Holding Space for the Ones Who Hold On

I stood in a room filled with love, grief, and determination.

We gathered for a suicide prevention vigil to honor those we’ve lost, to stand with those still struggling, and to remind one another that no one has to walk this road alone. 

At my table, conversation after conversation reminded me why I do this work. There’s something sacred about smaller, intimate talks where the message isn’t just spoken but embodied: you are not alone. It wasn’t just words. It was lived out in the way people lingered, listened, and leaned into one another’s stories.

One mother came to me searching for resources for her adult daughter. She shared through tears that her daughter, who is bipolar and possibly on the spectrum, has become verbally and physically abusive. The daughter cannot live independently and relies on her mother for housing and survival. Without her, she’d be on the streets.

But the mother is exhausted. She has begun seeking counseling for herself, learning about boundaries, and whispering aloud the thought that terrifies her: “If I can’t find help, I’m going to go away to a mountain and never come back.”

I looked at her and said, “You are the most important person in this story. You cannot help your daughter, or anyone else, if you do not care for yourself first.”

That conversation shook me. I often work with parents navigating their teenager’s mental health crises, but this was different. This was a mother holding on for dear life while carrying the unbearable weight of her adult child’s pain. It reminded me how many parents, siblings, and loved ones live this same story every single day.

Our mental health struggles don’t vanish with age. Unless we do deep trauma work, create new patterns, and embrace a lifestyle of healing, those wounds can stay open — and families are left to navigate them together. Many are still living in their wounds, never quite making it to the scar.

So today, I want to say this: I see you. I see the parents and loved ones fighting to keep their adult children alive, sheltered, and supported. I hear your exhaustion, your desperation, and your whispered wish to escape.

You deserve help, too. You deserve a voice. You deserve a safe space to share your story.

At Speaking from the Scars, I am dreaming of creating that very space. A place where stories can be spoken aloud, where caregivers and parents can be seen, heard, and valued. Because healing doesn’t come from silence — it comes from sharing.

And when we move from wounds to scars, we find transformation.

With love, 

Amy

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