7 Reflections, 7 Years after my Dad’s Suicide

It is amazing to me, that it has been seven years since I lost my father to suicide. I am not sure how, but the day I lost him feels both like a lifetime ago, and just yesterday. So much has changed since that day. I wanted to take a minute to reflect on how my life has changed as a result of his loss. 7 reflections, 7 years after my dad’s suicide:

1. I lost myself, and then I found myself. I have spent more time reflecting on myself in the past seven years, than I have my whole life. In those moments of self-reflection, I realized how much and how often I relied on others for happiness and a sense of self-worth. An expectation that no person in this world could ever meet. 
2. “This too shall pass” applies to the good times, just as much as the bad times. I have learned to embrace the good times, knowing that they will come to an end. Experiencing the overwhelming pain of losing my dad to suicide, doesn’t mean I have paid my dues. Bad things have and will continue to happen. The world isn’t against me. Pain, loss, and disappointment are all apart of this game we play called, “Life.”
3. It’s not about falling, it’s about how quickly you rebound when you get knocked down. I am an imperfect human being. I make mistakes that lead to regret. I act on emotion and then shame myself when logic kicks in. Difference is, I rebound a lot faster than I used to. I can slow down the process and identify what recurrent message is being played out in my head. It is often the same message; “You aren’t good enough.” That thought used to knock me down and keep me down. Now I acknowledge it, ask myself what fact-based information I must prove that I am not good enough (there never is any), and then I get back up. I forgive myself for not being more patient with myself, and I move on.
4. Don’t miss the moment. I was sitting in a training a few weeks back trying to figure out where the disconnect was. I knew the content but had little to no confidence in my ability to apply it. Then it hit me…I was too caught up in the content. In that moment I realized how often I get caught up in the content of daily life. When this happens, I miss the moment. Not just one moment, but many moments. So much can change in a moment. My dad’s life ended in a moment, and my entire life changed in a moment. It’s not about the content; it’s about the opportunity that exists in a single moment.
5. We can use pain to define us, or we can use pain to drive us. It took me awhile to learn this. The moment the fog lifted, and the reality of my loss sunk in, my entire life looked different. I was now the daughter of a man who ended his life. The stories I told about my childhood, and the man I called, “Dad” was completely different than the stories I told the day prior to his death. The judgement I felt towards my family, especially my dad, was stronger than I ever imagined possible. The pain that lived in my past could no longer be shared. For a while, I completely altered my story. I was ashamed of who I was, and where I came from. For a while, my pain defined who I was in the present. I tried to maintain this for about 10 months, until the ground gave out on me. I didn’t recognize myself, or the world around me. I made the choice to no longer let the pain of my dad’s suicide define who I was. Instead, I redirected that pain and allowed it to drive me. Using pain to drive me, led me to finding my purpose and completely changed my life…for the better.
6. Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, it is a sign of incredible strength. It is astounding how many people come into my office with this belief that they are weak because they are asking for help. I look directly into their eyes and tell them, “Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness. It is a sign of incredible strength.” It takes a strong person to acknowledge that they can’t do it all on their own. It takes strength to be vulnerable, and my gosh do we feel vulnerable when we ask for help. The minute I acknowledged this in my own life, the world around me changed. The people who mattered the most came in, and the ones who weren’t capable of giving, went out. It gave me the opportunity to lean on the shoulders of others. Not only was it freeing, but for the first time in my life I didn’t feel alone.
7. Pain is like a broken bone; it might be healed, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. As I sit here on the day that my father ended his life, I can’t say that the pain is no longer present. Like the broken bone that still hurts when the weather changes, my heart still feels the pain of my loss. I allow myself to feel it, just like the pain of that broken bone. I sit and take in all that has changed in my world throughout these past 7 years. The two beautiful children that I am blessed to call mine. The career that has given me purpose. The marriage that is more authentic than the day w said, “I do.” Most importantly, the person that I can look at in the mirror with pride for how far I have come. Slowly, the tears dry up, and the day continues.

As I was listening to the words of the legendary Bruce Springsteen, in his album Springsteen on Broadway, I couldn’t help but feel a connection to me dad. “I wish you were here to see this Dad.”

Related posts:

Three Years After Losing Dad to Suicide Reflecting on Five Years without my Dad Five Years as a Survivor of Suicide Four Years Later: Marking the Anniversary of My Dad’s Suicide