In 2026 we have more news, more fear, and less time than ever before. We have more people outside of our core families that we confide in than we should. Yes… more than we should. I am sharing more in this post than I should, but there is a reason. The reason is that I need to have conversations with the ones I love who are having issues I need to find the words for. More than that I need to know what order to say them.
Because we have drifted further from direct conversation the micro failures of misspeaking are all but lost. When I speak without practice and emotions creep in, words get messy. As a result of the extra learning I’m doing to understand how my brain works, I now know that. In the past I would walk away from trying to explain myself feeling like the bad guy.
I’ve learned how to be okay with being the bad guy, but I need to force myself to be okay with knowing I will hurt someone’s feelings to help heal their heart. I can’t worry about how my words make them feel because I have put a lot of effort into teaching them how to listen to my heart first. All the relationships I am a part of are collaborative. If there is any problem with either of us I will work on it.
I’ve been reminded that there are some problems that I can’t “work on” directly. The only thing that I can do with problems like these is to bring tools. Unfortunately I won’t know if I’m bringing the right tools because I am bringing the ones I assume are needed from listening to the repairs happening without being informed of what needs to be worked on.
If there is a bolt that is being turned, I cannot tell if it’s caught the threading right. I don’t know if it’s metric or standard. I don’t know if it’s a mechanical bolt, or something else. I don’t know if it’s in the engine or in the wheel well. All I can do is listen to the frustration or see a part of the machine, if it’s shown to me, but who’s to say I’m being shown the whole picture?
The problem I am facing is self-harm. Some of the people I love most in this world could be hurting themselves.
How do I stop that?
Does my neurodiverse condition actually make things worse for them?
Am I processing the emotions right?
Will I understand the problem after it’s too late?
No matter how many different ways I ask these questions, I don’t have answers for them. The one thing I can do is sit here and write. When I write my brain slows down. I see the words, and the situation without wanting to investigate every variation. I just put them in words. Words that don’t make sense. Sense that has no structure. Structure that has a form that is willing to work with me until I understand it.
All of this takes time and it’s time that I know I don’t have.
Not that time in this aspect is one that means my death is around the corner, but that I am not able to be there in the middle of the night, day, or afternoon when something happens that makes them want to do self-harm. Even if I were then I would be a part of the reason. There would be a smothering effect to my availability. I would also steal their ability to work through the problem.
As friends, family, parents, or spouses we want success for our loved ones, but success and ease are not the same. There are scientists, and therapists that can give you educated explanations about what the textbooks say and that’s valuable, just not as valuable as what a survivor would teach.
I’ve never harmed myself physically, but there are things I’ve done that weren’t the healthiest way to cope. You have too. Yes, I’m pointing fingers in both directions because we need to look at how we would have handled someone telling us not to drink, smoke, drive fast, get into a fight, ignore someone, and on, and on.
Putting a blade to our skin, or an eraser until blood was drawn is not the only way to cut. Cutting words, or silence will get a person the same neurological chemicals, and the same guilt, but one shows in ways others can see. When I see the fresh cuts, or the fresh scars I hear a voice. That voice asks for different things at different times. Help. Space. Check in on me randomly. Sit here until I speak. Understanding that pain is where things get tricky.
My mental lag may process the actual cry for help too late and that’s what scared the shit out of me. Being scared is what will keep me close enough to at least start moving when I see any of them fall, just not from a height that would be harmful. I’ve fallen further than anyone would be able to reach me at times and never needed gravity.
I’ve been in the darkest parts of myself. Isolated while surrounded by so many people, their sweat mixed with mine. No one on that dance floor understood how lost and dead I was. No one saw the redness of my eyes as tears mixed with sweat. No one heard the pain in my scream over the bass drops. Then again, no one was there in the absolute silence of a parentless home on the nights I’d cry while setting my alarm clock to go to school the next day either.
My fear for their safety comes from my being there for friends, family, my wife, and children any time of the day or night, at the sporting events, when they were sick, facing failures, or if they were so sad it teetered on depression. I never had the early childhood development training to know how to help someone figure out how they could protect themselves from themselves.
All I can do now is leave a breadcrumb for them to read on a night when they feel like harming themselves and a message that I’m only a heartbeat away. I’m not going to judge, or lecture. I’m not going to shame or pity them. I’m only there to be there.
If you’re reading this and things are hard, please do your best to hear that one voice that makes you feel safe.
Call their memory.
Close your eyes and hear their laugh.
Mimic their voice, accent, or quirks.
Know that you are love, and are loved.
You fill the empty parts of so many lives.
If you want to hurt something that is inside of you, hurt it by being the person in this moment you will brag about in the future.
I
Love
YOU!
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