The Silent Struggle
How to Show Up When Someone You Love is thinking about suicide.
September is Suicide Awareness month and this is what motivated me to write this post.
Let’s name it:
This is a heavy topic.
But if you’re reading this, it’s probably because something in your gut knows… someone you love is not okay.
They’re quieter.
They seem distant or disinterested.
They’re not laughing like they used to.
They stopped caring about the things that once mattered. (Fantasy football? Their morning workout? Even their own kids’ report cards?) Gone.
Something has shifted — and not in a subtle way.
You may be afraid to say it out loud… but I will:
You’re wondering if they’re having thoughts of suicide.
And here’s what I want you to hear:
You’re not crazy.
You’re not overreacting.
And you’re not alone in not knowing what to do.
Is it Disappointment, Disconnection, or Deep Pain?
Suicidal thoughts often emerge from places that are hard to name — not always tied to a single event, but to a slow erosion of hope.
It might be disappointment.
It might be the shame of not living up to expectations — their own or someone else’s.
It might be the quiet feeling that they’ve failed at something important:
the business, the marriage, the parenting role, the recovery they promised.
It might be the invisible pain of things that never happened:
a dream that didn’t come true, a version of life that never unfolded.
Or it might just be deep emotional pain — the kind that feels chronic, isolating, and misunderstood.
Sometimes there’s no clear cause — just a sense of being tired. Done. Like they’ve lost the thread of meaning in their life.
Or they feel disconnected — from others, from purpose, even from themselves.
In these spaces, suicidal thoughts don’t come as a desire to die…
They often come as a desire to escape.
To stop hurting.
To make it all stop for a while.
It’s not attention-seeking.
It’s not weakness.
It’s a signal that something hurts — deeply.
The writer, Seneca, shares it well. "Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."
You Might Feel This Too
If you’re trying to support someone like this, you’re likely feeling something too:
Fear
Guilt for not doing more
Confusion
Disappointment
Resentment that you have to hold this much
Here’s your permission slip:
You can love someone deeply and still feel overwhelmed.
You can want to help… and still not know how.
You can show up imperfectly and still make a difference.
Presence over perfection.
You don’t need the perfect words — you just need to show up.
Signs to Pay Attention To
These are common — and often missed — indicators someone may be silently struggling:
Withdrawing from social connection
Saying they feel like a burden
Losing interest in things that once mattered deeply
Giving away meaningful items
Excessive self-criticism
Dark or hopeless humor
Saying things like “What’s the point?” or “Everyone would be better off without me”
It may not always mean suicidal intent.
But it does mean something hurts.
What to Say (Even If It Feels Awkward)
You don’t have to be profound. You just have to be present.
Try saying:
“You’ve seemed off lately. I’m not here to fix it, but I care too much not to ask.”
“What’s been hard lately?”
“You matter to me. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“Have you had thoughts that life doesn’t feel worth living?”
That last one might feel terrifying to ask — but it’s so important.
A Quick Note on Asking About Suicide
Research consistently shows that asking someone about suicide does NOT increase risk.
In fact, it can reduce distress and help someone feel seen.
A review published in the Journal of Clinical Psychology found that screening and direct questioning can reduce suicidal ideation. Avoiding the topic, on the other hand, can increase shame and isolation.
Thoughts Are Not the Enemy
As a therapist, I want to say something clearly:
Having suicidal thoughts does not automatically mean someone needs to be hospitalized.
We are more than our thoughts.
We are more than our emotions.
We are more than our actions.
When those three align, I call it harmony.
But when someone is feeling hopeless, we want to disrupt that alignment before it turns into action.
Your role isn’t to fix their thoughts — it’s to interrupt the isolation.
To be a presence that says, “You’re not alone in this.”
What Not to Say,Even if you mean well, avoid saying:
“It’s not that bad.”
“Just be grateful.”
“You shouldn’t feel that way.”
“Let’s just pray it away.”
“Others have it worse.”
