Like many, I’ve been touched by suicide, and preventing this tragedy is something I’m dedicated to. Those who know me know this. Yet, I feel like I’m forced to prove this over and over and over again. I wonder about the trauma that comes with being resented, told you have bad intentions, or dismissed in the work that you do. I shouldn’t have to prove myself. But time and again, I’ve had to do just that. The little girl whose life was altered in ways others will never understand cries when people choose who she is today. They don’t see. How could they? 

Working in suicide prevention isn’t just a job for me; it’s a deeply personal mission. When asked how long I’ve been doing this work, it is easy to say ten years. The truth is murkier, though. I’ve been advocating and working against the tide since suicide first touched my life. My life was dedicated to this work long before I understood the complexity of suicide. My life will always center around helping others in the best ways I know how. I dedicate myself to learning daily, incorporating leading knowledge into my efforts, and pushing myself to do better for the work and those I hope to serve.

In my professional role now, I lead efforts to ensure those with lived experience –  people who have been directly affected by suicide – are represented authentically and contribute their unique perspectives to every national suicide prevention project. I have the privilege of shaping the future of this field. This is not something I say lightly. It still very much feels like a dream. I shape the field by creating language and definitions, recommending national standards, and developing and reinforcing best practices. I can incorporate my experiences and those of others in professional spaces. I get to ensure that those walking through the world are no longer tokenized, exploited, or discarded. I do not take this role lightly. 

You might be wondering, what’s my challenge? 

Obviously, there are many.

Today, I am struggling to understand how to bridge the gap between my national role and the local community.

At the national and international levels, direct communication is essential. The thing is, I’ve always been direct. I would rather have an open and honest conversation than dance around the obvious like so many of us do. My role is to ensure those with lived experience – those who have lost loved ones to suicide, experienced thoughts of suicide, or attempted it themselves – are centered in prevention strategies. I must be direct because we are reshaping how things have been done for a long time. This means there is resistance, a lack of understanding, and limited information across spaces. I am responsible for changes, and I hold a role that requires me to face resistance daily. I can’t waste time and have the knowledge and role to push this work in the ways it needs.

However, this directness, which serves me well nationally, seems to backfire locally. I think it’s odd, given those I’ve known for so long know this about me. A few years ago, it was “refreshing,” and now I am “full of myself.” I don’t understand what has changed. When I emphasize ethical standards in lived experience work, I know many back home do not understand the nature of my role. They haven’t grasped the impact I am having on the field or their work’s future implications. Explaining my work often falls on deaf ears. You see their eyes glaze over with disinterest. 

My explanations can seem abstract. Our organization has not created visibility for itself, in part because it is comprised of several others. It’s complicated, which I have known for some time now. Still, it’s frustrating. The standards I am developing will affect their future work in suicide prevention, whether they recognize it or not. This work is being adopted nationally and internationally and incorporated into efforts that will become the new standard. 

They’re missing out on valuable information that could benefit our community. The place where I live, where my children live. I want this work to help me get back home. But it seems as though I am no longer wanted in these smaller spaces. I wonder if the spaces are made smaller by excluding people like me. I wonder how those in suicide prevention can so callously cut others out. Especially those of us who have been intimately changed because of suicide. Those who may not have lived experience are making decisions that affect those of us who do. It feels ironic.

I know my experience isn’t unique. A mentor, another passionate advocate, shared similar struggles that ultimately led her to step away from local work.  It’s disheartening to see someone with valuable skills pushed out. My mentor’s experience saddens me. Feeling ostracized, she disengaged from local suicide prevention work. Another national peer told me about how she was excluded after giving so much of herself to her community. After getting national recognition, a local leader ostracized her and claimed she was a fraud. It hurt her in ways they will never understand, in ways I didn’t want to understand. Now, I wonder how many others had to step away from their communities because the community turned their backs on them. How many of us wanted to help but had doors shut in our faces? How many of us have shaped their work only to be told we are not worth their time?  

I am struggling with what I should do. I don’t want to give up on my community, but it seems the decision is being made for me. It’s disheartening how many valuable experiences and diverse voices are lost when local people no longer understand. When local people do not value the expertise that lives in their very backyard. When others choose to believe, we think we are better than them when we feel we are the same. When the people you once worked beside decide to see you differently and not because of anything you did. 

I want to reflect on this experience and learn from it. I hope to connect with others facing a similar disconnect between their national and local roles. I want to raise awareness to serve those here, not just everywhere else. 

I am proud of my state and communities. I bring it into my work as often as I can. I try to open doors for others and offer them the spotlight whenever possible. I know there is more work and opportunity than anyone could handle. Yet today, I feel alone in my home. I feel shoved back into the closet because they do not see I am the same as I always was. Someone who wants to make a difference. 

I’d love to hear your story about whether you’ve faced similar situations or if you have ideas on how I might stay connected where I live or find new ways of giving back. If you’re looking for guidance yourself, know you are not alone. They can misunderstand us but not make us less than we are.