Two years ago, I wrote a post on this blog about my father's suicide. I remember the weighty anticipation as I drafted and edited, read and re-read, thought and thought and thought. That blog post was my first public claiming of my identity as a suicide survivor, and I wrote about the role of survivors in suicide prevention. But, more than that, it was my chance to own my experience, shape it into a story, and put it out there into the world.
Two years later, I still feel anticipation when writing about my father, his struggle with mental illness, and his death by suicide. I focus on his death and my experience of his death just once a year, near the anniversary of his death.
Just a few weeks ago, by chance, the first post - just about two years old - was picked up by the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and was posted to their Facebook page. The page is "Liked" by over 25,000 people. My posts have been picked up by the Lifeline before (thanks!), but I could not have predicted what would happen with this one.
When I logged into my Psychology Today blogger account a week or so after the Lifeline post, I had heard from several readers specifically about that post via comments. All survivors of suicide loss, they shared their stories with me and commented on each other's comments. I was stunned. All of a sudden, I felt connected to these people, all strangers. But, I also felt like a fraud. I was being thanked for my openness about my father's death. Yet, it took me 20 years to be truly open about it - and on a platform that, while not allowing anonymity, does allow me to hide behind a screen.
Then, last week from the Lifeline Facebook page, I clicked through to an article about one woman's experience of stigma before and after her son's suicide. So much of what she wrote rang true for me, beginning with this statement: "Unlike other deaths, survivors quickly discover that talking about a suicide brings dinner conversation to a screeching halt. But the true impact of stigma is that it keeps survivors from connecting with each other, robbing us of both 'like me' support and the opportunity to band together with professionals to 'make a difference.'"
She shared the story of an outreach campaign planned at her local library. While the local survivor coalition was nervous about asking the library to organize a display about suicide prevention, it turned out that the library staff were eager to put on the display, and, most tellingly, shared their stories about loved ones lost to suicide with coalition members.
I've come to look at this yearly post as an opportunity to take stock, to reflect on how far the field of suicide prevention has come since my father's death, and to consider what I've learned personally through writing this blog and through my other suicide prevention work. So, what have I learned this year?
The times that I shared my story and that sharing led to disconnection - those were anomalies. I can now definitively say that it is better - for me, for other people, and for my dad's memory - for me to share his story, my story, our story.
Copyright 2011 Elana Premack Sandler, All Rights Reserved
