I saw a photo the other day of a beautiful Black woman wearing a shirt that read, “A blogger saved my life.” I had been wrestling with whether I should share such intimate, uncomfortable truths about my own life. But when I saw that shirt, something shifted. I realized that sharing my secret—no matter how unattractive it feels—could very well save someone else’s life. After all, sharing it with a close friend and with my husband while I was deep in the thick of it is what saved mine.
I have suicidal thoughts.
I’m an outgoing, relatively happy woman. I love pranks and making people laugh. I smile at strangers in the grocery store and genuinely LOVE all things pretty and fashionable. My favorite thing is dancing to loud music and joking around with my husband. Sarcasm pours out of me until I sense it’s not the right time or place. I’m passionate about teaching the Gospel to youth and women, and I enjoy podcasting and writing. I love encouraging people while also stirring their hearts toward holier living. I’m obsessed with animals and have my own little menagerie of farm and domestic pets. My finances are decent (though your girl wouldn’t turn down an extra dollar, ya feel me?), my marriage is strong, my kids are still fun, and my oldest is incredibly helpful.
But I have suicidal thoughts.
And I don’t want to die.
Maybe this article isn’t for someone currently struggling with suicidal thoughts. Maybe it’s for the spouse, parent, child, or friend of someone who lost the battle against their own mind. As someone who fights her brain regularly, I need you to hear this clearly:
It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.
The brain is a fascinating organ—one mankind still can’t fully understand. It changes, misfires, and does all kinds of strange things all on its own. Lately, mine has been especially wonky. I’m writing this from the other side of what feels like a Twilight Zone episode (and not vampires or werewolves—more like 1960s eerie). I knew it was coming. It’s like watching a train derail in slow motion, seeing exactly which trees it will destroy before plunging off a cliff in flames. Or like watching weather radar as a cold front collides with a heat wave—the perfect ingredients for a storm.
My hormones were out of balance because of my menstrual cycle. I hadn’t been taking my medication on time and even skipped days during a busy season of travel, weddings, and school field trips. My sleep habits were unhealthy. My eating habits weren’t much better.
Naturally, the combination of sleep deprivation, chaotic hormones, chemical imbalance, exhaustion, and sugar crashes led to the complete breakdown of rational thinking.
My brain buzzed nonstop with cruel, degrading thoughts.
You’re so busy leading women to Christ that you’re sending your own children to hell. The cruise is coming and you haven’t lifted weights since August—you absolutely cannot wear those cute swimsuits. You snap at your kids and your husband; they’d be better off without you. You talk too much. You don’t cook enough. You let the laundry pile up—look at this mess. Your car is disgusting. You’re a terrible secretary. Your friends are tired of your complaining. God can’t use you—you’re too insecure. God doesn’t want you—you’re too proud.
And that’s only a fraction of them.
They don’t stop.
I didn’t want to tell anyone. I had no intention of telling anyone. I didn’t want to worry people, invite pity, or have anyone think I was crazy. But something deep inside me said, Tell.
So I did.
I told a dear friend. She held me, prayed over me, and I felt a little better—just a little stronger, a little braver.
Then I told my husband.
We cried and held each other. He asked me to promise that I would call him if I ever had those thoughts again. I couldn’t make that promise. Because I know myself—and if I called and he didn’t answer, and I lost the battle in that moment, he would never forgive himself.
I told him everything I’ve just told you.
And I also told him that I’m scared.
Because I am.
The truth about suicide is this: people who have suicidal thoughts don’t want to die.
We just want the noise to stop—the relentless buzzing of thoughts circling like angry houseflies. And when that buzzing becomes overwhelming, it can feel like the only way to kill the flies is to burn the house down.
But if you’re fighting the flies, please don’t burn the house down.
Just open a window.
Speak out.
You may save a valuable, precious life.
Your own.