These comments often leave people feeling misunderstood, ashamed, or even more hopeless.
Instead, try curiosity + compassion. A Culture of Curiosity is something I stress when meeting with all my clients.
Let them know that whatever they’re feeling — they don’t have to feel it alone.
Gently Suggesting Therapy
If they seem open, therapy can be a lifeline — but it needs to be introduced gently.
Try saying:
“A lot of people go to therapy just to have space to breathe.”
“You don’t have to be in crisis to get support.”
“Would you be open to just meeting someone?”
If they’re unsure, normalize it. Make it less scary. Let them decide when they’re ready.
But What About You?
If you’re supporting someone through this… you matter too.
You may feel helpless.
You may feel stretched thin.
You may feel angry, scared, or resentful.
All of that is okay.
You’re not failing them by taking care of yourself.
Call a friend.
See your own therapist.
Tell someone what it’s like to carry this worry.
You’re human. And humans need support too.
A Gentle Reminder
This doesn’t have to be dramatic.
One moment of care — one text, one walk, one question — can open a door.
Your goal isn’t to fix their pain.
It’s to remind them they’re not invisible in it.
Presence over perfection.
That’s it. That’s the call.
A Gentle Invitation: Start With One Step
If someone’s been on your heart lately… don’t wait.
Text them.
Call them.
Show up.
Say:
“You’ve been on my mind. I just wanted to check in. How are you really doing?”
You never know how much weight one moment of connection can carry.
If You or Someone You Love Is Struggling
You are not alone. And neither are they. Here are some 24/7 support options:
National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline
Call or Text 988
988lifeline.org
Crisis Text Line
Text HELLO to 741741
🏔️ Colorado Crisis Services
Call 1-844-493-TALK (8255)
Text TALK to 38255
coloradocrisisservices.org
If your heart is heavy after reading this — you’re not alone.
Whether you're supporting someone or facing your own quiet battle, you deserve care too.
I'm here if you'd like to talk. Schedule a consult here, or simply reach out.
You’re Not Broken — You’re Mourning: A Different Way to Walk Through Grief
It all begins with an idea.
What first brought me into the field of counseling wasn’t a textbook or a career test.
It was loss.
I was 20 years old when my father died suddenly.
There’s no manual for something like that — just a deep, surreal silence that settles into your bones. For a while, I did what many do: I buried it. I stayed busy. I numbed.
But eventually, the silence got too loud to ignore.
And at some point in the middle of it, I remember thinking:
“I wonder if I can help people with this kind of pain.”
That moment — paired with a deep curiosity I’ve always had about human behavior and why we do what we do — led me to counseling. And it’s kept me here.
Because grief is part of the human experience.
And yet, so many people feel completely alone in it.
Let’s be honest: grief doesn’t follow a timeline.
It doesn’t move in five neat stages.
And it rarely — rarely — looks the way people expect it to.
Maybe you’ve lost someone to death.
Or maybe your loss was quieter — the end of a relationship, a miscarriage, an estrangement, a child you never got to meet, or a future you thought you were moving toward.
Whatever it was, it changed you.
And you may feel like the only one still carrying it.
You might wonder why it still hurts so much.
Why you still can’t sleep.
Why their name still catches in your throat.
Why you’re so tired — not just physically, but deep in your bones.
And then the question comes in quietly, but heavy:
“What’s wrong with me?”
Here’s what I want you to hear, loud and clear:
Nothing. Is. Wrong. With. You.
You’re not weak.
You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re mourning.
And grief doesn’t ask us to move on — it asks us to move through.
Grief Is Not a Problem to Solve
One of the people who’s shaped my work the most is Dr. Alan Wolfelt — a longtime voice in grief care and the creator of something called the Companioning Model of Grief.
The short version?
Grief isn’t something you fix.
It’s something you witness.
You don’t need someone to cheerlead you back to “normal.”
You need someone to sit with you in the dark.
“Companioning is about being present to another person’s pain; it is not about taking away the pain.” — Alan Wolfelt
Presence over pressure.
