This magazine issue is dedicated to health and fitness. Along with a new year comes all sorts of resolutions to eat better, drink less alcohol, workout more, etc., but, in order to live a quality life, focusing on our mental health and emotional wellbeing can be transformational.
Back in 2005, I attempted suicide. After struggling with bipolar disorder for 10 years, I reached the lowest point in my life and wanted to end the endless suffering. With another episode on the horizon, I knew, once more, I’d find myself back in a psychiatric hospital. With a volatile chemical imbalance happening in my brain, I made the irrational, desperate decision to swallow a bunch of pills to end the misery. I convinced myself I’d be doing everyone a favor. In particular, I thought I’d be taking the burden off my 12 year-old son. Steven was 18 months when I was first hospitalized and diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It’s all he ever knew – a sick mom who went in and out of a psych ward. My suicide attempt was a decision I’ll regret for the rest of my life. After the attempt, I carried around crippling guilt. Basically, I wanted to kill myself for attempting to kill myself.
The fallout that ensued resulted in trauma. After coming home from his basketball game, my 12 year-old son was the one to discover me sprawled out, unconscious on the living room floor. It took many years for him to recover from this horrific event. His trust in me was shattered. To this day, Steven bears the indelible scar from that night – we all do. And, every day of my existence, I must own up to the fact that my actions affected my entire family and close friends.
Suicide, whether successful or unsuccessful, is a heart-wrenching experience. As a family, our road to recovery was long and challenging and remnants of my actions linger. Yet, out of the trauma, some life lessons emerged. A year after my suicide attempt, I ended up writing a memoir, My Kind of Crazy: Living in a Bipolar World. At 13, my son contributed two chapters. I got to read about what he experienced that night. In turn, I was able to share with him my account. This collaborative writing process became therapeutic for us, and it started a journey into communication, understanding, compassion, and healing. Most of all, I’ve been blessed to receive my son’s forgiveness.
Over time, we made our way to a place where Steven understood that my suicide attempt had nothing to do with him. Now that he’s an adult, he’s able to see me, not just as his mom, but as a person with human imperfections. We are incredibly proud parents of the man Steven has become. He is kind and funny and smart. He is wise beyond his years. His mind fascinates me. He is one of the most interesting people I know, and I say that not just because he’s my son. I truly mean it. I always look forward to our next talk and enjoy looking at life from his perspective.
Last August, Steven (now 31) got married to Joana. It was a magical celebration in a palacio in Portugal. I am overwhelmed with gratefulness that I survived my suicide attempt and was able to be present and share in that day. We are full of love and happiness for them both.
I asked Steven if he would contribute to this essay and share some of his life lessons and observations on his journey into healing trauma. He, unhesitatingly, said yes. Steven’s precious words follow here…
“The act of ‘healing’ is supposedly the process of making or becoming sound or healthy again. The brain does not have a one-size-fits-all fix for coping with trauma. In my experience, one of the biggest challenges in this journey has been the idea that healing requires the return to some state of normalcy and the inability to move forward means that something is still broken. Thankfully, my mom’s battle with bipolar disorder has stabilized, and our relationship has moved beyond the trauma.
The passing of time can help put trauma at a distance but only to a certain extent. For me, seeking professional help and learning coping skills has been extremely helpful in my journey. Healing has neither followed a straight line nor does it need to have a definitive end. I take a few steps forward. Then life finds ways to challenge me, and, at times, the trauma resurfaces.
This March will mark 20 years since my mom’s suicide attempt, and I will forever carry the trauma from that night. But that’s not such a bad thing. Rather, it affords me the chance to push past it, become a bit stronger, and keep moving forward once again.”
