When I drove over the George Washington Bridge this morning I noticed I had an urge to pick up all the trash along it, instead of jump from it. I wanted to get out and clean it up. New York City is so dirty. I wanted to clean it up and replace the worn mesh netting that’s supposed to deter suicides with something nicer. Sometimes when I’m thinking about ending life, my eyes catch something beautiful in nature and it brings me back to the present. I wanted, instead of jumping, to make it better for someone else.
I noticed I wanted to bring my kids to explore. And that even though I am not a city person, I love traveling and I want to share that passion with my littles.
I noticed I wanted to replace those suicide hotline signs along the bridge with my number. Because I know that feeling. And my heart hurt for myself and for all the human beings that have and will walk with those thoughts. Compassion filled me up.
I noticed I didn’t want to jump at all. Instead, I wanted to talk about it. I wanted to connect with someone who could meet me where I’m at right now, and not be afraid to meet me where I was at a week ago, without shame towering over me and without fear of judgement.
I noticed I just wanted a human to get me, love me, not be ashamed of me. I wanted to show myself grace.
Maybe even: sit with everything that has happened and just be—grace filled.