That’s what grief needs.
Because it’s not a condition to treat — it’s a story that wants to be honored.
The Six Needs of Mourning: What Grief Is Asking For
According to Wolfelt, grief isn’t just an emotion. It’s an experience — and it has needs.
When we meet those needs, healing becomes possible. Not because the pain disappears… but because we’re no longer alone in it.
Here’s what grief might be asking from you:
1. Acknowledge the Reality of the Loss
Loss can feel surreal — especially when it’s sudden, traumatic, or tangled in complexity.
Even when your brain knows what happened, your heart might still be catching up.
You might find yourself avoiding certain dates or photos. Or reliving “that moment” over and over.
That’s not you being stuck — that’s your nervous system trying to protect you.
Healing starts slowly — in small, quiet ways — as we begin to say: this happened.
And even that takes courage.
2. Embrace the Pain of the Loss
Okay… here’s where it gets uncomfortable.
This is the one our culture skips over with phrases like “be strong” or “at least they’re in a better place.”
But grief doesn’t leave because we ignore it.
It just buries itself deeper. And buried pain? It has a habit of showing up in anxiety, exhaustion, or random emotional outbursts at Home Depot (just me?).
You’re allowed to feel it.
The anger. The guilt. The "I miss them so much I can’t breathe" ache.
That pain isn’t shameful — it’s love with nowhere to go.
3. Remember the Person (or the Loss Itself)
One of the most sacred things I get to do in sessions is ask,
“Will you introduce me to them?”
Not just what happened — but who happened.
A parent, a friend, a partner, a child… even someone you had a complicated relationship with.
Grief is love in limbo.
Remembering doesn’t mean you’re stuck in the past — it means you're continuing a relationship, symbolically, emotionally, and spiritually.
The physical presence may be gone. But the connection? That still lives in memory, story, and meaning.
4. Develop a New Self-Identity
Grief doesn’t just take something from you — it reshapes who you are.
You might find yourself asking:
Who am I without them?
Who am I if I’m not their partner anymore?
Who am I if I never become the parent I thought I would be?
This isn’t just about loss — it’s about identity.
And most people around you won’t get it. They’ll say things like “you seem like yourself again” or “you just need to get back out there.”
But identity doesn’t snap back like a rubber band.
Grief changes your shape. And part of mourning is learning to live inside this new version of yourself.
5. Search for Meaning
This doesn’t mean trying to make the loss okay.
It means holding space for the questions:
Why did this happen? What does this mean for my life? What now?
After traumatic loss, these questions feel especially raw.
There are always “why’s” and often there are no answers.
But they have to be asked. — that’s part of the healing.
6. Receive Ongoing Support
This one might be the hardest.
Because after the funeral, after the divorce, after the loss… the casseroles stop showing up.
And people — often with the best of intentions — stop checking in.
You start to feel like your sadness is too heavy. Like your grief is taking too long.
Maybe you even try to “clean it up” for others. Smile. Push through. Say you're fine.
But here’s the truth:
You were never meant to carry this alone.
Sometimes the most healing words we can hear are:
“You don’t have to be okay right now.”
Or better yet:
“You’re still allowed to miss them.”
What Grief Work Can Look Like
When I work with grieving clients, I don’t have an agenda.
You don’t have to be "done" by session six.
You don’t have to have answers.
You just have to show up — in whatever condition you’re in.
Sometimes we talk.
Sometimes we cry.
Sometimes I say the thing you’ve been afraid to admit out loud, and you say, “Exactly.”
Sometimes… we just sit in silence.
And let the grief breathe.
“Healing from grief is not about forgetting. It’s about remembering with less pain.” — Alan Wolfelt
That’s the goal.
Not to erase the loss — but to learn how to carry it in a way that feels less suffocating.
More human.
More honest.
A Gentle Invitation
If any of this resonated — if you’ve been quietly carrying grief that no one sees, or shame that it’s still this hard — please hear me:
You are not broken.
