survivor series #1: why talking about suicide online is difficult and what it asks us about our capacity to hold pain

content warning: this post discusses suicidal ideation, depression, and mental health challenges. if this feels heavy or triggering for you right now, please leave this page or reach out to a support person or a mental health professional.

the post is a reflection to the reactions and interactions i’ve received to the posts where i share about my suicidal ideation and what helps me to keep going:

coming out as chronically suicidal

talking about suicide online is difficult not only because of censorship, internalized shame, or the fear of being misunderstood. it’s challenging because when we talk about chronic suicidality, we inevitably confront how little capacity our society has for deep human suffering and facing our own mortality.

since i started openly sharing about my relationship with suicidal ideation a few weeks ago, i’ve received a plethora of supportive messages and expressions of gratitude. for a long time, i debated whether or not to “come out as suicidal.” in a world that treats talking about mental health challenges as a weakness, expressing our struggles is often only tolerable if it’s packaged into neat narratives. these stories have usually happened in the past and are followed by complete recovery. it feels risky to process these raw thoughts in real time and admitting that my ideation is a recurring and chronic companion. yet so many fellow survivors have reached out thanking me for speaking openly about it. they talk about how isolating it is to live with these thoughts, and what’s worse, how exhausting people’s reactions are to it when they finally try to reach out for help. it is so difficult to find people who actually have the capacity to hold us in our deepest pain without having to fix it or the need to run away. when someone shares that they are struggling with suicidal ideation, listeners are often so taken aback—and understandably so because it’s one of the heaviest topics there is. unfortunately, in that moment, there’s a subtle shift in the dynamic. instead of holding space for the person opening up, the focus of the conversation unintentionally turns to the listener’s own shock, anxiety, or need to help the person suffering.

that’s why “coming out” isn’t just a cheesy wordplay but a surprisingly fitting parallel. **talking about my suicidality openly feels very similar** to coming out as a bisexual trans woman or a neurodivergent person. on my end, there’s the feeling of being the only one who experiences these things and the uncertainty of how it’ll be received. and the people’s reactions are often similar in this shift in who’s holding who. these reactions are often similar, with either dismissing the certainty of the topic or our lived experience (“you’re just confused” and ""), taking overly care of the other person, or giving unsolicited advice (“have you tried ____?”). while this sucks, the upside is that i already have a lot of practice coming out, and i know now how to hold my boundaries and speak my needs clearly. if people give unsolicited advice, i’m gonna say, “thank you, that’s not what i need right now.”

would you be interested in a “what to do and not to do when supporting a suicidal person” blog post? as i navigate these questions and learn more from other survivor’s experience, i see myself compiling such a resource.

the harm of multiple marginalizations

as a late-diagnosed Autistic and ADHDer and a trans woman who grew up as an identical triplet, my relationship with identity, belonging, and my body has always been complex. navigating systemic oppression, gender transition, and neurotypical expectations means my nervous system has spent years operating in high-arousal, unmasking, or recovering from burnout. a client recently hinted at their suicidal ideation, and as a way to lead with vulnerability and create more trust, i disclosed my own struggles. they responded somewhat casually, “well, doesn’t anyone who’s trans and neurodivergent?” it didn’t feel dismissive, but instead highlighted the grim reality of multiply marginalized people and the impact of systemic harm.

whenever i’m catching up with a friend and they ask “how have you been?”, i start by saying, “oh, it’s been a challenging last couple of months or a year…” but then stop myself and correct, “a few last years…” but truth be told, life has always been difficult and i can’t remember a time when i didn’t feel like i’m barely surviving. the last few years have been challenging due to apartment issues and legal challenges, burnout and losing my job, but it was difficult already before that. whether it was my gender transition and coming out in my mid twenties, or just general financial anxiety and relational challenges, life has always felt like too much to handle. for as long as i can remember, depression and suicidal ideation have been my friends. while other kids had imaginary friends, these two unusual fellows were my friends. since i was little, i’ve often imagined my death or something bad happening to me, so i would finally feel seen. while there have been better times when they don’t visit me as often, they have always been just a call away. they are my plan Z if nothing else works out. some well-meaning people who have watched my recent videos and posts have described my posts as “sad.” but to me, they aren’t. there is a distinct difference between sharing unprocessed and hopeless thoughts in real-time crisis versus sharing insights i have moved through, embodied, and found meaning in. while i am still struggling with these feelings and thoughts, when i choose to share something about my ideation, i am doing it from a place of integration. relative to the sheer gravity of the subject, these conversations feel light, grounding, and even joyous to me.

somatic awareness and the impact of our reactions

in somatics, one of the main features is somatic awareness—the ability to notice what is happening inside our bodies and our environment moment to moment. it’s the ability to feel and sense and then act informed by our feelings to meet our needs. when we witness someone else’s deep pain or a reality that’s so stigmatized, it makes sense that our own nervous systems react instantly. if we want to end the other person’s suffering, our body leans forward and our mind rushes to offer solutions to soothe our own discomfort.

i don’t bring this up to suggest that people shouldn’t feel their feelings. rather, it’s an invitation to cultivate somatic self-awareness, build our capacity to hold suffering, and become more choiceful about our reactions:

notice what gets stirred up: when a loved one reveals heavy struggles or comes out to you as suicidal (or any other identity), what happens in your body? is there panic, guilt, or an urge to fix it?
be choiceful with your expression: pause, connect with the ground, and notice what sharing your feelings is trying to take care of. is it your discomfort or their pain? ask yourself if the person opening up about their crisis has the bandwidth to carry your emotional reaction right now.

when we instinctively respond with horror and despair, we unintentionally send a signal to the person sharing: “your pain is too heavy for me to witness.” over time, this teaches chronically ill, disabled, or suicidal people to isolate and tone down their suffering just to protect the people around them. i imagine your desire to help is genuine. unfortunately, this often makes us feel even less supported.

the honest truth is that nothing about my lived reality has suddenly changed. i have lived with these thoughts and feelings for as long as i can remember. the only thing that has changed is that you know about it now.

creating spaces where all (parts) of us belong

i share these reflections because the way we talk about human pain matters. if we want to build communities, relationships, and spaces that actually support mental health, even in the most painful, edgy, and “darkest” forms, we have to expand our collective capacity to stay present with what is.

healing is not a neat narrative that we carefully craft by editing out the hard parts of our lives. true healing is building our collective capacity and self-compassion to be with the full spectrum of our humanity without turning away or rushing to save. the more we can hold all parts of ourselves, the more we can hold them in others.

please know that as long as i am talking about these topics and not isolating myself, i am doing well enough. i am here, leaning into life (and death) with curiosity, one small step at a time.

i leave you with some reflections.

what comes up in your body when loved ones share heavy things with you?
how do you support your own capacity so you can truly hold space for theirs?
what parts of yourself do you have a hard time tolerating and how might cultivating it translate into your relationships?

to my friends who are also suicidal: thank you for entrusting me with your pain. by sharing your own struggles, you’ve created space for me to do the same.
and to all the survivors: thank you for staying another day.

with care, curiosity, and complexity, Joelle Marcelle 🖤✨️

ready to explore how somatic coaching can support your capacity?

navigating chronic depression, suicidal ideation, or burnout isn’t something you have to carry alone. if you’re looking for a non-judgmental container where all parts of you—including your heaviest thoughts, chronic pain, and unmasked identity—are held with care and curiosity, i invite you to connect.

book a free discovery call with me to explore how 1:1 somatic coaching and bodywork can help you process deep pain and find small, meaningful ways to return to yourself.