When I think about silence, I can’t help but think about my own childhood. My father was a weekend alcoholic. During the week, he worked hard, and from the outside, our family looked like we had it all together. But on the weekends, things changed. We never talked about it openly. We covered for him because our mother was a respected leader in our church, and we didn’t want anyone to know what was happening at home.

That silence shaped me.

It taught me early on that you can be smiling on the outside while carrying heavy things on the inside. And it also showed me how damaging it can be when families don’t talk about the truth.

For years, I believed that the best way to cope was to hide it. But looking back, I see how much lighter things could have felt if we’d had the courage — or even the permission — to put words to our pain.

If I had known more about my father’s struggles — how his mother abandoned him at his father’s request, the trauma he carried from his time in the war, and even his lifelong battle with feeling “not good enough” — I would have understood him differently. I would have seen that beneath the drinking was a man wrestling with guilt and shame he didn’t know how to name.

But because he never shared those stories, we were left with silence. And silence is heavy.

This is why I believe sharing our stories is more than just a personal choice — it’s a matter of survival.

When we hold our stories inside, we carry shame, fear, and brokenness that weigh us down. But when we release those stories — through writing, speaking, or even conversations — something powerful happens:

• We normalize the struggle. Others realize they’re not alone.
• We break shame. Silence feeds shame, but speaking truth shatters it.
• We prevent despair. The very words you share may be the lifeline someone else is praying for.

Your story doesn’t have to be polished, perfect, or even long. It just has to be true.

I’ll never know how many people might have been helped if my family had spoken more openly about what we were going through. But I do know this: someone is waiting for your story.

Someone is carrying the same burden you’ve carried. Someone is praying for the exact wisdom you’ve learned through trial and survival. And someone may be thinking about giving up — but your words could be the lifeline that keeps them here.

Don’t wait until it’s too late. Write it forward.

Silence never saves us. But stories can.

This Suicide Prevention Month, I want to challenge you to use your voice — not just for yourself, but for the person who may desperately need it.

Because your story could be someone else’s survival.

Blessings,

Dr. Janice R. Love
Pearls Perfected Institute