Suicide prevention isn’t just about hotlines and hashtags. It’s about noticing what’s hidden, challenging cultural silences, and listening to the stories people are too scared or too ashamed to tell.
One of those stories started in a hospital hallway.
The Nurse Who Never Left the Night Shift
We were both scheduled for a night shift.
She walked in like she always did efficient, composed, not overly chatty, but polite. She headed straight for the call room. I remember thinking she looked a little more tired than usual, but then again, we all did. Night shifts drain even the strongest of us.
She and another nurse chatted briefly, made a few jokes. At some point, she decided to have her dinner early probably to pace herself for the long night ahead.
She warmed her food in the microwave. That’s when her colleague noticed the smell. Something was… off. It wasn’t the typical hospital meal odor or leftover stew. It had a sharpness. A strange, chemical tang.
When asked, she smiled and waved it off. “Ah, it’s the locust beans,” she said. “I used a lot to cook.”
Everyone knows that locust beans (iru) have a strong smell. No one pushed further.
She began eating. Within minutes, the smell became stronger. The other nurse asked again. She laughed gently and shrugged.
Then came the cough.
A deep, sharp cough that didn’t sound right. Then another. Then her body tensed. And just like that, we were no longer colleagues on a shift we were scrambling into emergency mode.
We tried everything.
Oxygen. Adrenaline. Chest compressions. We called for backup. The ICU team rushed in. Time folded into chaos. There was this horrible silence between compressions those few seconds when you pray and panic all at once.
Despite every protocol followed, every hand that tried to pull her back she slipped away.
Right there. In the hospital where she came to heal others.
Later, when her family arrived, they were broken. Confused. Quiet.
The investigation came days later. Her lunch was tested. So was the microwave tray. And then came the truth we weren’t prepared for.
The food had been laced with formalin. Formaldehyde. A toxic chemical she likely accessed at work. A chemical that doesn’t belong anywhere near a meal.
And suddenly, everything made sense. The reports. The whispers. She had been saying things. Subtle things about home not feeling safe, about being unhappy, about feeling unstable emotionally. But she had kept it light, almost dismissive, as if afraid of being seen as weak.
No one imagined she was carrying that much pain. No one imagined she’d bring it into work hidden under a plastic bowl, masked with iru.
What stayed with me was not just the shock. It was how normal the evening started. How ordinary her entrance was. How kind her smile. How easy it was to miss.
We lost a colleague. A caregiver. A woman who gave so much of herself to others that there wasn’t enough left for herself.
We never saw it coming. And that’s what haunts me.
Suicide Prevention Truth #1: Suicidal People Don’t Always Look “Sad”
Let’s bust one of the most dangerous myths right away:
People who are smiling, laughing, functioning, and showing up can still be in crisis. In many cultures, expressing vulnerability is considered shameful—especially for:
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Men, expected to be stoic.
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Mothers, expected to be selfless.
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Students, expected to be strong.
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Religious people, expected to “pray it away.”
One African therapist described it this way: “We are taught that tears are weakness and strength is silence. But silence can kill.”
A 2023 global study by the WHO revealed that more than 50% of people who die by suicide had no diagnosed mental health condition not because they didn’t have one, but because they never sought help or were misdiagnosed.
Suicide Prevention Truth #2: Culture Shapes the Language of Pain
Suicide prevention efforts often assume universal signs: withdrawal, sadness, or verbal cues. But in different parts of the world, emotional distress shows up differently.
In some Asian cultures: Depression often manifests as body pain, headaches, stomach aches, fatigue. There’s no word for “depression” in several dialects. So people say, “My heart is tired” or “I have too much heat in my head.”
In many African and Caribbean communities: Mental illness is often spiritualized. Someone in deep distress may be labeled as “possessed” or “under attack.” This can delay treatment and increase shame.
In Western countries: There may be more psychological language but that doesn’t mean less stigma. Young men, in particular, are taught to channel pain into anger, addiction, or isolation.
If we want to support people in crisis, we must learn the cultural codes of suffering. People may not say “I’m suicidal,” but they will say:
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“I’m tired of trying.”
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“I just want peace.”
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“I wish I could disappear.”
Listen for what’s not being said.
Suicide Prevention Truth #3: Faith Can Heal Or Hurt
In many regions, faith is a lifeline. Prayers, rituals, and community support can offer hope and grounding.
But in others, faith communities can worsen the crisis by:
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Framing suicide as a sin or shame
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Encouraging silence over expression
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Dismissing mental illness as a lack of prayer or gratitude
A young man from a devout household said: “When I told my pastor I was suicidal, he told me to fast and repent. That night, I almost didn’t make it.”
