When Pain Becomes Louder Than Survival
What we get dangerously wrong about suicide, and the people we lose to it
There are kinds of pain most people can’t imagine.
Pain that doesn’t live on the skin but in the wiring.
Pain that folds the world in on itself and whispers that you are the problem.
Pain that overrides every survival instinct, every loving word, every bright future, until there is only one kind of quiet left.
That is the pain that takes people.
Not weakness or selfishness or sin.
Just pain.
And if you’ve never lived with a brain that lies to you, a brain that tells you you’re a burden, a failure, a mistake, then I hope to God you never do.
Because the truth is: suicide isn’t a choice in the way people like to think it is.
It’s not the product of a bad day or a dramatic moment.
It’s a symptom of suffering that has gone on too long without relief.
It is what happens when a person’s internal world becomes unlivable. When the pain takes up more room than hope. When the body keeps breathing, but the mind says, I can’t keep going.
And we, as a culture, have no idea how to talk about it.
The Positivity Lie
We tell people with cancer to stay strong. To stay hopeful.
We cheer for them when they “win,” mourn them when they don’t.
We organize meal trains, raise money, and offer prayers.
But when someone has a mental illness, when their very mind is what’s sick, we expect them to fix it with that same unwell mind.
We tell them to think positively.
We tell them to practice gratitude.
We tell them they’re “stronger than they think.”
As if that’s how neurotransmitters work.
As if trauma and depression can be outwilled by vision boards.
As if someone in the middle of a psychiatric collapse is simply lacking motivation.
Here’s what you don’t see behind all that toxic positivity:
Shame.
Deep, unbearable shame.
Because when you’re already suicidal and someone says “You just need to change your mindset,” what you hear is “You’re failing at being well.”
And that shame doesn’t save lives. It ends them.
The Myth of Sin and Silence
Let’s say this very loudly: suicide is not a sin.
But religious trauma runs deep.
There are entire belief systems that treat suicide as betrayal. Communities that won’t speak the name of the dead. Lives erased by doctrine.
I have seen families lie about cause of death to avoid spiritual judgment.
I have seen survivors cut themselves off from faith communities that once held them.
I have watched people grieve in secret, carrying their pain like contraband, because they were told that the one they lost was now beyond redemption.
This is violence (yes, I said violence) disguised as spirituality.
If your belief system punishes the suffering, it’s time to question it.
Because no one should have to sanitize their grief to make it acceptable.
No one should have to pretend their loved one died some other way just to receive compassion.
And no one, no one, should be told that a soul in pain is damned for seeking silence.
Want more sacred, strange, and deeply human?
Why They Didn’t Reach Out
“They should have called someone.”
“They didn’t seem depressed.”
“They were just posting family photos last week.”
I get it. We want to believe we would have seen it coming.
We want to believe suicide always leaves signs, always offers a warning.
But sometimes it doesn’t.
Sometimes the person looks fine.
Sometimes they’re the one holding everyone else together.
Sometimes they do reach out, yet we’re too busy, or too uncomfortable, or too caught up in telling them to “focus on the positive.”
People don’t always reach out because they’re tired of trying.
Because they’ve asked for help before and didn’t get it.
Because they don’t want to be a burden one more time.
And sometimes, because the pain has finally overpowered the part of them that hoped.
Does this mean it’s your fault? No, absolutely not. Yet it does mean we all have a responsibility.
Collective Responsibility
Suicide is not just a personal tragedy. It is a cultural failure.
It is what happens when systems break down.
When therapy is unaffordable.
When medications are demonized and inaccessible.
When rest is shamed.
When trauma is ignored.
When vulnerability is punished.
It is what happens when we don’t teach kids how to feel pain without drowning in it.
When we expect men to be stoic.
When we expect women to be selfless.
When we expect neurodivergent people to act “normal.”
When we call mental illness a weakness.
When we ask people who are struggling to be inspirational instead of honest.
If you have never known suicidal thoughts or deep mental illness, you’re fortunate. It doesn’t mean that you’re stronger or more faithful. It simply means your brain didn’t break in that particular way.
It makes you lucky.
And if you’ve never lost someone to suicide, it doesn’t mean the issue isn’t yours.
It means you still have time to help shift it.
For Anyone Still Surviving
If you have stood at that edge and stayed
If you’ve survived a night you didn’t think you’d see through.
If you’re still breathing in a body that feels impossible some days.
I want you to know this:
Your pain is not a burden to the people who love you.
You matter.
Your life matters.
Your story is not over.
You do not have to explain your pain to earn love.
Surviving doesn’t need to look graceful; it just needs to happen.
If you are struggling, please reach out for support. If you don’t have a support system, please contact the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. You don’t even have to talk; you can text or chat. There are people who see you, who want to witness your pain. Who want to help you.
For Everyone Else
Suicide is not a failure of love.
It’s not because they didn’t care enough.
It’s not because you didn’t do enough.
They died from an illness.
It’s just that the illness was invisible.
And we, as a society, have decided that makes it less real.
But it is real.
As real as cancer.
As real as heart disease.
As real as any condition that kills quietly from the inside out.
So the next time you’re tempted to say “They should have just reached out,”
or “I can’t imagine doing that,” or “Everything happens for a reason”
Stop.
And remember that it is not your imagination that needs stretching.
It is your compassion.
Love today,
Heather 🌸