This post is a dual post – its a story of my day yesterday which turned into a horrible end of day and reduced me to a mental health wreck desperate for support, overwhelmed with grief, hurt, and humiliation. But more importantly (I feel at least) is the SOLVE resource I’ve developed as a result – which will become part of my intervention to prevent nursing suicide (www.resumeuk.org) Please share this resource if you feel this is useful – This “cheat sheet”, “toolkit” or “framework” whatever you want to call it is really a first response How to Guide, suggesting how to respond in those crucial moments when someone confides in you about a traumatic event, particularly in relation to suicide. Yesterday, my attempt to confide left me humiliated and isolated. I hope this resource, will help others in the future avoid the same. And to the person who left me sobbing and alone. I am so sorry i made you uncomfortable or defensive. I was reaching out selfishly, and I apologise.
Yesterday I had a both a brilliant day and one of my worst ever days – which just shows you can have both at almost the same time. I’ve just spent the last two days at the Canmore Trust conference surrounded by amazing colleagues, new friends, policy makers, and inspiring speakers discussing suicide prevention and measures of support that need to be taken forwards. Stories were shared about how suicide had impacted families, individuals, friends and loved ones. Many of these stories elicited tears, hugs, and praise for bravery. It was one of the most incredible conferences I have ever been to; I have never felt as safe and passionate about my profession or confident about those around me. My admiration and love for the event is boundless, as is my respect and adoration for the charities founder and organiser, Professor John Gibson. I have never met someone as dually caring and committed to the cause as John, and would recommend everyone to get involved with him and his work.
However, even in the brightest, most hopeful place, there can be moments of darkness. Before I go on, I just want to reiterate that the Canmore Trust did EVERYTHING right, they had organised safe spaces, designated support members, and encouraged an atmosphere of care and sharing for 2 straight days. So the rest of this article is not a criticism, of them, or really of the person it involves. In fact of all the people I blame for my reversal of hope yesterday, I blame me, so I am so sorry.
“We don’t have time for this…”
Back to yesterday. At the end of the day some of the conference attendee’s were separated out into groups to discuss some hard questions about the conference and the issue of suicidality and suicide prevention within the healthcare community. It was a busy session, with a few dominant voices, and a fair few non-dominant. In those kinds of situations it can be difficult to have a voice heard, and, while I always am willing to talk, discuss, or even lead; I had already decided not interfere with the last 3 questions because they focused on practice and policy within the healthcare professions and that is outside of my experience – plus I really wanted to listen and take notes for future research.
I was an academic in a room of healthcare professionals, doctors, vets, dentists, nurses, regulators, and students. Aside from some of the speakers, i was a bit of an oddity. Not something I ever really worry about as this happens fairly often. My main job in the University of Glasgow means I am primarily surrounded by clinicians in some shape or form. This does cause a fair bit of imposter syndrome as medical doctors in my experience typically appear to believe that they are just a few steps down from which every chosen deity you may believe in. It doesn’t make them bad people, but i have experienced a level of arrogance in the profession which i have struggled to let roll over me. But again, I fear this is really my issue not theirs. My insecurity about not being a “real doctor”. For example, my badge at the conference simply just had my name, while everyone else I saw had their titles. This was because this was signed up for by finance at the university, and they simply wrote “Simon Walker”, not “Dr Simon Walker”. Fair does, how up myself do I need to be, to be upset at that? Yet, it made me feel inadequate in comparison to rest of the rooms of seemingly endless professors and doctors. So I used my usual route of humour to cover up my insecurities, and wrote DR on my badge with the note underneath saying “Don’t judge me, i’m very insecure :)”. There, all fixed, because it’s obviously a joke and i’m not so desperately pathetic for everyone else to know that it’s ok for me to be there. Obviously. So needless to say, despite my comedic bravado in almost all things, I was already feeling out of place from the moment I arrived.
