The Suicide Solution

I’ve said before that the worst and best day of my life was when my husband left me in the driveway that day. That moment broke me, and I hated him for it. For years. I couldn’t wrap my head around how someone could just… leave like that. Especially after everything I’d been through. I wore that abandonment like a scar, always ready to point to it and say, “See? This is what he did to me.” But recently, while talking with my youngest daughter about something that hit close to home, I said something I’d never said out loud. I said, “Maybe he ran because he didn’t know what else to do. Maybe staying felt more dangerous than leaving.” And I meant it. It didn’t excuse what he did. He caused a lot of pain. But for the first time, I saw myself in that moment. And if I’m being honest? I would’ve been scared to stay with me too. I was in the darkest place of my life. Numb. Angry. Gone. I had just come back into my daughters’ lives after being away for the longest stretch I’d ever been,...

  🖤 Chapter 6 Teaser There’s a part of the story nobody talks about. The part after you survive. When the world keeps spinning like nothing happened. When your body starts healing... but your mind doesn’t. Not really. People think surviving a suicide attempt is some kind of relief. Like you wake up grateful. Clear. Like you’re suddenly “better.” But the truth is, surviving made everything harder. I didn’t feel like a miracle. I felt like a failure. And I still couldn’t tell the truth—not even to the people closest to me. Suicide was still my secret. And that secret kept bleeding out in other ways— in my health, my energy, my relationships. It lived in my body. It stole my voice. And the shame? It was louder than ever. Until one day… something cracked. Something small. Something ridiculous. Something I never saw coming. And I laughed for the first time in forever. One Small Step: Find something that makes you laugh. Not just smile. Laugh. If you don’t kno...

There’s a reason I call it a muscle . Because it doesn’t show up strong on its own. You build it. You break it down. And sometimes, it hurts like hell before it heals. But it can heal. When I was barely surviving, I didn’t believe in anything anymore—least of all myself. I couldn’t see past the next five minutes, let alone the next day. The idea of “being okay” felt like a fantasy. Or worse, a lie people told themselves so they wouldn’t fall apart. But here's the thing: you don’t have to believe you’ll be okay forever. You just have to build that muscle for now . Just like lifting weights, you don’t start with the heavy shit. You start with what you can carry—even if it’s just getting out of bed. Even if it’s just breathing through one more panic attack, one more wave of sadness, one more hour of “I don’t know how the hell I’m still here.” Every time you survive something you thought you couldn’t? That’s a rep. Every time you choose to stay, even if you don’t want to? That’s...

Behind the Scenes of The Suicide Solution I wasn’t even supposed to be in my bedroom. I came home looking for light. I wanted to write, to create—but I couldn’t decide where to go. I stepped outside, hoping nature would guide me, but a bee buzzed so intensely near me that I thought maybe there was a hive nearby. So I said, Screw that! and went back in. The living room didn’t feel right either—too dim, not enough clarity. That’s when a thought crossed my mind: “I guess I’ll just go see what messages the little messenger bird has for me today.” You see, there’s been this one bird—day after day, pecking at the window like it had something urgent to tell me. It wouldn’t stop. It was insistent. Almost aggressive in its message. And eventually, I realized the truth: I’m not waiting on a message. I am the message. But today… the energy changed. I ended up in my bedroom, opened the blinds wide, and there they were: Two doves. Not flapping. Not pecking. Not trying to get in. Just being. On...

  I had already lost so much. My breasts. My hair. My husband. My mind. But nothing prepared me for losing her —my very, very best friend. She wasn’t just a friend. She was my safe place. She was my safe person. My history. My family by choice. And the very first person I ever told that I was with a woman. I trusted her completely. She was literally the only person I trused with everything within me. I loved her deeply. Until I got a text message that said she and her family were washing their hands of me. She didn’t approve of “how I was living,” and just like that—gone. No conversation. No compassion. No care. I was still very suicidal. But this? This felt like a final blow. This? This sent me crawling under the covers frantically searching for how in the world I could still end it all without hurting anyone in the process.  Robin Saw It Coming. I Didn’t. The first time Robin met her, she didn’t like her. She said something felt… off. Not genuine. I didn’t listen. I was m...

Most people know about 988. The suicide hotline. The emergency number. The last call for help. It saves lives. And it matters. But I’m not here for the ones who call. I’m here for the ones who don’t . Who can’t . Who won’t . But stay anyway. The ones lying on the bathroom floor. Staring at the pills. The blade. The gun. Not calling anyone. Not writing a note—because most people don’t. Not reaching for help. Just… done . Or at least, they think they are. Here’s something we rarely talk about: At first, the thought of dying is terrifying. It’s unthinkable—until the pain grows bigger than the fear. And in that moment, when pain outweighs everything else, some people survive without even realizing they did. They fall asleep. They get distracted. They put the bottle down. They cry until there’s nothing left. And they wake up to another day. No one claps. No one sees it. But it counts. It always counts. There are people who’ve stayed suicidal for years—decade...

  Since being in Arizona, I’ve gone on a lot of hikes. The desert has its own kind of beauty—raw, ancient, and honest. But the thing that keeps catching my attention? The trees. They’re twisted. Mangled. Some look like they were born that way, but you can tell it’s not natural. Something shaped them—something powerful. Wind. Water. The weight of time. Maybe even the memory of the ocean that used to cover this land long ago. And yet, despite everything… They’re still standing. Their roots run deep into the mountains. You can see some of them—exposed, clinging to rock, tangled like they’ve been gripping for their lives. These trees have been through hell. But they haven’t let go. Even the ones that are mostly dead—dry, hollow, almost ghostlike—still have something alive. A random branch reaching out with bright green leaves. One part of the whole still saying, “I’m not done.” And when they are dead, truly dead? They still stand . Strong. Solid. Unmoving. Proof that they ...

For years, people have told me I should write a book. But this isn’t the book they were expecting. I’m not writing a how-to. I’m not writing a memoir. I’m writing a survival guide for the soul—for the person who is this close to disappearing. The ones who scroll in the dark at 2am, silently wondering if it would be easier not to exist. The ones who begged God for help and got silence. The ones who wore the smile anyway. Who showed up. Who didn’t really want to die… but couldn’t bear to continue living like this . I’ve been there. And the book I needed didn’t exist—so I’m writing it now. It’s called The Suicide Solution , and it’s not about fixing you in ANY way. It’s about reminding you that you were never broken to begin with! It’s about sitting in the darkest room with you and whispering, “You’re not alone. I’ll stay here as long as it takes.” This book is being written in pieces—in pain, in power, in truth. And it’s coming soon. Not to shelves first, but to hear...