An Open Letter From Your Strong Friend

I want to get some things off of my chest.

Hey,

It’s me. Your strong friend. I want to get some things off of my chest. I don’t know if you saw the news, about Cheslie Kryst. The former Miss USA died Sunday, January 30, after jumping to her death from her Manhattan apartment building. I’ve been thinking a lot about the aftermath of this horrific tragedy, specifically as it pertains to social media. I’ve seen posts reminding others to “check in on your strong friend.” Others sharing the details of the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. More sharing the undeniable sentiment: “A life lost too young.”

Yes. All of that.

I’m here to talk to you about the first part, though. About the call to action to check in on me. Firstly, I hope that all of those who identify as the “strong friend” will give me some grace. I speak for me and me only, but perhaps in a way that other strong folks can relate to, too.

Some background: Despite knowing that the best friendships are reciprocal, I always feel as though deep down in my gut that I have more to give than the average person. For me, giving never (read: almost never) feels like an inconvenience. In fact, it feels like it’s part of my DNA. I feel odd if I don’t give. Giving the perfect gift is as pleasurable as the first lick of a cold peanut butter cup ice cream cone on a blistering summer day.

Case in point: An ex once told me he wanted a discontinued purple headband (odd, I know). I Googled and searched everywhere, but couldn’t land one. So, I bought the same headband in white, took the subway 50 blocks to a craft store, asked the elderly man behind the counter wearing a red smock what dye worked best for athletic clothing, and DIY-ed the hell out of that headband.

It took about two weeks for me to clean off the dye completely from my bath tub, and the kicker — we ended things before I could even give it to him.

Beyond physical gifts, I enjoy giving my time and energy. I adore supporting you. Whether it be sending a “you’re going to be great today,” text at 6:54 a.m. before your first day at a new job or cheering my head off on the sidelines dawning Sharpie-stained leggings from homemade sign-making, being your hype (wo)man is an opportunity I’ll never take for granted. It is truly one of my biggest honors.

Still, I have to be honest with you: There have been times that I’ve wished you would show up for me and you haven’t. I don’t hold it against you. I promise. Sometimes, you just don’t know that I need you. Or that I want you. Or that I crave your undivided attention that’s been wavering since getting married, working your way up at work, having a child, moving away [insert big life moment here]. Still, I understand that everyone has priorities and boundaries, and I can’t always be at the top of your list.

In wake of yesterday’s news, though, I want to talk to you about the time I did tell you I was struggling. [Note: I have never had thoughts of self-harm.] I reached out to a handful of others, too. People I respect. Some responded to me. Some didn’t. But you? You said let’s talk. Before that moment, I spent a lot of time feeling debilitated by my anxiety. Debilitated by the notion that I, as the strong friend, shouldn’t need your help. I should be able to get through this on my own, I thought. There are people out there dealing with a lot more difficult situations than I, I thought.

I cycled between coffee and whiskey alone on my couch, willing a change and telling myself that this was a hurdle that I could overcome on my own.

But then, I got brave. With years of therapy I’ve come to understand that — at times — bravery has so much more to do with vulnerability than unwavering perseverance. That in order to summit a mountain you need certain tools. And if you don’t have them? Then you have to reach out for help. You owe it to yourself to do that. I looked to you for the tools that I didn’t have. And you offered yours. You listened. I cried.

Then we didn’t really talk about it again. Ever.

I want you to know why I didn’t come back for more. It took me so much effort to be honest with you the first time. I didn’t and don’t want to be an inconvenience to you. You never told me that I was. But that’s what happens, right? The little voice inside, it creeps up in that way. Maybe you thought about our conversation some more. In fact, I’m sure you did. But then, life happened. Since I don’t like to dwell, I continued trying to find ways to crawl out of this space on my own. I wondered if maybe getting it out that one time was the thing that I needed, despite still feeling lonely in my struggle. Because while identifying as strong and independent is empowering, it doesn’t make the journey to the top of the mountains we climb day in and day out any less lonely.

All of this to say: It’s bigger than just a check in. Words matter. Mine. Yours. When you’re in harmony with your relationships, it will never feel like an inconvenience to speak your truth. But there’s so much going on each and every day that sometimes, that quick text or phone call or DM or email gets pushed.

Instead of just sending a “you good?” text my way, why don’t we make a time to really catch up. One on one. And beyond that, why don’t we all commit to just being a little bit better, yeah? Kinder. Gracious. Rather than assume that we have a grip on what’s going on with our friends, family, or colleagues based on social media or word of mouth — let’s do more.

You have my word that I’ll be better about coming to you and letting my guard down. You have my word that I’ll be honest. Because strong friend or not, it’s OK to say “I’m not OK and I could really use some help.” That’s how we summit the mountain.

We’re stronger together —
Your strong friend

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A disheartening 47,511 Americans died by suicide in 2019 (source). My heart goes out to Cheslie’s friends and family, as well as all of those who have been impacted by the unexpected loss of a loved one. If you need a strong friend, you’re not alone. My email is always open, at Hello@hurdle.us.