Back to the group event. Question 1 was about what the most important part of the conference was to make a change and I quickly and confidently suggested the talk about R;pple, an amazing piece of software which jumps in to offer support when someone searches suicide online. A joke had already been made about the last question to which the answer “yes” had simply been suggested. Additionally, one of the group had taken it upon himself to be Time Keeper and had separated the session into 15 minute slots, 1 for each question. Back to R;pple, half echoing the joke about Q4, I suggested that we simply write R;pple and move on. I didn’t actually mean end of discussion, it was a follow on from the joke before, but it fell flat with disagreement and subsequent discussion about how clinicians need help before they search for suicide methods or indeed don’t need to actually search because they know how. Fair enough, i’m a comedian, and I learned quick that sometimes jokes don’t work. But it stimulated the conversation so fair enough. Time ticked on, and the discussion turned to kindness and being receptive and supportive. The room agreed that was what the conference promoted and that was what they all were going to be.
Good Answer! 🙂
Except, that there is difference about being kind, and having the time to be kind. All the way through the conference, we had been talking about taking the time to hear someone else, to support them. And, hearing the room agree that that just saying being kind was enough tipped me over a bit. So i raised my objection as an academic whose experience of kindness rarely translates to actual support.
“Sorry, I know that time is ticking down, but I have to just interject and say that kindness is such an important element, but I think part of this has to be the ability to take the time to be kind. I’ve been in suicide research for nearly 10 years, I became focused on suicide after 2 attempts on my own life, and channeled my battle with mental health into my research ever since. But academia is cruel and hard, and I have faced rejection after rejection for jobs and funding. In 2021, as a job I hated but depended upon was coming to an end and I had just received my 231st rejection since 2018 (jobs, posts, and funding), I started to prepare to attempt again. Despite all of the joy in my life, I wanted to die again. Many of you in this room will have received emails from an academic like me seeking to collaborate or gain support and kindness is not a problem, time is. You are so busy, so important. You don’t have time to help me, and that is a problem too...”
I hadn’t meant to share like this, I hadn’t meant to expose my vulnerabilities, and disclose to a room of strangers something that only 2 people knew, that in 2021 I came so close yet again to death. I didn’t mean to suddenly make it about me, I didn’t want the suicide spotlight, applause, hugs. I just told the truth and opened up. But, despite feeling suddenly selfish and humiliated, it was ok because this was a safespace.
“We don’t have time for this, we have to move on…”
This was the response to my admission, my sharing; and it humiliated and isolated me. The Timekeeper bluntly closed me down. But Fair enough, time was ticking on, and this wasn’t the place I had thought it was. I muttered, “exactly what I was saying” and the nursing student across the circle smiled understandingly back at me. A colleague to my right nodded saying “Trauma informed Practice” and it made me feel like someone heard me; but I remembered my place and that this was not it. I didn’t speak for the rest of the session, i felt ashamed of what I had said. Ashamed that I seemingly tried to shift the narrative to myself, ashamed that I had told these strangers my secret, and hurt that my experience didn’t seem to matter.
The following questions were about regulations and the ways that healthcare professionals were treat by the regulators. Grim and chilling stuff to be honest, and interesting for my own research – to the point that I grabbed my tablet and made some notes (Somewhat also to allow me to control my emotions to be honest). What became clear quickly was that, like me, our Time Keeper had his own tale to tell. A story of loss, investigation, self-destruction, and bitterness. Unlike me, our Time Keeper was granted the ears of the room, and dominated discussion to tell his story, primarily to the chief regulator sat next to him. Over half of our time centered around this issue, returning back several times to the lived experience of our Time Keeper and those like him. He was praised for sharing, and sympathised with for his ordeal. Again, fair enough. I now added more shame for adding in my baggage to a place, where others needed the support. Our Time Keeper had battled professional decline and addiction, while being treated poorly by those who investigated him. He had come through but it had left its mark. This was his room, his people, and he had probably dreamt of his chance to confront his demon in the flesh. How dare I steal a single second of it, for my own purposes. Talk went on and on, and we were even given more time than expected, so the conversation was replayed, while I counted the seconds down so I could get out of that room.
