowledged, and when we can bring these conversations into the light without feeling ashamed.

Vulnerability does not equate to weakness; rather, it is a strength that fosters connection and empathy. Sharing my story has become a crucial part of my healing process and a way to inspire hope in others.

It’s in those vulnerable, sometimes uncomfortable discussions that we find connection and understanding. And these moments can truly save lives.