 “I felt like I was being hunted.”
On this last day of Suicide Prevention Awareness Month, I’m going to attempt to share a part of my story—a story of healing forward—in hopes that it might offer encouragement and a few words of hope to someone who is weary.
I believe the time is now.
Our nation is experiencing a behavioral health crisis, and in 2023, I lost my 19-year-old niece, Stella Grace, to suicide.
Losing her changed my life forever.
As I processed my grief and quietly healed, I began reconnecting with my own story in a deeper way. And I realized that perhaps the time had come for me to lend my voice—not simply to what I had survived, but to the path forward I found.
Because more than anything, I want you to know this:
I have experienced many things that I once believed would define me—sexual assault, domestic violence, poverty, bullying, profound feelings of unworthiness and anger—and the belief that perhaps I didn’t belong anywhere in this world.
I desperately wanted the pain to end.
I know now that those things were part of my story.
They were never the whole story.
As a young person, I didn’t have the emotional skills, mental-health tools, language, or support to understand what was happening inside of me. I struggled. A lot.
I compartmentalized. I found ways to escape. I learned to survive.
And as a Christian who grew up with a lot of legalism—lots of rules and expectations—we didn’t talk much about mental health.
Looking back, I believe I was experiencing depression and anxiety that were debilitating and immobilizing, but I didn’t have the framework to understand it.
Therapy in my 20s helped me begin putting pieces of myself back together.
And I also learned something important:
What I understand now is that I needed a whole-person approach to healing.
Mental.
Emotional.
Physical.
Relational.
Spiritual.
I needed to look at all of me—not just the parts that were hurting the most.
Medication was also part of my story for a period of time. I believe I needed that support, and I am grateful I had access to it.
And there was another part of my healing that I can’t separate from the rest of my story:
There were seasons when I felt like my soul, was under siege.
I didn’t always understand what was happening. But over time, I began looking at my life through a different lens—examining my mental health, my physical health, my relationships and boundaries, my choices, my beliefs, and my spiritual life.
I came to understand that I am an integrated human being.
And if I wanted to heal, I couldn’t keep treating myself as a collection of fragmented and disconnected pieces.
Losing Stella Grace was a huge wake-up call.
I healed forward quietly, including nine months in a bereavement group. And somewhere in that process, I realized:
A voice of lived experience.
A voice of overcoming.
A voice of healing.
A voice that points toward possibility.
Especially for women and girls who may be struggling silently.
That realization eventually led me to become a certified life coach, though I had been coaching for years. I was quietly developing more tools and language to help others find their way forward.
Then another opportunity presented itself to write.
I said yes without knowing exactly what I would write about or where it would lead.
It became Gifts of Pain—a collection of authors and their stories about turning pain into purpose.
My chapter is titled “Death to Destiny.”
It’s about what was hunting me, what I had to overcome , and the journey of stepping into the destiny and purpose I could not yet see when I was simply trying to survive.
I share more of my story there, along with reflection questions and pieces of the path I took toward creating a fulfilling, sustainable life that I genuinely enjoy living.
I hadn’t publicly shared much of that story before.
I haven’t talked much about the book since it was published last May.
I’ve been developing my voice quietly—especially around the things that matter most.
And even after the book was published, life continued to present its own initiations:
Bullying, toxic leadership, betrayal, injustice, oppression, and circumstances that tested what I thought I had already learned.
I understand them differently now.
Not because they were good, or because I would choose them.
But because they became part of the shaping of this next chapter in my signature body of work.
And I believe I am supposed to talk about these things out loud.
Boldly. Humbly. Honestly.
I have no shame in my story.
I believe we have to tell our stories to squelch the power of silence and secrecy—and fan the flames of healing and H.O.P.E.
Not because I have all the answers.
But because I know what it feels like to struggle silently.
And I know what it feels like to begin finding your way back to yourself.
Now more than ever, we need community.
So, if you’ve made it this far, I want you to know:
No matter your story—what you’ve done, or what’s been done to you—you matter. You are deeply loved, and you belong here.
If you are struggling, please don’t carry it alone.
If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health challenges, emotional distress, substance use problems, or just needs to talk, call or text 988, or chat at 988lifeline.org, 24/7.
And if you’ve walked through something hard and have found a piece of wisdom, healing, or hope on the other side, I invite you to add your voice to this conversation.
Your voice matters, your words matter, and
your experience matters.
We are stronger together than we are alone.
I believe that because we are whole beings, we have to care for ourselves as whole beings.
Mental health.
Emotional health.
Physical health.
Relational health.
Spiritual health.
And for me, that last piece carries a weight I didn’t always understand.
What I have learned—and what I believe to be true—is that we cannot fight spiritual battles without spiritual tools.
In loving memory of my niece, Stella Grace, my high school friend Marcus Hentschell, and several others whose memories I carry in my heart.
May these words be an encouragement to you, or to someone you know who needs to hear them today.
I see you—and H.O.P.E. is on the horizon.
Kim  
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