Breaktime – finally. I followed the crowd to get a coffee and then stood at a high table in the middle of the room staring into space. I was trembling, trying to put myself back together. I felt so humiliated, alone, and spent the time berating myself for being so selfish and pathetic. Around me chatter and laughter rang but I wasn’t part of it. The fears I had held for the past two days about not belonging here came to a crashing reality. I thought about leaving, but knew that I was there thanks to the kindness of the Canmore Trust and John Gibson, and despite how I felt I would not do anything else to disgrace their achievement. Suddenly the break was over, 30 minutes had passed as I stared into space shaking, holding a cold coffee. We went back to the room, and now all crammed in to listen to a final inspiring speech by John. He asked me how the session went, so I told him him truthfully, that it had gone really well, and that a lot of come out of it. I wasn’t going to use my petty upset to derail his moment, i had no right. I managed a smile, and carried on. Luckily, a kindly colleague came over to chat to me. We chatted about work and research, but I think she knew that I was struggling, she had been in that session, and I think that was an act of kindness that I am grateful for. Another couple of minutes of chat and praise for the event and it was over. I gave out business cards, I exchanged thanks with many people, including and especially John, and prepared to leave. But I couldn’t. I had to talk to the Time Keeper. I had to tell him how shutting me down had upset me, but also I was sorry for interrupting his moment. So I asked, him for a word. Selfishly again perhaps, as he, as a member of the organising team of the conference, received his praise and hugs. But, this was also a man who was supposed to be a Mental Health champion, a peer to which we had been told we could speak to, surely I could talk to him. So I asked him by name for a word. I got his name wrong, which was not a great start. But we set out for the next room.
This is where it got so much worse. As he walked him all the emotion, humiliating, upset, shame flooded back in and I stumbled. I told him how I perceived what had happened, but as I did I could tell he didn’t want to be there. I was stealing him away from his moment of triumph in the other room with this pettiness. As I stumbled over my words explaining how being shut down that way had upset me, and how despite an atmosphere of inclusion and openness, I had felt humiliated and isolated resulting in me standing alone for 30 minutes trying to pull myself back together. As I spoke, I saw anger and annoyance cross his face, finally settling on defensiveness. “I’m sorry you felt that way, but we had to take on track for time”. A completely justified response, the words were all right, but the tone was not. The tone was defensive, peevish even, frustrated that he had to deal with this annoyance. The tone hurt, and my own emotion responded as again tears rose humiliatingly. “I get that, but I was sharing something that could have taken only a moment to recognise, but was shut down, while over half the time seemed devoted to your story, your journey?” I regretted it as soon as I said it. I had meant to apologise and hoped we could have a brief chat about how we could collaborate in the future. But, i failed again, and now I had spoiled the end of his conference.
“I think it’s best that we just leave this here now…”
What happened next is that he walked out of the room with the words “I think it’s best we just leave this here now”. For the last 2 days we had talked about a safe space, about the importance of sharing, listening, supporting, hearing someone who needed help. I was obviously in distress, there were tears, my voice had broken, and I had disclosed multiple suicide attempts. It was the wrong place, wrong time, certainly, but I didn’t realise that until it was too late. The worst thing anyone can do in the situation is dismiss and walk away. As mental health professionals the first thing we are taught is never to dismiss and walk away. Yet, in all places, of all times where this was unlikely to happen, it happened to me. Thinking about it over and over again, I know that had the situation been reversed, I would have responded differently. Training would have kicked in, and after probably feeling defensive, I would have offered to chat, to engage, and to follow up. I’ve done similar many times before during disclosures. But I accept that I forced that moment, I asked for a word, and placed an unfair moment of responsibility on shoulders that didn’t ask for it. Even as one of the acting mental health champions for the conference, it was not his responsibility to make me feel better. The conference was over, it was time to celebrate and relish in achievement, and it was selfish of me to attempt to taint it with my needs.
