A comment that moved me. . .

Shortly after I published my post entitled Before and After (read the full text here), I received the following comment from my cousin, Evelyn. Her words are filled with painful honesty and truth, and I wanted to share them with you. I contacted her first, and she gave me permission. Here's her comment and some things I want to say about it. . .

Ever since we became Facebook friends (and cousins by marriage before that) I have been continually amazed by your courage in speaking out about mental health issues. So let me take a moment here and now to thank you sincerely. Your efforts will no doubt help others as they have helped me.

I just read your last blog post ( and I have to say, in my near lifelong struggle with depression, I have never found my voice the way you have. Yes, social stigma has something to do with that, but for me, talking about it has never made me feel any better. Only more vulnerable and isolated because unless you suffer from depression, it's very difficult to comprehend how profound, complex and relentless it can be.

First let me say, thank you. I appreciate the kind words more than you know. Yes, stigma has many times made me think about halting my efforts to write about mental illness and the obstacles my family faced, especially since I am also writing about my daughter. You hit the nail on the head, talking about depression, self-harm, suicide, these topics make us very vulnerable and scared. We leave ourselves open to criticism and judgment from people who cannot understand what we have been through, but who think they have something to bring to the table and add to the conversation. Generally speaking, in my experience, those people do not add much unless they approach the conservation from the point of view of trying to learn and having an open mind. What I have found though, in the short time I've been tackling my blog and working on my book, is more positive attitudes than negative. The discussion about mental illness in social media and in general is picking up steam. A full one quarter of the adult population suffers some form of mental illness. By talking about it, we reduce fear. By reducing fear, we build trust. This, I hope, will be one avenue to reduce the stigma and isolation you mention, and to raise awareness and create connection.

Second, thank you for sharing about your struggle with depression. You are right. I will never be in your shoes just as I cannot be in my daughter's shoes. This is such a profound problem as it relates to the treatment of mental illness and also how families deal with it. If someone had told me that my daughter had cancer or diabetes or any other medical condition, I would have had an enemy to combat and one that I could better understand. How do we support, empathize, and connect with our loves ones when it's the brain and brain chemistry that is malfunctioning? No matter how hard we try to put ourselves in your shoes, we will never fully understand. Yet, we experience behaviors that, to our rational minds, seem downright counterproductive. It is sometimes very hard to remember what toll the illness takes and how it presents itself. This fills me with despair as I think it renders me less able to support you and my daughter in the way I would like to.

I completely agree with your thesis of contributing joy and positivity to the world as a force for healing. They do make everything better! Every day I live with a high degree of awareness of how my personal decision to be kind, patient and respectful with everyone I meet makes my corner of existence better for me and everyone else. This idea is not my struggle.

My struggle comes from the concept of what I call I incurable suffering. Two years ago, my sister-in-law, Lauralyn committed suicide because her mental suffering felt incurable to her. And frankly, it felt that way to me, too. Despite my best efforts at being her loving friend, medications, hospitalizations, therapists, support from other family and friends, she was hounded 24/7 by relentless anguish and unbearable pain. She chose to end her life with pills and alcohol. I was left to deal with the coroner, police and planning her funeral. Her husband, my brother, also suffers from mental illness and was not able to help her.

Two weeks to the day after she died, my sister Mary died in front of me and my kids from a brain aneurysm. Ten days after that, a student at my daughter's school jumped off the roof of the school and died. Five days after that, my best friend's nephew was found in the Santa Monica mountains dead from an intentional drug overdose. He had been there for three weeks before they found his body. He had a long history of mental illness and simply could not suffer any more.

I am incredibly saddened to hear of these passings, and so sorry for all the families involved in these tragedies. No one should have to face this much trauma in a lifetime let alone compacted together like this.

As you might imagine, these events changed me forever and have left me with my own version of incurable suffering. They made me question so many things!

Yes, I can imagine. I felt the same way when my daughter got sick and through the entire process of our healing journey and still now! I question so many things–this is part of why I'm writing. I don't expect to, but maybe I'll find some answers.

If we are held in the sphere of love that is God, then why doesn't he/she/it intervene in the endless and near indescribable suffering of humanity? I'm talking about those whose suffering is, in fact, incurable. How precious is life if all you know is pain? And why do we insist these people stay here with us and choose life if that means they will only know agonized suffering?

