10/07/2026
Recently, a mom from the park asked if we'd help share a poster for an event she's hosting to raise su***de awareness. As we talked, she told me about her brother, a four-year star athlete who seemed to have it all. He took his own life.
Her story has stayed with me because it's a reminder we all need: you rarely know what someone is carrying.
As SBSL steps into a more formal advocacy role, we've focused on what helps a community thrive: better schools, stronger infrastructure, etc. But a thriving community also needs real mental health resources, and the understanding that even a life that looks perfect can hide a struggle no one sees.
We rarely write in the first person here. This time, it's personal.
From the outside, my life looks close to perfect. And for most of my life, I've also carried the steady weight of anxiety and depression.
There's a part of my story many people don't know. Sharing it isn't easy, but conversations like this only start when someone goes first, and maybe it will help someone else start theirs.
My parents divorced when I was a baby, and my mother raised me. When I was young, she was diagnosed with brain cancer. Over years of treatment, I saw things no child should see, including violent seizures and frightening moments that have never fully left me. My grandparents became my anchor, and when my mother passed away while I was in middle school, they took custody of me.
Losing their daughter was more than my grandmother could bear, and she attempted su***de. Thankfully, she survived. But that moment has stayed with me for decades, and it left lasting struggles with trust and fear of abandonment.
Those experiences didn't stay in childhood. They followed me through the normal challenges of growing up and fitting in, and later into the pressures of adult life: work, marriage, raising kids. Each layer settled on top of the last.
To outrun those demons, I threw myself into work. Building, dreaming, chasing the next deal. As long as I kept moving, I didn't have to face what was underneath.
But I never truly outran them. Somewhere along the way, I believed that once the dust settled, I would finally be healed. That isn't how it works. The hustle eventually slows, and you're left alone with the same thoughts you spent twenty years trying to drown out. That's where some of my darkest moments lived, even surrounded by so much good. Thankfully, when the dust did settle, I was finally able to see clearly. I began truly opening up to the people I trust, and I found the most meaningful work of my life, work I hope will lead to real, lasting change for our community.
Hindsight has taught me two things. The first: don't try to carry it alone, and don't wait. Get real help. Talk to your family. Talk to a professional. My story could have ended very differently if any one of a thousand things had gone another way.
The second is just as important: never underestimate conversation, community, and simply being human with one another. I can tell you, as someone who has lived with this, that the simplest conversations make a hard day more manageable. For someone who is struggling, a few kind minutes can be the moment that gets them to tomorrow.
And chances are, you're having those conversations with someone who needs them more than you know. I'm far from the only one. Many people I know carry the same weight quietly: small business owners and corporate executives, stay-at-home moms and dads I see at the park, active-duty and retired military, young people at the gym. Su***de can touch any circle. Preventing it means helping people build the skills to cope with life's obstacles, surrounding them with strong families and communities, and treating the underlying illness, which requires access to care for everyone, regardless of means.
Mental health is still hard for many of us to talk about. The best place for our community to start is together.
This isn't an SBSL event, but events like this one, where neighbors come together to talk openly about critical issues and raise awareness, are exactly what our community needs. We hope you'll attend and help spread the word.
Sunday, November 8, 3:00–5:00 PM @ Gigi's Farm
Come listen, learn, and be part of the conversation. Bring a friend, especially one you haven't checked in with lately.
If you or someone you know is struggling, call or text 988 to reach the Su***de & Crisis Lifeline, available 24/7. You are not alone.
