One Bad Chapter Doesn’t Mean Your Story Is Over: Turn the Page

⚠️ Content note: This post discusses depression, suicide loss, and mental health. If these are sensitive topics for you, please take care in reading.

September marks Suicide Awareness Month, a time to speak openly about mental health, share stories, & create safe spaces for connection. For me, the balance is delicate. At the core of my work is a children’s picture book, gentle stories for little ones. Yet behind that work is a mission born from a heavier truth: depression is real, & silence around it can be deadly.

The more we talk, the less people feel alone. 

The more safe spaces we create, the more lives we can save.

My Honesty: Depression for Me

I’ve never self-harmed. I’ve never had a plan. I’ve never attempted.

I have been so low that I froze, unsure how to move forward. That’s one of the hardest parts of depression — it convinces you that reaching out for help would only burden others, when in reality connection is what heals.

I have:

• deleted every contact from my phone to avoid reaching out for help I didn’t believe I deserved
• deleted social media accounts in an attempt to disappear
• cried in isolation, pretending I had work, but really just hiding at home from life
• cried in public, pretending once a family member had died, just so I could sit with my cloud without anyone questioning what was really going on—because I couldn’t explain it

Looking back, I can see those were signs of withdrawal & isolation — common signals of depression that often go unnoticed.

For me, depression has felt like being locked in a padded room inside my own brain — trapped, isolated, and convinced I was a burden. I can see myself there, bouncing, scratching at the walls, desperate for help. I fear I’ll never get out & then I worry what happens if I do.

I have also known friends who lost their battles

In high school, my freshman year, I had a friend in the senior class-he was a safe space from the bullies. We were bus buddies, he was a steady hello in the hallways, a hug when I needed strength. Later in the year, he started driving to school, & I felt left behind. I’d still see him in the hallways, or riding his bike past my house. He’d always stop, wave/hug, & tell me he missed our mornings together. I didn’t realize then that his pulling away was his own isolation. & then, one day, he was gone.

Losing him showed me how easily isolation can hide in plain sight — & why noticing small changes in behavior matters.

When news spread, classmates rushed to claim closeness to him. They misspelled his name, but still used his death as a free pass to leave school. It was painful to watch. & strangely, I joined in—not for attention, but because I needed to hold onto something. I didn’t want him to become a punchline. I wanted him to be seen.

I talked about those small moments—our bus rides, his hallway hellos, the strength he gave me—as if they were bigger moments. I met with the school counselor, not as a ticket to leave school, but I wanted to remember him, as a way to remember myself—not being alone. The friendship may not have been “besties,” but it was the best reminder of what isolation looked like, what pulling back looked like, & why I had to keep showing up, even when I felt I couldn’t.

I kept walking those hallways, his picture taped inside my locker—us on bikes, frozen in time. I said hello to him every day. I wouldn’t let depression be the whole story.

Why I write about clouds: Explaining Depression

This is why I write children’s books about emotions.
My stories may look like sunshine, waves, & family adventures—but at the heart of them is a quiet truth: emotions are real, they are heavy, & they are survivable.

If you’ve ever felt the weight of your own cloud, I want you to know: one bad chapter doesn’t mean your story is over. You still have pages left to write.

Talking about depression doesn’t make us weak. It makes us human. It opens the door for connection, for hope, and for healing.

If you or someone you love is struggling, please reach out. In the U.S., you can dial 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. You are not a burden. You are worthy of love, of safety, & of another page.

I have called 988

& again: I’ve never self-harmed. I don’t have a plan. I haven’t attempted. I wouldn’t attempt. But I needed someone to talk to, someone I wouldn’t shock by admitting, I feel miserable, alone, like a burden. Someone who wouldn’t dismiss me with, but you have so much to be happy about, layering guilt on top of sadness.

The person on the other end talked with me about the fight in my brain, about embracing hardships, & acknowledged that I was carrying a lot in a short amount of time. That weight was heavy. We didn’t talk about solutions. It simply felt like a hug while I cried.

& when I sighed at the end of the call, it felt like the whoosh that finally pushed the cloud away, for that evening, at least. 

Sometimes support isn’t about fixing the problem — it’s about listening, validating, & reminding someone they’re not alone.

For me, writing children’s books is about planting seeds of safety and connection early. I want kids to grow up knowing that big feelings are survivable, storms pass, & that they never have to carry their cloud alone.

Stories give us language for what can feel unspeakable, especially for children learning to name emotions.

& if you’re not the one struggling, check on your friends. When you ask, “How’s it going?” be ready if the answer isn’t great. Know when to question if “I’m okay” really means okay. & sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is simply give space for everything.

Help

• 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline – Call or text 988, or use online chat at 988lifeline.org
• Crisis Text Line – Text HOME to 741741 (24/7 support via text)
• The Trevor Project (LGBTQ+ youth) – Call 1-866-488-7386 or text START to 678-678
• Trans Lifeline – 1-877-565-8860 (peer support for trans/nonbinary people)
• Veterans Crisis Line – Call 988 and press 1, or text 838255