As I navigated through side streets to avoid rush-hour traffic, I tuned into NPR, my kids in the backseat engaged in our usual evening ritual of listening to the news. They were both snugly strapped into their car seats, one swinging his legs, while the other playfully kicked the seat in front of him. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of my eldest, his face still muddy from running around at soccer practice, his hair a wild tangle of twigs. This moment took place three years ago when he was just six. As we hit a pothole, the news anchor announced the tragic loss of a beloved comedian to suicide.
“What’s that?” my son asked, his curiosity piqued.
I took a moment to respond thoughtfully, providing a gentle explanation, to which he sighed, “Why would anyone do that?”
These conversations are challenging. Many parents grapple with whether their children are ready for such heavy topics. Some feel compelled to shield their kids from the harsh realities of life, especially if they’ve experienced loss due to suicide themselves. It can be difficult to find the emotional bandwidth to discuss these matters, leaving many to wonder if it’s even appropriate.
For me, being open about my experiences feels authentic. Suicidal thoughts are a recurring presence in my life, intruding unexpectedly like reminders on a to-do list. It’s a constant struggle, a nagging whisper that follows me wherever I go, reminding me of my flaws and insecurities.
As a survivor of trauma, I understand that healing is multifaceted. It extends beyond therapy sessions and returning to daily life. It involves accepting that these intrusive thoughts can rear their heads when I least expect them, taking root in my mind.
These days, we often listen to the news during dinner. As I prepare a colorful salad, the kids amuse themselves by creating veggie-themed faces from cucumbers. We turn down the radio, but I hear the report of another suicide, and I can feel my heart race. I instruct Alexa to play music, hoping to drown out the distressing news. The familiar ache of anxiety settles in, an unwelcome companion.
My children are curious about my thoughts on suicide, and I strive to find the words to explain. I can’t articulate the overwhelming darkness that sometimes engulfs my mind, the thoughts that seep into my consciousness like toxins. I explain that some days, my mind drifts to dark places while my body performs everyday tasks like folding laundry or helping with homework. I reassure them that I don’t want to end my life; sometimes, these thoughts just take over, and although they are illogical, they feel very real.
I share with them that while it may seem distant now, they might encounter similar feelings someday—and that doesn’t make them bad or strange. Just as certain families have a history of diabetes or cancer, mental health struggles can be part of our family narrative too. I emphasize the importance of seeking help, not only for ourselves but also for our friends, when we recognize a need. We acknowledge that many people we love live with these challenges, even if they haven’t voiced them.
We also discuss coping mechanisms. Some people find joy in dance and music, while others may write or seek community support. We talk about the different ways we can pursue healing together.
During these moments, silence sometimes fills the air, and I find it hard to articulate my feelings. My children fidget, but they know they can ask me anything. Even if I don’t have all the answers, we navigate the complexities of these conversations together.
This week, the news reported on the tragic losses of two young adults and a father, all victims of suicide following traumatic experiences related to mass shootings. This is a reality my children are aware of, and it’s a heavy topic that we discuss openly. Our little ones practice hiding under desks during safety drills at school, preparing for the worst-case scenarios. Perhaps I’m doing the same: attempting to arm them against potential future struggles.
I’m not in immediate danger, and I have no plans for self-harm, but I recognize that those who have taken their lives may have lived with their pain for a long time. They were likely parents too, just like me. I want my children to feel comfortable discussing these topics and checking in on my well-being. So, we confront the awkwardness and discomfort together—it isn’t easy, but it’s necessary.
In conclusion, discussing mental health and suicidal thoughts with children is a delicate yet vital conversation. By fostering an open environment, we can help them understand these complex emotions and the importance of seeking help.
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Keyphrase: Talking to Kids About Suicidal Thoughts
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