To the People at My Suicide Prevention Talk Last Week…

First, I’m sorry Luna barked while I was being introduced. It annoyed me, too.

To the person who wrote in the chat, “Like children, you should have someone watching them while you work” — you’re right. I’ll do better next time.

To the person who commented, “Old saying ‘smokers and dog owners always disturbing others'” — touché.

And to the person who responded, “Loving the dog. So eager to participate” — what a positive reframe!

For those who weren’t there but are reading anyway:

I gave an online presentation on August 24, for the Mental Health Academy’s annual U.S. Suicide Prevention Summit. A blend of personal experience, clinical theory, and academic research, my talk was titled “Post-Traumatic Growth: Applications and Caveats for Clinical Practice.”

I’m highly distractible, so I hid the chat window. The conference organizer sent me the chat a few days ago (worry not, chatters, he anonymized it first). There were almost 1,700 comments, including dozens complaining about Luna barking, though some people didn’t mind.

Luckily, even without seeing the chat, I brought Luna into my study and she settled into quiet sleep.

Some in the chat wanted to see photos of Luna because they missed her quick cameo when I brought her into the room. So, for you, here she is in her ethereal cuteness:

A Little Levity for a Suicide Prevention Site

I admit, this post is partly an excuse to show off the precious cockapoo we added to our family in April. Also, to give the site’s readers a break from all the intense material about suicide.

Sometimes we need to lighten up. Just about every quarter, I teach a course at the University of Denver Graduate School of Social Work on suicide assessment and interventions. We meet for three hours each week. At first, the class met on a Monday at 8 a.m. Too intense for so early in the morning. Students requested levity, so I interspersed the Powerpoint slides with pet photos specifically to give students a brain break. They loved it, and I’ve done it ever since. Not only my pets, but their cats, dogs, turtles, rabbits, horses, and geckos, too.

Puppy photos here = same thing, different context.

Other things came up in the chat that I want to address. I can’t really respond to 2,700+ people dispersed throughout the world, especially since I no longer have the ability to chat online with everyone at once. But maybe some of you will see this post. So, here goes:

No, Depression Isn’t Always Lifelong

Several people in the chat objected to my saying depression is a lifelong condition. If you experienced depression with suicidal thoughts only one time – good! I envy you. Estimates vary by study, but many people with depression experience it multiple times throughout their life, with one review article calling major depression “predominantly highly recurrent.”

Depression isn’t a lifelong condition for everyone. I should’ve said it’s a lifelong condition for me.

That doesn’t mean I’m depressed every day of my life, only that ever since I was 12 years old, I’ve experienced an unrelenting cycle of remission and relapse. Fortunately, the remissions last much, much longer than the relapses. Years longer, in fact.

Is It Brave to Disclose Suicidal Experiences?

Many people commented how brave I am. “Extremely courageous.” “So incredibly brave.” “Your honesty and willingness to show this vulnerability make you a hero.”

Y’all, stop it some more. You’re so sweet.

But I also have mixed feelings about being called brave. On the one hand, yes, I was terrified to come out about my suicidal past almost 10 years ago, especially in a newspaper as big as The New York Times. An audience of millions sat outside that closet door. In the days leading up to my essay’s publication, I sometimes had difficulty breathing, so thick was my fear.

On the other hand, why should there be fear or courage? We don’t say someone’s brave for disclosing they had leukemia, or a kidney infection, or a broken shoulder. What is it about suicidality and other mental health challenges that makes one courageous for telling the truth?

Stigma, of course. That’s the way it is. Less so than in the past, I think, but still there’s a lot of unfair discrimination and judgment about mental health challenges. Especially when you’re a mental health professional, you’re expected to have it all together.

It takes a lot of energy to hide. I related – and relate still – very much to a passage by Kay Redfield Jamison, a psychologist who has written about her experiences with bipolar disorder and suicidality. In her memoir An Unquiet Mind, she stated:

I have had many concerns about writing a book that so explicitly describes my own attacks of mania, depression, and psychosis, as well as my problems acknowledging the need for ongoing medication… I have no idea what the long-term effects of discussing such issues so openly will be on my personal and professional life, but, whatever the consequences, they are bound to be better than continuing to be silent. I am tired of hiding, tired of misspent and knotted energies, tired of the hypocrisy, and tired of acting as though I have something to hide. One is what one is, and the dishonesty of hiding behind a degree, or a title, or any manner and collection of words, is still exactly that: dishonest. Necessary, perhaps, but dishonest.

I hope one day when someone talks about their suicidality, they’re not called brave. I hope one day when someone talks about their suicidality, they’re called normal – not normal, necessarily, for having been suicidal, but for talking about it.

A few more things…

I’ve heard from some of you in the audience via LinkedIn and email. Thanks so much. It’s surreal delivering an hour-long talk to only my computer screen in my messy study. Hearing from you makes the invisible audience feel real.

And, wow, you came from all over. From all over the U.S. and its territories, but also, from all over the world: Nigeria, Jamaica, Switzerland, Japan, Dubai, Hong Kong, Kenya, and Peru, to name just some of the places.

Thank you again for your lively engagement, even though I wasn’t aware of it at the time. It was an honor to present to you, with Luna finally snoozing silently in her crate beside me.

© 2025 Stacey Freedenthal. All Rights Reserved. Written for Speaking of Suicide.