I can still remember the feeling of the fabric between my fingers. It felt soft yet scratchy. Comforting, yet the dryness of my hands made it feel irritating. Every night I’d go to bed, pull my comforter up to my nose and pray to God to bring me home. At this time in my life, I felt powerless and voiceless. I was also following a religion in which said suicide was a sin. 

 

Talk about a lose lose. 

 

So, I’d pray – beg really. If this state was going to be my reality and I could do nothing to change it; AND suicide meant just trading one hell for another, couldn’t my God just bring me home? Pardon me? Stop this deep pain of loneliness and rejection radiating all over my body?  

 

And then one night, something changed. I crawled into bed like every other night, about to engage in the same cycle but something slowed me to speak – my mouth opened and promptly, my body closed my jaw shut. I pondered, if God hadn’t accepted my request by now, chances are, it was off the table. And I was tired of feeling unheard, now bordering on a sense of crazy – doing the same thing, hoping for a different result.

 

So, I took a deep breath and said, “Well God, it seems you aren’t going to bring me home. What gives!? And then I took a breath. And in that breath I felt my heart break open – like a window in a home opening on the first day of spring – I felt a coolness I had no idea I needed and a sudden burst of energy that I later came to recognize as courage. It was time for me to have a REAL conversation with God.    

 

So, I began to pour my heart out. All the words I longed to utter, all the feelings I owned and were desperately afraid to share – came out as they were – unfiltered and beautiful. I wasn’t taught to talk to God like this and feared if I shared them, what bitter consequence may follow. At the end, I braced myself, waiting to be struck down in some Biblical form. 

 

Silence.

 

And more, I actually felt relief – this pain I ask to be lessened was actually lessened. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. My first beacon of real hope. Did I have power to make change? Was I doing it all wrong? Trying to change the world around me when in reality, I needed to change myself? Now, trust me, there were plenty of things outside of my control that needed to change too BUT before this, I hadn’t considered that I could work to change or heal myself and therefore change how I was feeling. 

 

It was in that moment that I felt a surge of incredible gratitude for my God also exercising the strength to hold space – to not take me home, therefore robbing me of my chance to find this inner strength and power. I’m sure it would have been easier for us both but certainly not more worthwhile and to this day, I am grateful for each day I have breath – another day to heal and another chance to reclaim what is mine and more – a chance to share my experience in hope it ignites another soul who may have had their inner flame extinguished. 

 

Many years later I read in the Language of Emotion that the urge for suicide is more functionally thought to bring the message that there are many things going wrong in our life or value system or belief system – that it is screaming for our attention to make change somewhere and critical – that it isn’t really our physical life we wish to end, but the sense of powerlessness we feel to create that critical change. As I read this concept, I lit up like fire inside as this resonated deeply with me. This was my truth and in fact was desperate to be alive but growing more desperate to end the pain. 

 

And I wondered, how many other people actually felt this way – how many really wanted to live and more, needed whatever was causing their pain to stop? And were disconnected from their power to heal and make change? 

 

Please know you are not alone and ARE worthy of advocating for healing change if this is needed in your life.

 

Gabrielle Warner

Licensed Massage and Trauma Touch Therapist

 

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