988 Day: Celebrating Judgment-Free Support

CW: Mentions of suicide.

“No judgment” is so much more than just listening to someone share their story. It’s more than just accepting their story, sympathizing, and extending compassion. While mental health campaigns have long advocated to “end the stigma” and make it easier for people to talk about mental health, I believe there’s an even greater step that needs to be emphasized more loudly and clearly. When someone talks about mental health, suicide loss, or any hardship that feels like an imperfection to them, seek to actively see them as strong for it. With the first annual 988 Day happening on September 8th, it is important to acknowledge how to support others on their mental health journeys in judgment-free ways and celebrate them for opening up.

988 Day is a national initiative dedicated to raising awareness about the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline and emphasizing the importance of mental health and suicide prevention. The unifying theme of judgment-free listening and support has encouraged me to reflect on my own lived experiences. Through my own journey of navigating suicide loss and the stigma around it, I’ve noticed a distinct difference between those who simply listen to your story, offering pity and sympathy, and those who hear your story, walk away inspired and admire your bravery.

Many people don’t realize that like judgment, expressing too much pity can feel alienating. For two years following my dad’s death by suicide, I struggled with a pervading sense of silence and loneliness. As a middle schooler at the time, I desperately wanted to be seen by teachers and my peers as a polished student, a fun person to eat lunch with, and, most of all, a perfectly normal teenager. By no means did I want my identity to be reduced to “the girl whose dad killed himself.”

Once they hear my story, people tend to approach me in one of two ways. After stepping off the stage of a TEDx talk about childhood adversity or an open mic event on suicide prevention, I encounter two types of people. The first group rushes to hug me, shedding tears and offering words of condolence. Then there’s the second group—those who linger until the crowd thins out, approaching me not with a look of sympathy, but one of pride. 

If I could choose which group to be surrounded by, I’d rather be surrounded by the second group. These are the people who recognize the strength and vulnerability inherent in publicly disclosing one’s personal story of hardship. These are the people who walk away not with twinges of sadness or guilt but with inspiration, viewing me as stronger than they did before.

When people approach others with pity rather than awe or appreciation for their vulnerability, the person facing the challenge can feel degraded, treated more like a wounded puppy than a brave soldier. When we focus solely on people’s flaws, losses, and hardships, we forget about their triumphs—that they are standing there before us, alive and okay, having just shared their story, having found the strength and courage to overcome their adversity or at least acknowledge it. That is incredible. That is worthy of cheers and applause. 

If we can cultivate a “celebration” around opening up about our imperfections and hardships, we might see more people doing it. Talking about our challenges shouldn’t just be a checkbox in the healing process; it should be something people actually look forward to, something that gives them a rush of good feelings. 

When I think about my dad and what might have helped him come forward and ask for help, I believe it would have taken more than just “destigmatizing men’s mental health.” He needed to feel that talking about his struggles would make him stronger in the eyes of others. Just as he learned to play the drums, windsurf, or wear clothes that made him look and feel good, what if we cultivate a world where people are celebrated for being vulnerable, especially men?

In the end, it has been the dear friends and family members in my life–who have observed me over the last five years–who have made my journey to opening up about my story possible. They have seen me struggle with talking about suicide loss due to the stigma, but have never seen me as less of a person because of it. Talking about mental health doesn’t feel like a task, duty, or obligation to me now; I genuinely enjoy it. I enjoy opening up, sharing my thoughts and feelings, and being real with people. I credit much of this to the judgment-free support I received from my loved ones when I needed it.

Talking about mental health doesn’t need to be a sad, painful, or challenging process if we don’t want it to be. In honor of the first-ever annual 988 Day, let it be more than just a brief acknowledgment of resources and support, but a celebration of the courage, strength, and vulnerability it takes to have real conversations about our mental health journeys.  

If you or someone you know needs support now, help is available. Text or call 988 or chat online at 988lifeline.org to speak with a trained, caring counselor, 24/7.