Meet Jillian of @bravemindmovement, Shawnee KS, 42, CPTSD/Anxiety/ Panic Disorder/ Depression
Where this started for me
I didn’t choose mental health as a cause. It chose me.
Mental health struggles run through generations of my family, but they came from a time when no one felt safe to own them. I watched my dad struggle with his mental health and addiction my entire life, and in 2013, I lost him to suicide. After his death, I began speaking out about mental health and suicide. But I was still hiding my own.
From early adolescence into adulthood, I struggled with self-harm, severe anxiety and panic, depression and intrusive thoughts. I became a pro at masking it for everyone around me. Over time, I knew that getting better would mean facing my own struggles and letting myself be vulnerable. The turning point was my children: I wanted to raise them in a home where we own our struggles and work through them together.
That decision changed more than my home. I left my career as a hairstylist and went back to school for my bachelor’s and master’s degrees so I could become a counselor. Today, I’ve dedicated both my professional and personal life to advocating for mental health and educating others about suicide awareness.
What I remember most isn’t only the pain. It’s the silence around it. I was scared to be honest with people, because whenever I shared small pieces of what I was going through, they got uncomfortable. I learned how quickly a whole room can go quiet when the truth gets too close.
Those experiences changed what I pay attention to. I started noticing how often people say “I’m fine” when they aren’t. I noticed how rarely we ask a second time. And I realized I didn’t want to be someone who stayed quiet anymore.
Why honest conversations matter
Silence feels safer, but it isn’t. Silence convinces each of us that we’re the only one.
The mom awake at 2 a.m., rocking her baby and wondering why she feels so empty when she’s supposed to feel grateful. The star athlete who looks unshakable on the field but is quietly fighting intrusive thoughts he’s too ashamed to name. The teenager scrolling in the dark, sure that everyone else has it figured out. The dad who’s always “the strong one” and can’t remember the last time he said he wasn’t okay. The coworker having panic attacks in the bathroom between meetings.
Every one of them thinks they’re alone. None of them are.
When we talk openly about anxiety, depression, addiction, intrusive thoughts and self-harm, we give people words for what they’re living with. Naming something takes away some of its power. Sometimes the most healing thing a person can hear is “me too.”
Suicide belongs in that conversation, too. One of the most persistent myths is that asking someone about suicide will plant the idea. Research doesn’t support that. Asking directly and calmly, “Are you thinking about suicide?”, often brings relief. It tells the person their pain is allowed in the room.
Honest conversations change what happens next. They help people reach out sooner, before a hard season becomes a crisis. They let families grieve openly and check on each other. And they teach our kids that struggling isn’t something to hide, but something we face together. That’s the home I want for my children, and the world I want for everyone else’s.
I’ve lived this as a daughter who lost her dad, as someone who struggled in silence for years, and as someone who changed her whole career to help others through it. I’ve seen what silence costs, and I want to make these conversations a little easier for whoever needs them next. That’s why I’m writing this.
If you are struggling right now, you can call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (US), any time, day or night.