Acceptance, Children, Choices, Depression, Fear, Help, hope, Love, mental health, public speaker, Relationships, Strength, Suicide, suicide prevention, Understanding

Bullying a Blinding Issue

Navigating the worlds of suicide prevention can be difficult. It’s definitely a delicate balance when it comes to the many ways people want to be engaged and represented in their individual journeys.

There are some things we have learned through experience, through education, and through the expertise of others. But there are also some very simple beliefs we hold dear to our hearts. Beliefs like, not everyone will always like you, but we can still do our best to be kind. We believe boundaries are part of a healthy self-care regimen. These include the types of people we engage and interact with in our lives. Boundaries that protect our wellbeing. Boundaries that set standards for our safety and the safety of others.

Safety and security are of the utmost importance. We want you all to be safe. To be happy and healthy. But we know we all encounter people who are in pain from time to time. Sometimes their pain spills over into the world around them. It isn’t fair. It isn’t easy. But it happens.

The thing is, we don’t always know what is going on in a person’s life. We don’t always know the tragedies or traumas a person has experienced. These traumas affect us, often deeply. They can alter our ability to be compassionate, to be aware of our impact on others, to be kind. We can hurt others and in that hurt, we can feel less alone.

How terrible, that a person can be in so much pain, that the act of hurting another can lead them to feel less alone.

Nothing in this world is simple. We don’t have all the answers and we don’t know the whole story but we do know, pain magnifies pain. Pain begets pain when allowed to go unaddressed.

Our approach to bullying is this, people are hurting. We do not condone physical violence. We do not agree with emotional, mental, verbal abuse. We do not believe in name calling or pointing fingers.

We believe these behaviors are symptoms of a much larger issue. When it comes to youth and children, we especially believe WE are the adults. It is our role to pause with them, see them, offer support, educate, help them through their pain, and never limit them with so simple and blind a phrase as “Bullying is for Losers.”

Everyday children are hurting. Everyday they are told they will never, are not, cannot… let’s change the way we communicate.

It won’t be quick or easy but in the end, if we put the work in…. we could change so many worlds.

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consult, consulting, Depression, hope, Love, national speaker, public speaker, speaker, Strength, Suicide, suicide prevention, susie reece, Susie Reynolds, susie reynolds reece, Understanding

Joshua York Legacy Foundation

I’m in White Marsh, Maryland this week consulting on suicide prevention, postvention, and outreach strategies for the Joshua York Legacy Foundation.

If you don’t already know about them, you should check them out. An amazing group of people who are doing everything they can to lift others up.

“Strengthening lives with love.” -JYLF

Check out their Facebook group Suicide Prevention Rocks to see some of their amazing work.

#suicideprevention #jylf #suicidepreventionrocks # #mentalhealth #livedexperience #inspire #schools #lawenforcement

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Parked in Pain

This post contains brief triggering content displaying a child abuse event and explicit language. Should you feel you need additional support you can connect with a trained volunteer at the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-274-8255 or the Crisis Text Line by texting ARK to 741741.

If you or someone you know may be a victim of child abuse, you can find additional resources at childhelp.org or by calling the Child Abuse Hotline at 1-800-4-A-Child (1-800-422-4453) As always, reach out to local resources and supports in times of need.

I can’t remember how long she left me in the McDonald’s parking lot that day.

 

I shouldn’t have been shocked. It had been a good day. Good days were the worst because they made you forget. They made you drop your guard. They brought false hope and having hope was a huge mistake.

We were walking out of McDonald’s. Before I reached the car door, she looked to me and said I needed to go back and wash my hands. I immediately did as I was told. That’s what happens when you are abused, you become compliant. You hope it will save yourself from unnecessary pain. It didn’t occur to me as I walked back in that she had never cared about me washing my hands before.

When I came out, she was gone. My heart jumped into my throat. I walked around the entire restaurant looking for her. She was nowhere. Our good day had just been another lie. I hated myself a little more for falling for her lie, for having hope. 

I hid near the back of the building beside the dumpsters because I didn’t want anyone to know. If anyone saw me, they might ask questions. Questions could get her in trouble. If she were to get in trouble, there’s no telling what she would do. I hid. I cried. And I prayed that she would come back for me. It’s all I could manage.

I don’t know how long I sat waiting. The sun had been out when I realized she was gone and by the time she came back it was dark. As time progressed, my silent sobbing had grown alongside my fear. The sobbing sharply stabbed my stomach and had me choking for breath. I used all the energy I had to muffle my sobs so no one would hear me. 

