The Suicide Solution

September is Suicide Awareness Month. But I don’t just want awareness,  I want survival. That’s why I created Staytember. Staytember is 30 days of raw truths, small survival steps, and acts of rebellion against the darkness. It’s not about perfection. It’s about staying. One day at a time. One breath at a time. Because here’s the truth: staying doesn’t always look heroic. Sometimes it looks like opening the blinds. Sometimes it looks like laughing at a stupid meme. Sometimes it looks like just taking a shower. I know, because I’ve been there. I’ve lived through the nights when staying felt impossible. I’ve been the one pretending everything was fine on the outside while fighting for my life on the inside. And I’ve learned that survival isn’t about some big, dramatic breakthrough. It’s about choosing to stay in the smallest of ways — and then doing it again, and again. That’s what Staytember is about. So here’s your invitation: Follow along with the daily prompts I’ll be sha...

I’m not for everyone. I’m not everyone's cup of tea. I’m a lioness who was caged by fear and shame — and now? I’m fucking free. For most of my life, I tiptoed through rooms, through conversations, through relationships, making sure no one felt uncomfortable with my truth. Especially the religious ones. Because when you grow up believing silence equals survival, it’s terrifying to even whisper the truth. The truth that something inside you feels different. The truth that you’re hurting. The truth is that their version of love feels like control, manipulation, and shame. Religious fear wasn’t just a message. It was duct tape over my mouth. And you want to know the hardest part? It wasn’t strangers who hurt me most. It was people who said they loved and cared for me. People who held my babies. Shared holidays. Prayed over me. The moment they heard I was with a woman, it was over. Not a conversation. Not a question. Just abandonment dressed up as righteousness. And still...

  Religion starts a lot of wars. But the most violent war I ever faced wasn’t on the news. It wasn't worldwide. It wasn’t fought with weapons. It was the war in my own mind. A war between who I was taught I should be and who I actually was . A battle between fear and freedom. Between guilt and truth. Between silence and my voice. I was raised in a system that said I could be anything— As long as it was quiet. As long as it didn't ruffle any feathers. As long as it didn’t make people uncomfortable. Sure, I could serve —organize events, lead groups, keep everything on track. But speak my truth? Tell my story? Own my identity? That was a step too far. Women like me were expected to stay in line. To stay small. To stay silent. But silence was killing me. And I don’t mean that poetically—I mean literally . I spiraled in shame. I stopped sleeping. I begged God to make it all stop. And when it didn’t, I tried to stop it myself. That was the war. And I barely survived ...