You are not grieving “too long” or “too loudly.”
You are doing something deeply human.
You are loving through loss.
And if you feel ready to be companioned in that — not fixed, not rushed, just seen — I’d be honored to walk with you.
Who’s Erik and the Heart Behind his Work (and a Few Fun Facts Too)
It all begins with an idea.
Hey there — I’m really glad you’re here.
Whether you found your way here because life feels a bit heavy, relationships are hard, grief is loud, or you're just quietly wondering, “Am I okay?”... you’re welcome.
This blog is a space for reflection.
Not surface-level advice.
Not clickbait therapy hacks.
Just real thoughts about life, healing, relationships, identity, and the deep work of becoming more whole.But before I get too deep — let me back up and introduce myself.
Who I Am (Besides a Therapist)
My name is Erik, and I’m a therapist. Actually a Licensed Professional Counselor. In my world of mental health there are so many pseudonyms. LPC, Counselor, Therapist, Couples Counselor, Marriage Counselor, Psychotherapist and my personal favorite that a client of mine calls me thERIK. Pronounced (Ther-rik).
But I’m also a person who:
Loves live music (especially outdoors- love me some Red Rocks Amphitheater here in Colorado)
Spends time on the golf course trying to master patience and humility; Im still a work in progress here.
Finds joy in camping, being off the grid, and waking up to quiet mornings
Believes in long, deep conversations and fiercely loyal relationships
Can get weirdly passionate about a good playlist or meaningful lyrics. More to come on this in future posts.
Professionally, I sit with people who are grieving, unraveling, or quietly holding too much.
But personally? I’m just someone who believes we weren’t meant to do life alone — and that the most sacred spaces are often the messiest ones.
A Bit About My Values
Here’s what I believe:
Relationships are why we’re here. That’s it. That’s the sentence.
As a Christian, I see this in the shape of the cross — a vertical relationship with God, and a horizontal one with others. When we lose connection in either direction, life feels off.Time is more valuable than money. Once it's spent, you don't get it back. And when life hits hard — a diagnosis, a death, a divorce, a moment of truth — people start to see that more clearly.
You don’t need to be fixed — you need to be known. Most of us don’t need someone to give us the answers. We need someone to walk with us long enough that we can hear our own voice again.
These values don’t just shape my work.
They shape my life — how I parent, how I love, how I spend my time, and how I show up in session.
What This Blog Will Be
Let’s be clear: I will not be giving you “7 Ways to Be Happy by Friday.”
There are enough blogs doing that.
What I will do is offer thoughtful reflection.
Share tools that help — when they’re useful.
Things that have shaped my education and learning.
Sometimes I’ll give you a reframe, a practice, or a perspective that’s helped clients (or me) slow down and see things differently.
But this isn’t about quick fixes.
This blog is about soul-level stuff.
The kind of things we usually avoid until they show up in our bodies, our relationships, or our exhausted spirits.
I’ll write about:
Grief (not just death — all the quiet losses, too)
Relationships — especially when you feel alone in one
Anxiety, identity, spiritual disconnection, and trying to hold it all together
What it means to be a high-functioning adult who’s secretly unraveling
Therapy that isn’t just maintenance — it’s healing
And I’ll do my best to make it real.
Honest.
Sometimes a little raw.
Sometimes a little funny.
But always human.
Why This Work Matters to Me
I do this work because I believe healing happens in relationship — with God, with others, and with ourselves.
Because I’ve watched people crawl their way through grief… and slowly, one breath at a time, find light again.
Because I’ve sat with people who thought they were “too much,” and watched them feel seen for the first time.
And I also do this work because — quite frankly — life is hard.
Pain comes for all of us.
And when it does, we need spaces where we don’t have to be fine.
If you’re here, maybe something in you is tired of pretending.
Maybe you’re ready to start telling the truth — even if just to yourself.
If so… I’m really glad you’re here.
Let’s walk gently from here.