Suicide, Women, and the Life Preserver

Nine years ago this month, a close friend died by suicide.

September is Suicide Awareness Month.

Why September?

Not only do the leaves change color in September, but kids go back to school, schedules become filled with activities, meals are eaten in the car on the way to soccer practice, and feelings of overwhelm and loneliness can set in.

September is a period of change. And for my friend, and many other women, sudden change—no matter how prepared you think you are—can be jolting to the system.

While men are more likely to die by suicide, women are more likely to experience suicidal thoughts and are three times more likely to attempt suicide.

A 2024 CDC briefing reported that women experienced a 40.5% age-adjusted increase in suicide rates over the 20 years from 2002–2022, while men experienced a 24.3% increase.

This is a public health problem that needs addressing—NOW.

In a bustling public space, the image symbolizes the silent prevalence of suicide in society, amidst a crowd unaware of the struggles faced by individuals around them.

The other day, I read a story in The Atlantic about the Lindsey Clancy trial (https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/2026/08/lindsay-clancy-trial-women/688470/).

Clancy has been charged with killing her children before attempting to end her own life. The trial revolves around whether she was suffering from postpartum psychosis or whether her actions were premeditated.

The Atlantic story focused on how the trial has amassed a following among women. There are women traveling from out of state to watch the proceedings, while others are writing detailed blog posts and dissecting the storylines.

Sure, the U.S. loves its true crime. (I'm a Law & Order addict myself.)

But why the overwhelming interest in this trial? And why, in particular, among women?

Because many of us have felt some version of what Lindsey Clancy may have felt that day.

I remember coming home with my twins and just collapsing (https://www.rx4trauma.com/post/humble-pie). The thought of having to care for two tiny beings was overwhelming. For the first few weeks, as I struggled to feed them, I had an empty look in my eyes and could not muster up any of the loving scenes you see in diaper commercials. Talk about false advertising!

Not all of the women in the in Clancy’s courtroom may have been diagnosed with depression, but I would venture to guess that most empathize with the feelings of fatigue, failure, isolation and loneliness that this mother may have experienced.

And while the Clancy trial focuses on the postpartum period, women are vulnerable to depression throughout their lives, with periods of hormonal flux—including puberty, pregnancy, postpartum, perimenopause and menopause—potentially increasing that vulnerability.

I think about my friend.

My good friend.

Nine years ago this week, we were taking a walk, and she was telling me how overwhelmed she was.

We talked about taking time off from work. Taking medication. Going to counseling.

Unfortunately, the stigma of mental illness stopped her from doing any of those things.

A woman bows her head in solitude, captured in a moment of introspective sadness.

And then one day, in the second week of September, it must have become too much.

I often think about her final moments.

And it haunts me.

What was she thinking?

How alone must she have felt?

Did she ever have a moment of regret when it was too late to turn back?

These are the questions that keep me up during the month of September.

September is Suicide Awareness Month.

But truthfully, women are at risk for suicidal thoughts and suicide attempts all year.

In an ideal world, there would be systems in place to support women and check in on them before they reach a crisis.

Other countries have postpartum home visits and family centers that provide support and community. Instead of relying primarily on large mental hospitals, mental health care can be continuous and embedded in local communities.

Mental health is not treated as something that should be hidden away, but as something that needs to be nurtured and talked about throughout our lives.

In most communities in this country, we don't have enough of those systems.

We have each other.

A group of people embrace under the sun, symbolizing the warmth and strength of community bonds.

Checking in on your neighbor.

Calling the friend who has been unusually quiet.

Asking someone how they're really doing—and being willing to listen to the answer.

Offering some empathy instead of judgment.

We help them, and they help us.

Maybe we share the life preserver.

I'm acknowledging that it is unfair that, on top of handling everything life throws our way, we also need to find the energy to pick ourselves up and help pick others up. It seems wrong that we must take on the role of solving a broader issue when so many of us are floundering ourselves.

But let's say it again: women experienced a 40.5% increase in suicide rates from 2002–2022.

That's not just a statistic.

That's women who are struggling.

Women who are overwhelmed.

Women who may be quietly wondering how much longer they can keep going.

Until we build the systems we need, we have to work together.

We need to ask those who aren't struggling to fight for us.

We need a better public health framework.

When people tell us they're not okay, believe them.

And sometimes when a person says, “I'm fine,” remember they may be anything but.

Sometimes, simply knowing that someone sees you, hears you, and is willing to sit with you in the hard stuff can be the beginning of asking for help.

I wish my friend had felt that way.

I wish she had known she didn't have to do it all herself.

And every September, I wish I had one more chance to tell her.