- Julie Barris | Crisis Counselor | Therapist-in-Training
- 2 hours ago
It can feel overwhelming to know how to talk to a suicidal family member, but your presence, compassion, and willingness to listen can make a powerful difference. When talking to a suicidal family member, remember it's not about having the perfect words—it's about showing up with love, honesty, and patience.
I’ve spent time working as a crisis counselor. And some moments never leave you.
One woman I supported had recently survived a devastating accident that left her paralyzed from the neck down. She was once vibrant—independent, full of laughter, fiercely in love with her life. But after the accident, all of that changed. She told me, with clear resolve, that she planned to end her life two weeks after her son’s graduation.
She wasn’t saying it for attention. She had a plan. She had made peace with it. She had one last milestone to hold onto—and after that, she believed there was nothing left. No purpose. No meaning. No future.
That moment taught me something I’ve carried into every conversation since:
Sometimes, it’s not about convincing someone to live. It’s about helping them reimagine what living could look like—even in the ruins.
And when the person going through this isn’t a stranger on the phone—but your sibling, your child, your parent, your partner—it’s even harder. You want to say the right thing. You’re terrified of saying the wrong thing. You feel powerless.
But you are not powerless.
Understand What They’re Really Saying: “I Can’t Live Like This”
Most suicidal people don’t actually want to die. They want the pain to stop. They want to stop feeling alone, broken, invisible, or exhausted.
In the case of that mother, she wasn’t just grieving her body. She was grieving her identity—her ability to dance at her son’s wedding one day, to cook his favorite meal, to hug him. She felt like a burden. She didn’t believe anyone truly meant it when they said, “You’re not alone.”
This is common.
People in deep despair often stop believing in the sincerity of others. They may have heard, “I’m here for you,” too many times only to be left alone when they needed someone most.
That doesn’t make them cynical—it makes them human.
When your family member is in that space, don’t sugarcoat it. Don’t rush to “fix.” Start by validating the gravity of their pain:
“I don’t know what to say, but I know this hurts deeply.”
“I’m not here to convince you to feel better. I’m just here to be with you in this.”
They Might Not Believe You—Show Up Anyway
When someone doesn’t believe they’re worth saving, it’s hard for them to trust anyone who says, “I care.”
You might hear:
“You’re only here now. You’ll leave like everyone else.”
“You’re saying that because you have to—not because you mean it.”
They’re not testing you. They’re protecting themselves from disappointment.
Don’t defend. Don’t argue. Just stay. Reassure them with action:
“You might not believe me yet. That’s okay. I’ll still be here tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to trust me right now. Just let me keep showing up.”
Hope doesn’t come from perfect words. It comes from consistency.
Lend Them Your Strength When They’ve Lost Theirs
People don’t always feel strong. Especially after trauma. Especially when they’re exhausted from fighting to keep going every single day.
They’ll say:
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“I’m tired of pretending I’m okay.”
In those moments, your role isn’t to remind them of their strength—it’s to lend them yours.
Say:
“You don’t have to be strong right now. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’ll hold the hope for both of us until you can feel it again.”
This is especially powerful from a sibling, a parent, a spouse—someone who’s walked with them through their life.
Find a Reason—Not for the Rest of Their Life, Just for Today
When someone believes their life is meaningless, don’t try to give them a five-year plan. Start smaller. Much smaller.
Ask:
“Can we get through the next hour together?”
“What used to matter to you, even just a little?”
“Is there one thing you might still want to see, do, or say—just once more?”
For the woman I mentioned earlier, we spent time talking about her son. What it would mean for him to know his mother stayed, even through unimaginable pain. Not for him to be her reason to live—but as a connection to something she still loved.
That small connection was a thread. And sometimes, one thread is all it takes to keep someone from letting go.
You Can’t Do It All—But You Can Do This
You may not have the training. You may not have the perfect words. But you’re family. And that matters.
You can:
Listen without fixing.
Sit in silence without fleeing.
Offer presence, not platitudes.
And when it’s too heavy to carry alone, you can say:
“Let’s call someone together.”
“We don’t have to do this alone.”
There’s no shame in asking for help—only courage.
Final Thought:
There’s no script for this. No checklist for saving a life.
But your willingness to stay when things are at their darkest—your courage to say, “Even if you don’t see a way forward, I’m here to help you look,”—that’s where hope begins.
So here’s a question I’ll leave with you:
🧠 If someone you love told you they planned to die after one final moment—would you know how to help them see that maybe, just maybe, there could be something after that moment, too?
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