Changing the Narrative World Suicide Prevention Day — Studio Kre’at

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day.

For more than ten years I have carried this pencil drawing tucked away amongst old pages.

I drew it during a season when I believed I was drowning in seas of darkness.

Looking at it now, I can still recognise her.

Her eyes barely above the water.

Her mouth unable to speak.

Trying with every last bit of strength simply to keep breathing.

There was a time in my life when surviving the day felt like the greatest achievement I could manage.

Today I am sharing this drawing because this year’s invitation for World Suicide Prevention Day is to change the narrative around suicide.

I want to add my own small voice to that conversation.

Silence almost became my story.

One of the greatest burdens I carried was not only despair: it was silence.

• Silence born from shame.

• Silence born from misunderstanding.

• Silence born from believing I needed to hide how much I was hurting.

Stigma tells people that struggling is weakness.

Myths tell people they should simply “be stronger” or “snap out of it.”

Fear tells people not to speak because they might be judged or become a burden.

Those stories keep far too many people isolated.

I know because I lived inside them.

What began to save me was compassionate conversation.

Healing did not arrive all at once.

It arrived through people who stayed.

People who listened without trying to fix me.

People who asked gentle questions instead of offering quick answers.

People who allowed my story to be spoken aloud without shame.

Every compassionate conversation loosened the grip of silence.

Breaking down stigma is not simply changing public opinion.

It is creating spaces where someone feels safe enough to say, “I’m not okay.”

That safety can become the beginning of hope.

We do not have to struggle in silence.

More than ten years have passed since I tried to end my own life.

Life has not become easy ~ I have and continue to walk through rare illness, cancer, neurological disease, grief, and many seasons of uncertainty.

But I have also discovered something I could never have imagined while drawing this picture.

Light can return.

Sometimes slowly.

Sometimes quietly.

Sometimes through prayer.

Sometimes through art.

Sometimes through another person’s willingness to sit beside us in the dark until morning comes.

Strength, I have learned, is not pretending we are never overwhelmed.

Strength is allowing ourselves to be accompanied.

If this is your story too…

If today feels heavy, I want you to know this:

You are not weak for struggling.

You are not a burden for speaking.

You do not have to carry this alone.

There are people who will listen.

There are people who care.

And there is hope, even when you cannot yet see it for yourself.

Today, may we continue changing the narrative not only through awareness campaigns, but through ordinary acts of compassion, listening, and courage.

Because lives are changed when silence is replaced with presence.

A quiet closing.

This drawing I have shared is no longer a picture of where I am.

It is a witness to where I have been, and a reminder that the woman who believed she was drowning still found her way to the light.

I share her today because someone else may feel as though they are only just keeping their head above the water.

If that is you, I hope these words reach you gently.

You do not have to struggle in silence.

There is no shame in asking for help.

There is courage in letting someone sit beside you.

And there is hope, even if today it feels no bigger than a single breath.

May we become gentle keepers of one another’s stories.

May we notice those quietly treading water.

And may we help change the narrative one compassionate conversation at a time.

Lisa Raie 🖊️