Wow. Well, I certainly don't have the answers to these questions. I touched gently, I hope, upon the idea of God in my Before and After post in a way to convey that I have had to set aside my original perceptions of God and what I thought religion meant. I was raised Catholic and have a deep and abiding respect for people of all faiths. I, however, have had to let my traditional view of God go because of these very ideas you bring up. I liked the metaphor of the sphere for that reason — it inherently has no reference to God. I wanted to use the words, "…in his loving embrace" for the people who hold that view so dear. I think there is so much suffering in this world that for me the traditional view of God does not make sense. We are humanity, failing and succeeding of our own accord alhtough we are connected by a power greater than ourselves. And how devastating that realization was, by the way. At first. Not now. Now I find great solace in this point of view. But yes. How can we expect people who live with incurable agony every day to want to stay here? I do not consider myself a Buddhist, but I have started learning about Buddhism and can wrap my brain around the idea of the internal work to deal with my own suffering and of trying to learn how not to inflict suffering on others as my spirituality. But the pain, as you well know, is bottomless for those left behind. I was sure, when my daughter wished to die, that if she had followed through on her threat, I would have killed myself as well. I didn't believe I could live life with that much  pain. I know people find a way, every day more people have to find a way.

And let me add, relative to my Before and After post, that I hope my writing never ever comes across as an oversimplification of such a complicated and complex issue. If love could heal mental illness, there would hardly be any left in the world. Every family member of every loved one suffering from mental illness I have met has deep love and respect for their ill loved one. Love alone does not cure mental illness. I believe in our power to positively influence one another, but there is as much or more negative out there as positive and its influence is as great or greater. Plus, love does not cure chemical imbalance and faulty wiring. There is, of course, so much for us to learn and so much to change as we navigate life with mental illness, it's not going to perfect. But I want to apologize here and now if my words came across as making the solution sound like all we had to do was join hands and sing Cumbaya a few times and problem solved! These issues are so multi-layered and complex. The system is making progress, but it is slow and inadequate and too late for some.

Speaking as someone whose efforts at curing my depression have failed, these questions haunt me. Over the last 30 years I have tried more anti-depressants than I can remember, consulted six doctors, three psychiatrists, five psychotherapists, three acupuncturists/doctors of Eastern medicine, three nutritionists, became a certified yoga instructor and have done every exercise program out there, and STILL, my depression persists.

Sometimes, it is much better, but never for long. In my mind's eye, I see myself attached to a very long bungee cord. One end is depression, the other encircles my waist. With tremendous daily effort, I can walk far from the depression. But invisible triggers unexpectedly snap me back with a violence and speed I can rarely predict. The triggers are numerous and some make no sense whatsoever. They also change unexpectedly like some bizarre, incomprehensible algorithm.

This is such a vivid description. I, for one, would love to know more if you choose to share about what helps you in your difficult times. I can imagine that the answer varies as much as your pain each day, but what are the things loved ones can do in times of need that help the most and what doesn't?

All of which gives me empathy and compassion for those who choose suicide. And please be clear, I am NOT contemplating this for myself. I am only saying that I understand how some people loose hope and the will to live.
The other side of this coin is the burning anger and sense of betrayal I have for the god-awful mess Lauralyn's suicide left in its wake. It was like someone took a flamethrower to my family. The aftermath was was as ugly as it was complicated and wretched.

This is some complicated stuff! And my objective at this point is to seek out small moments of respite and light. That is all. Because I know there are no answers to the big questions I pose. Only meaningful connection with fellow seekers of healing and peace like you.

I truly believe that connection is a large part of the answer. Like love, connection will not solve mental illness, but when my daughter got sick I was convinced that no one could understand how I felt. I was so wrong, I just didn't know it. Grief and isolation make the pain deeper and stronger, and make it last longer. I wish I'd had the courage to reach out to family members and friends sooner in the process of my daughter's treatment than I did. I can't turn back time, but I hope someone reading these words will see they are not alone. I would like to pay support forward. 


