Some Things Can Feel Scary to Talk About

“Some things can feel scary to talk about.”

Yep. Here’s your sign. Literally. I went with a coffin because it’s spooky season, and if we’re going to talk about hard things, we might as well bring some personality. Roomy, great craftsmanship, would not recommend moving in. Meanwhile, me, leaving a review for something I’ve never done.

That’s Milo beside the sign. Mr. Chaos himself, letting out a perfect, full-throttle scream, looking like he just heard the person on the phone say for the eighteenth time today, “We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty.” Honestly, same, Milo. Same.

Isn’t it great when people tell you to talk about the hard stuff and then never do it themselves? Let’s just skip that part. Here is my hardest thing. Five years ago, I lost my son to suicide. I live with PTSD from that loss, and I have lived with suicidal thoughts of my own since. I’m still here. Some days that feels like a quiet victory and some days it’s loud. I’m telling you because I know what it costs to say hard things out loud, and I know what it costs to keep it inside.

Hard things come in all sizes. The very horrible, no good, very bad day. The money that’s gone. The failed test. The marriage that’s ending. The college rejection letter. The diagnosis you haven’t told anyone about. The addiction you’re hiding. The miscarriage you haven’t shared while you hiding in the bathroom, crying. The shame of a traumatic upbringing. The decisions you can’t forgive yourself for. The loneliness at a table full of people. If it’s sitting on your chest, it counts. Save the comparing for ripe fruit and gas mileage.

Here’s how I’ve learned to say hard things. Practice. Practice early, practice often, and start with the small stuff. Practice on paper, in a text you never send, or in the mirror. Say it to your dog or cat. Milo‘s heard things. The great thing about pets is they’ll take your secrets to the grave and love you all the same.

When you’re ready, pick one person, not the whole world. The whole world does not need the first draft. Not everybody can meet you where you are, even the trustworthy ones, and that’s okay. Start small with something like “I have something hard to say and I’m nervous.” Tell them what you need, whether that’s listening, help, or just company, because people love to rush in and fix things. If you don’t know what you need, say that too, you can figure it out together in real time. If talking feels like too much, maybe text first to test the waters.

Today I saw a reel about the seven second rule, and it stuck with me. The idea is that a mood has a flavor, and you can change the flavor. You give yourself seven seconds to put something different on your tongue, so to speak. A different thought, a song you love, a cold drink of water, a stretch, a sentence like “this is a hard moment and I’ve survived hard moments before.” Then you notice whether the taste shifts, even a little. Sometimes it does, and that is worth knowing. If you keep trying and the flavor won’t budge, that tells you something useful too. It might be time to ask for help.

And if the first person you try isn’t the right fit, whether that’s a friend, family member, HR person, therapist, doctor, or support group, please try again. Finding the right match can take multiple tries. Some people will offer you a safe space but wouldn’t recognize one if it hit them in the face. Some people need therapy. Some people need meds. Some people need radical self-acceptance. Some people need a reminder that being human is a hard gig and nobody gets the manual.

Finding what you need can be a journey. You are allowed to say “that didn’t work for me, can we try something else.” You are allowed to ask twice. Three times. A gazillion times. You deserve care that fits you, and you get THE vote on what that looks like as you discover what the possibilities.

I know I can say “reach out” and “speak up” until I’m blue in the face, and I am acutely aware that there is no silver bullet for mental health challenges, crisis, or suicidal ideation. But there are people out there, maybe already in your life, maybe not yet, who want to hold your hand while you find your fit. There’s also entire organizations whose whole job is helping you take those first steps. If you’re in the US you can call or text 988 any time, and the NAMI HelpLine (1-800-950-6264) can help you figure out where to start. Or inbox us. I promise you won’t be the first.

Stay one more day. Just one more. Then maybe another. (This next part was really hard for me to say out loud but the more I say it the more I heal) I’m living proof that days add up. For a long time I was faking my way through mornings until I could manage a real smile, and some days that’s still the plan. Faking it counts. One more day counts. I hope the same for anyone struggling today or any day. You’ve got this, and I believe in you.

What’s a hard thing you’ve finally said out loud, or one you’re still warming up to? Drop it below or keep it in your back pocket. Milo won’t judge. He’s still busy screaming.