She pulled into the parking lot and I rushed to the car so she wouldn’t have to wait. It’s ironic looking back. I climbed clumsily into the passenger side still shaken, trembling and softly sobbing. Her first words to me were “shut up.” I tried. I desperately tried to calm myself but I couldn’t. She screamed, “stop fucking crying.” As if that would calm me. I could sense her anger growing as she drove, but by this point, there was nothing I could do to stop. My fear was growing because when she was angry I never knew what she would do.

It’s odd, the things your mind clings to through the years. I remember walking to the car, hiding, and the tree. I can’t recall the color of the car, how long I sat there praying, or so many other details but the ones I do remember will stay with me forever. It was black out by this point. We were on a two lane road as the car slowly climbed up a slight hill. I looked through my tears to my left and saw this enormous tree towering over us. The branches and limbs reached slowly beyond the edge of the road. It’s trunk large enough to seemingly withstand any force. I saw stories in my head around that tree. Imagining happy children playing underneath it. I don’t know why my mind went to that tree like it did. Maybe I was trying to distract myself. Maybe I fell too often into my own imagination when I was afraid. I don’t know. But it has stuck with me all these years. 

As the car neared the top of the hill, she stopped suddenly right in the middle of the road. She turned to me while we sat underneath those gnarled grasping branches. Her face bright red and her eyes full of hate. She shrieked in my face, “get out of the fucking car!” I did as I was told. 

Still sobbing, I grabbed the door handle and put one foot on the ground, the other still inside the car as she began to drive again. I screamed out, “please, please stop.” Frantically I wailed. My hands turning white as I held on with all I had. She kept going. By this time both my feet were outside the car. This little 8 year old girl begging, pleading, screaming for mercy but nothing made her stop. My heart was pounding inside my chest and ears. I didn’t know what to do. Should I try to get back inside? Should I just let go and hit the ground? Before I could figure out what to do, she slammed on the breaks and I slumped forcibly against the door. I stood up quickly, confused, panicked. Blood rushed to my eyes and for a brief second the black night became a blinding light. She said, “get in the car and shut the fuck up.” I did as I was told. 

It worked. You can’t deny that. She scared me silent. I didn’t say a word the rest of the ride home. You see, I was taught not to cry. Tears were unacceptable. Had I been quiet when she picked me up, I wouldn’t have been dragged behind the car. It was my fault. Just like it always was. This lesson was etched into me over and over in hundreds of different ways through the years. Crying is for the weak. Crying deserves punishment. Crying is never allowed even while you’re being dragged outside of a moving vehicle. Tears were not allowed. 

I remember the first time I openly shared a fraction of the experiences I have endured. I sobbed the entire time. My words and hands shook as my eyes read over the notes that guided me. I shared about my loss. How it changed my life. I shared about the meaning I searched for from pain. Those moments of openness left me feeling humiliatingly vulnerable. Tears fell unwillingly against my cheeks and that little girl screamed inside. Even though I was no longer a child, I was still waiting to be punished. Punished for speaking about the things I was taught not to acknowledge. Punished for crying so openly. 

As difficult as this story may have been for you to read, it can be even harder for a person to share something so intimately personal. I have never spoken publicly about this specific incident because to this day the thought of doing so cuts deeply in ways I cannot describe. When I share, I do so intentionally. Not only to help others understand but to never leave myself so vulnerable that I unintentionally hurt my own heart or healing process. I’ve learned the importance of safe storytelling the hard way over the years. Some stories are powerfully purposeful when shared with the public. Some stories leave us overwhelmed and confused as to what we should do. There are stories that would be most beneficial when shared intimately. And some may always need to stay locked within us. Only the storyteller can decide which of these options is right for them.

Our stories are a part of us. They help define pieces of our souls and can set us on a fulfilling path. Sharing takes courage and will. If this is the journey we want to embark on, we owe it to ourselves to be ready, to have safeguards, and to incorporate care for ourselves. 

Oftentimes after I have spoken to an audience, people who want to share their own stories ask how they can begin this journey. I realized long ago that a few minutes is simply not enough time to teach them anything of value. So I developed a training program from my experiences and lessons learned so others won’t need to struggle through the painful process of coming into their truth on their own. Thinking beyond my program, I crafted a guidebook that could work as a stand alone tool for those who want to know more but may not be ready to participate in the program. 

This book can walk any person through the basic components of safe storytelling creation. The purpose is to make my hard earned lessons more accessible to everyone.

What happened to you doesn’t determine who you will be. What you do with what happened to you can.

 

 

Find the Art of Safe Storytelling Guidebook on Amazon today.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1078164215/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_i_he6jDbBH2KRH3

For a short overview you can find 7 Tips on Safe Storytelling the eBook on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07V5D35ZS/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_i_NiwjDbYVR3K6X

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