So the end of this story is that I left the hotel sobbing, embarrassed, and working myself up into a frenzy. I wretched into a gutter around the corner bringing up the coffee i had barely sipped at. I stumbled back to my car, sobbing in front of a car parking machine that refused all my cards, and collapsed into the driver’s seat. I cried all the way home. I didn’t want to admit to anyone how pathetic and ashamed I was. Even now, I am forcing myself to document this because I am ashamed. Everything I feared about myself, my lack of worth, my selfishness had just been confirmed. I couldn’t call anyone –
“no-one wants to listen to me have yet another breakdown. How many must this be now? 4007? Everyone is absolutely sick of it- you are a waste, a burden. You are pathetic.”
Much of this is completely not true, and rationally I know there are so many people who would gladly pick up the phone to me, just as I would for them, but right then in that horrible soul crushing moment, there was no one. I didn’t want my loved ones to have to deal with me yet again.
So i called the Samaritans. We all need to support the Samaritans more. I called them and waited for 5 minutes for someone to answer. It felt like 5 hours, 5 days, 5 years. I hung up, before they answered the first time secure in the knowledge that I would be wasting their time and stealing the time of someone else. I called my wife, who knew something was up, but I couldn’t admit it, so offered to go to the shop instead. Now ashamed that I couldn’t even admit to my wife that I was spiralling, I tried the Samaritans again. This time I got through after 3 or so minutes. But again, the wait made me realise that I was selfishly taking up time that someone else more in need, more important, than me needed. So I thanked the caller for her answer, and wished her good luck for the rest of the day, and hung up. In the cold light of day, I think the Samaritans should be looking at signposting during their ringing, even a voice telling you it’s ok and they are there would be better than the cold ringing noise. But again, not criticism to the samaritans, they are wonderful people, amazing charity, and they need all of our support. When I got home, I didn’t want my son to see what state I was in so I asked my wife to come meet me and we talked it out. She listened, supported, rationalised, and cared for me as always. She pulled me back, and while I’m still suffering the emotional hangover, I’m recovering because of her and my son, who doesn’t even know how he helps me everyday (although he did wander in and correct my spelling lol).
I’m writing all this because, yesterday reminded me that how dangerous it can be to reject someone when they are vulnerable. I get that yesterday was my fault, i chose to over step and share where it was not welcome. I chose to try and talk to our Time Keeper afterwards and made him feel defensive or even attacked. I chose to internalise this so badly and fed my insecurities and selfishness. My choices darkened my day yesterday. However, I realised that there is no definitive resource on how to react to that situation as the person being confided to that is quickly or easily available. So, based on my experience and expertise, I have created one – hoping to find a positive from my own moment of darkness.
If you are still reading, thank you for reading and sticking with my self-indulgent story. I hope that the resource made is useful, and hope that you don’t judge me to harshly. Yet again, can I make it clear that I am not criticising any of the organisations i mention here, at all, ever. I am honoured to support them in anyway. I had a bad experience, and one that I feel was mostly as a result of my own selfishness and overstepping. Again, I apologise to the Time Keeper, I inadvertently tried to ruin his moment, and I have been worried ever since that I poisoned his moment of triumph and celebration. I’m sorry if I did, and I hope that you take comfort in the rest of the event being such a success. I have learned that I need to keep seperate to my surroundings. Like a journalist perhaps. I am a researcher, a watcher, a measurer, and an advisor. I am the viewer of the event, not the participant of it. This was not my moment, and I overstepped because I was caught up in the emotion of the day. It wasn’t fair for me to place my needs above anyone else’s.
Thank you for reading, and I hope it doesn’t sound disingenuous, but if you ever need someone, like I needed someone yesterday. Call me. If I literally can be there for you, I promise I will be. Even if it’s just to tell you that you matter, your feelings are valid, and to guide you forward. xx
Occupational Health Research, Historical Study & Suicidology - Dr Simon H. Walker 
Leave a comment