  1. I want to thank you and your cousin Evelyn for sharing your honest, heartfelt discussion with the rest of us. There's so much love and hope and pain and despair within it. I continue to be inspired by your deep efforts to understand and support the people in your life, Tracey.

  2. Wow! There are so many horrible situations that most people have no clue are going on in other families they see around town and in their own neighborhood. There is a lot of suffering in the world, and it seems some people are hit with so much more of it than what one might think an "average fair share" would be.

    This is one reason why I also have a problem with the traditional concept of God. There is too much suffering in the world.

    Thank you, Tracey and Evelyn, for sharing your stories and feelings. I hope this will at least inspire people to be kind to others, strangers or not, since unless you are truly connected with a person's emotional life, you really don't know the pain he or she is carrying.

    I have suffered from depression also. I am happy to say it's been under control for a long time (past therapy, current medication). I can understand why some people feel suicide is the only way to get relief. I've never been suicidal but I remember so many times during my late teens and early twenties just wishing I could "blow out" like a candle. No blood. No violence. No physical pain. No suicide. No family members suffering over a death. Just plain being gone, and never having existed in the first place.

    Luckily, I've gotten way past those days and have found more joy in my life than I could ever have imagined in those days.

    I remember when Robin Williams committed suicide and I saw Facebook comments such as: With all his money and success, what did he have to feel sad about?

    So many people just don't get it. I hope this blog, as well you the book you are writing and the conversations here will lead to more people understanding that just as love and connection can't cure mental illness, neither can fortune and fame. Sure, money helps get better treatment maybe, but some people who are mentally ill don't want treatment. And if you are famous and concerned about stigma, that's a huge problem to deal with, too.

    Brene Brown writes about resilience. Some people get through hard times better than others. Some wind up making their lives better, some put those past experiences to work for them to help others (like you, Tracey, and your daughter!), some don't want to think about the past hard times yet still move forward, some become broken and can't find a way back to joy, and some feel there is no way out of their despair short of death. I don't know if resilience is inborn or learned, or both. But it's a big part of how we deal with tragedy. Add a mental illness into the mix and it's exponentially more difficult to cope.

    Thanks again, Tracey & Evelyn, for sharing your stories. For those who haven't experienced mental illness themselves, either personally or through a friend or family member, the more we put out there, the more chance the stigma ends. That will be a better world to live in.

  3. Thank you so much Susan for taking the time to read and to leave such a thoughtful comment. Thank you also for sharing some of your own story of depression and struggle with it. I too remember dark days in my adolescence, days when I obsessed about the knives in the drawer and how bad it might hurt to use one on myself. Those, thank goodness, were fleeting thoughts that did not go on to torment my days and nights. Olivia had similar feelings to the ones you mention about wishing she had never existed. So incredibly painful to hear as her mother, but how much she was in to say them in the first place. Oh my. Just so much pain and sadness everywhere. I hope to bolster up little pockets of hope and inspiration wherever I can find them. Thank you again for taking the time to read and write.

  4. Thank you so much Jess, for taking time to read and to comment, and for the work YOU do to understand and share.

  5. I appreciate your courage , the deep honest, writing , and conversation about Depression,-some of it its companions: despair, suicide, helplessness, shame, isolation.

    The thoughtfully sincere loving care here is inspiring, While words & conversation don't fix anything words are a bridge out of isolation. I share your belief and experience that connection
    strengthens hope and resilience. And life includes suffering and joy.

    Tracy, you are ARE carrying forward with the intention you voiced in Whitefish Montana. Hoorah.!!

  6. Thank you so much Carol! Thanks for taking the time to read and respond. And thanks, too, for being my cheerleader. I appreciate it. I love the image that words are a bridge out of isolation. Lovely and yes! I so agree.

  7. So moving, both Evelyn and your comments. Everyone has challenges, tough times, and crises during their life. Having the support of family and friends are critically important in dealing with these stressful and sometime life changing events.

    The true measure of a person's strength and character is how he/she deals with the tough times, not the good times.

  8. Thank you Richard, for reading and for commenting. You are so right, family support is critical. There's a stat my Family To Family co-teacher quotes in our classes. She was a therapist for 30 years. I hope I'm getting in right, but I believe she says that without any kind of family support or otherwise recovery success rates drop to around 6%. Shocking. Thanks again.

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