Welcome to My Story

The same morning I received the news that my son died, I knew I would be okay if something good came from it.

I had no idea what that would be or how it would happen. I only knew it had to happen, and I would ensure that I did.

It was this attitude that connected me with the honor students and the creation of the video on this site. However, that wasn't enough, and I felt a need to do more.

Talking about Kyle came easy for me. It is by far much more difficult talking about my own suicide attempts. It took a couple of months after his death for me to mention it and even longer to become comfortable with it, and I still prefer telling Kyle's story over my own.

My story starts in the summer of 1979, before I started first grade.

My family had just moved to a very small town in south-central Illinois. My dad had just been hired as the principal of the high school, the only high school in the district, with three elementary schools. He would eventually be my high school principal.

That fall, on the first day of school, I received a new title: I was the principal's daughter.

Everyone in the community had their own idea about what that meant and their own expectations for it.

The other important factor was that I had undiagnosed and misdiagnosed ADHD, making it impossible for me to meet many of those expectations and resulting in backlash for it.

This caused my first thoughts of suicide to occur around second grade, with my first attempt in middle school.

I was so young when this happened that suicide became a "normal" brain pathway for me—the first place my thoughts go when I am stressed and overwhelmed—leading to more attempts throughout my life.

Then my son completed suicide, and I experienced my worst pain.

I understood the devastating effects of my actions on those around me in a way I never had before. That experience provided unique insights and a deeper understanding of my research.

I realized that much of the research is done from the perspective of a fishbowl—on the outside looking in.

My research was done from inside the fishbowl.

I understood the nooks and crannies that other researchers couldn't see, or even know existed.

I don't have all the fancy letters and initials after my name.

What I do have is more than 40 years of lived experience with suicidal ideation, attempts, and treatment—from multiple doctors, in multiple hospitals, across several states.

That experience has given me years of experience as a patient and a perspective that is rarely considered and often overlooked.

My story is not Kyle's story.

And Kyle's story is not mine.

But they became forever connected.

His death forced me to look at suicide from a perspective I had spent my entire life experiencing from the inside.

It made me question what we understand, what we miss, and whether there are other ways to approach suicide prevention.

That questioning became part of the journey that led to Team KYvO.

I don't believe my perspective replaces what already exists.

I believe it adds another perspective to the conversation.

There are many perspectives. Each can bring something valuable to understanding suicide and preventing it.

We don't have to agree on everything to work toward the same goal.

Give Hope a Voice so Everyone Has the Ability to Dream to Live.