Contrast that with a Buddhist monk in Thailand who runs a suicide prevention retreat offering people in crisis spiritual anchoring AND medical help.
Or the imam in Senegal who held a funeral for a suicide victim without shame, shifting how the community viewed mental illness. Faith can be part of healing but only if it’s rooted in empathy.
Suicide Prevention Truth #4: Crisis Doesn’t Always Mean Loud Screaming or Crying
Most suicide attempts don’t look like movies. They’re not theatrical or dramatic. They’re often:
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Quiet
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Planned
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Rationalised in the person’s mind as “peace”
In fact, one of the most dangerous moments in suicide prevention is when someone suddenly seems “better.” They may have made a decision and feel relieved.
Survivors have said: “I smiled more that day. Not because I felt okay, but because I thought the pain was finally ending.”
It’s essential that friends and family don’t confuse silence or sudden calmness with recovery.
Watch for:
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Sudden goodbyes disguised as check-ins
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Giving away possessions
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Statements like “You don’t have to worry about me anymore”
Prevention is about noticing the subtleties. The patterns. The shift in tone. Not just tears.
Suicide Prevention Truth #5: The Best Prevention Is Daily, Not Just Emergency
When we say suicide prevention, we often picture hotlines and hospitalizations.
But real prevention starts before the crisis:
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In conversations where people feel safe enough to say, “I’m not okay.”
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In systems that don’t shame mental health or treat therapy as a luxury.
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In schools that teach emotional regulation.
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In communities that allow softness without suspicion.
A crisis counselor in Beirut said it beautifully: “I don’t just wait for the call at 2 a.m. I ask my friends how they’re really doing at 2 p.m.”
Mental health must be seen as hygiene, not an emergency room visit.
Real Stories (All Anonymous for Safety)
Story 1: A Survivor Who Chose to Stay
She left a suicide note in her journal. Her roommate saw it, cried, and made her tea without saying anything.
That simple act tea, silence and presence delayed her plan. Two days later, she started therapy.
She now works with a peer counseling network and says: “Staying was hard. But now I help others stay, too. That’s my why.”
Story 2: A Volunteer Who Answers the Night Calls
He works at a suicide prevention helpline in South Africa. Some calls are short. Some last hours. He keeps a candle lit while listening.
“The scariest part,” he said, “is not hearing the pain. It’s the numbness. The ‘I’m tired of everything’ voice.”
He attends trauma therapy once a month for himself. “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” he says.
Story 3: A Mother Who Lost Her Son
She said her son was the “life of the room.” Funny. Smart. Kind.
He died by suicide at 19.
Now she speaks at universities and teaches teachers to look beyond grades. “No one noticed he had stopped singing in the shower,” she said.
She turned her grief into advocacy. Pain into prevention.
What Suicide Prevention Actually Looks Like in 2025
It’s not just tech or medicine. It’s a culture shift.
Here’s what that looks like:
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Peer-led community healing groups in refugee camps
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Therapy subsidies for low-income earners in Latin America
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AI chatbots in Asia giving anonymous, nonjudgmental support
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Barbershops and salons in Black communities trained in mental health first aid
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School clubs teaching teens to check in with each other
It’s grassroots. Global. Gentle.
Tools for Emotional First Aid (Anywhere in the World)
These don’t replace therapy but they can bridge someone to it.
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The 3-word check-in: Ask someone to name 3 words that describe how they feel. No pressure to explain.
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Body map scans: Instead of “How are you feeling?” ask “Where in your body do you feel heavy today?”
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Silent company: Just sit. No advice. Just presence. Humans heal in shared silence.
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Hope lists: List 3 things they want to experience even small ones (e.g., drink iced tea, pet a dog, sleep in a clean bed). Anchor them to the future.
For Friends & Family: How to Respond Gently
Say:
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“I’m glad you told me.”
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“You don’t have to go through this alone.”
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“I’m not here to fix you. I’m here to sit with you.”
Avoid:
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“But you have so much to live for.”
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“Just think positive.”
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“Others have it worse.”
Final Words: Light Isn’t Always Loud
Sometimes, the most powerful suicide prevention tool is quiet.
A shared playlist.
A 5-minute walk.
A message that says, “I don’t need you to reply. Just wanted to say I care.”
Let’s not wait for crisis to talk about pain. Let’s build lives, communities, and cultures where people feel safe being soft.
Where survival isn’t just possible but respected. Honoured. Held.
If you’re reading this and struggling:
You matter. We’re glad you’re still here. You don’t have to carry it alone.
