Hey there, grief warriors. Let's talk about shame – you know, that delightful little voice in your head that makes you feel like garbage for... checks notes... having feelings about your loved one's suicide. Cool cool cool.
Here's the thing about shame: it's like that relative who shows up uninvited, raids your emotional fridge, and then criticizes your life choices while camping out on your mental couch. And the stigma around suicide loss? That's just the neighborhood gossip giving that unwanted houseguest more ammunition.
"Well, why didn't you see the signs?" "Did you try hard enough to help?" "Maybe if you had just..."
Shut up, Karen. Seriously.
Let me tell you something I learned after losing my father to suicide: shame is a liar with a PhD in Making You Feel Like Crap. It's got tenure in your brain and thinks it deserves a permanent parking spot in your psyche. But here's the plot twist – it doesn't.
When my dad died, shame moved in like it was paying rent (it wasn't). It rearranged my emotional furniture, put up some truly hideous wallpaper of self-doubt, and kept inviting its friend Stigma over for wine nights where they'd sit around judging my grieving process. Real cute.
But here's what nobody tells you about shame and stigma around suicide loss:
They're not actually your friends. They're more like those MLM pushers who pretend to care about your "journey" while trying to sell you emotional snake oil.
They're really bad at math. They'll have you calculating all the "what-ifs" and "should-haves" like you're trying to solve quantum physics with a crayon.
They're terrible roommates. They never clean up their emotional mess, they eat all your self-worth, and they keep inviting their cousin Guilt over for extended stays.
The truth? You're not responsible for your loved one's suicide. Let me say that again for the people in the back: YOU'RE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR LOVED ONE'S SUICIDE.
I know, I know. Shame is probably sitting there right now, rolling its eyes and preparing a PowerPoint presentation titled "500 Reasons Why This Is Actually Your Fault." Tell it to stuff it.
Here's what helped me evict shame from my emotional real estate:
Finding my tribe of fellow survivors who get it. There's nothing like looking around a room (or Zoom call) and seeing other people who understand your specific flavor of mess.
Speaking my truth, even when my voice shakes (or when I'm ugly crying in the grocery store because they're playing my dad's favorite song in the cereal aisle).
Remembering that shame thrives in silence. It's like an emotional vampire – shine a light on that sucker and watch it scatter.
The stigma around suicide loss is real, but you know what? We're realer. And we're done letting shame sublease our lives.
So here's your homework, grief warriors: Next time shame tries to convince you that you should feel bad about feeling bad, remember this – you're not alone, you're not responsible, and you're allowed to tell shame to kiss your grieving ass.
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Love,
Aleksei and the team at Mourning Glory Club, a registered 501(c)3
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