What do you have to live for? If you’ve ever found yourself wrestling with suicidal thoughts, the answer might be more profound than you think.
I still remember the first time I lost a friend to suicide. I was just 15, and we were both involved in a school play. He played the lead role, and even though I wasn’t his main co-star, we spent considerable time together backstage—chatting, playing cards, and sharing flirty moments. I had no idea he was struggling. Our performances were on Tuesday and Thursday, but he took his life on the Wednesday in between.
No matter how many times I replayed our conversations or the months leading up to that day, I couldn’t comprehend it. He was tall, athletic, and charismatic—everyone adored him. I couldn’t fathom what could drive him to end a seemingly perfect life.
It wasn’t until I faced my own dark thoughts that I began to understand the complexities of suicidal ideation. It can affect anyone, even those who appear to have it all together. The truth is, appearances can be misleading, and depression can be insidious, convincing you that there’s nothing worth living for.
After the birth of my second child, I fell into a deep postpartum depression. With two little ones under the age of 2, both constantly crying and demanding my attention, I felt overwhelmed by guilt for not being able to meet their needs. The sleep deprivation and hormonal shifts pushed me to the brink of a breakdown.
One afternoon, while attempting to play with my 2-year-old, everything spiraled out of control. He got upset because I wasn’t playing “right.” In a fit of frustration, he threw a block at his baby brother. In that moment of chaos, I reacted without thinking and threw the block back, hitting him in the head. The horror of my actions was unbearable. I rushed to comfort him, overwhelmed with shame and guilt. I felt like the worst mother in the world, convinced that I didn’t deserve my children.
That night, for the first time, I seriously contemplated taking my own life. This thought haunted me, returning intermittently for nearly a year. I was convinced my children would be better off without me.
Yet, a part of me held on—something like a shadow in my mind that kept me alive. I couldn’t articulate it then, but over the years, I’ve come to realize that while I was willing to die for my children, I was also determined to live for them, even if it meant enduring guilt and feelings of inadequacy.
Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “No one really knows why they are alive until they know what they’d die for.” I found truth in those words. Deep down, I understood that although someone else might care for my kids, no one could love them like I did. So, despite my flaws, I chose to weather the storm of depression for their sake, ensuring they knew they were cherished.
It’s been over a decade since those dark days, and while I’m still far from a perfect mother, I’ve learned and grown. I can be grumpy and forgetful, and my cooking skills leave much to be desired. My children often joke about my “mom fails” at the dinner table, but they also know they are deeply loved, and that’s what truly matters.
Now that my boys are entering their teenage years, I’m starting to see the amazing men they’re becoming. Surprisingly, many of their strengths are rooted in my imperfections. They’ve learned to be responsible and resilient, in part because of the challenges we faced together. I’m grateful to be here to watch them thrive.
If you’re struggling with thoughts of suicide, remember that you’re not alone. Resources are available to help you navigate these feelings. You can find more information about mental health and support on websites like Medical News Today or learn about pregnancy and home insemination at this excellent resource.
In conclusion, though life can feel overwhelming, know that there is hope and help available. Embracing our imperfections can lead to unexpected strength and resilience.