My Unsinkable Story
Unsinkable Storytelling Author: Jennifer Elia
This Unsinkable story discusses suicide. We invite our community to read it only if it's the right time for them!
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Sometimes, in this strange alchemy, beauty and truth and courage can and do co-exist alongside our suffering and deep grief.
~ Kate Bowler, Everything Happens podcast, April 4, 2023
Jennifer Elia with her dad, Neil
February 22, 2024
From dad’s obituary:
To know Neil was to love him. He was social, curious, well-read, and warm with an easy smile and contagious laugh. Neil always took the time to get to know people, show an interest in their lives, and offer a helping hand. His superpower was his unique ability to make sure his family, friends, and acquaintances felt heard, seen, and cared for. When someone as beloved as Neil is lost, the grief ripples far and wide.
One month after writing this essay, my dear sweet dad ended his life on August 5, 2023. I am now almost six months into a deeply painful and personal grief journey, and slowly coming to terms with what it means to be a suicide survivor. In the midst of it all, I have seen the best of humanity, and I’m grateful. In the moments, days and months after his death, our family felt loved and cared for in ways that seemed to embody my dad’s spirit. This is his story, my family’s story, and my own.
July 6, 2023
This was going to be a story about my dad, and how a relapse of depression in December shrouded our family with sadness, helplessness, and even grief. It was going to be a story about the circumstances I found myself in, seeing my hardworking and humble parents struggle, while also worrying about my kids, work, and all the things that can add up to feel so heavy.
But that story is a cop out. This needs to be a story about me. A story that flies in the face of my inner script warning me not to be self-indulgent. A story that will give wings to health and healing.
That’s not to say my story isn’t shaped every hour of every day by the joys and pains of my family – because it is. We carry a mixed bag of anxiety, depression, and ADHD that often feels too heavy to lift. But I know for these words to flow, they must come from deep within my soul, as a written reflection of my own struggles and the wisdom I am working every day to gain from them.
My first experience with anxiety was at 23 years old. I had just moved to Toronto from my small town in Eastern Ontario, and I struggled to breathe. I went to a doctor and with confidence, she said it was anxiety and referred me to a psychiatrist. Looking back, I am amazed at how quickly I was able to access a specialist. I showed up as I typically do, relaxed and poised, and the psychiatrist reassured me there was not a problem. I would live with this chronic shortness of breath, and other anxiety symptoms, for the next 22 years.
Over time, I started to think of my anxiety as a gift horse. The phrase, “never look a gift horse in the mouth” means you should not find fault with a free gift. My brand of anxiety is mainly internal, although for years it would show up as heart palpitations, a deep and embarrassing flush, or a struggle to clearly articulate myself. The worst of it shows up in my most precious relationships, when my mind is hectic and rattled. Being late, forgetfulness, not being able to find something, impatience. So, what about this could be considered a gift horse?
To start with, I believe my anxiety, drive, and passion for helping others are all rolled up together. It is well established that anxiety and high performance go hand in hand, and that’s part of it too. I like to explore and experience new things, and my anxiety-fueled drive to succeed helps me stay safe when taking risks. I am curious and tend to seek problems that need solving, which brings both passion and purpose.
Most of all though, my own experiences with anxiety have honed my ability to truly and intuitively see others, with compassion and understanding. To relate with authenticity and candor, at home and at work.
Jen’s family at Ride Don’t Hide charity event
The year 2023 has dealt my family some serious blows and I am all too aware that my gift horse – anxiety – can morph into depression if not recognized and thoughtfully addressed. Seeing my parents’ retirement dreams shattered in a matter of months was hard to witness. My dad was happily riding a motorcycle with his friends just a few short months ago, as my parents were packing up their new RV to hit the road. Soon after they arrived at their first retirement destination, he sank into a deep, anxiety-fueled depression. My mom, sister and I were thrust into problem-solving mode navigating the health care system and it has been exhausting.
Splitting myself between the needs of my family, a demanding job, and long drives to visit dad in a lonely mental health clinic has pulled me down. Losing my Uncle Bill – dad’s best friend – unexpectedly in March, with dad in no state to process the loss or grieve, felt unbearable. At the same time trying to figure out my role as a parent to teenagers navigating their own challenges has messed with my heart and my identity as a mom. I have been consistently, more than ever in my life, just sad.
If a gift horse has issues, whether in its mouth or elsewhere, a smart horse-person will find ways to support healing and uncover the horse’s strengths. Anxiety is just like that for me. And thankfully, as I land squarely in middle age I have uncovered through trial and error the rituals that work for me. These practices have seen me through the past 6 months, when family pain coupled with an intense job felt almost too much to bear.
I credit these rituals with seeing me through. Maybe they can help you the way they’ve helped me:
Meditation. It is not as daunting as you may think. Download the Calm app and pick from one of 3 daily 7 to 10-minute options.
Call a friend. As much as I tend towards the verbal processing that goes with extraversion, this one doesn’t come easy for me when I’m down. But there were a couple of shaky moments these past few months when talking things through with my sister or friends helped me back to solid ground.
A good sleep routine. A hot bath, essential oils, music, and when you live with night owls, earplugs.
Therapy. This is a safe space where I can air what feels trite, dramatic, and unproductive and receive insight and ideas to move forward. It’s where my thoughts and feelings are both validated and challenged. It’s where I’m reminded that I am doing a good job navigating life, and that I am worth the investment I’m making in my own care.
Music. For most of my adult life I couldn’t really cry. As I grow, the tears flow. There is nothing like music to open the floodgates.
Cold exposure. The benefits are immense and supported by science…Google it! A cold plunge if I am near the water, or turning my shower to cold in the morning provides a mental boost that I carry all day.
Barely there alcohol use. I stumbled on this one after a respiratory virus last fall. Cutting out regular drinking, which for me was a glass of wine or two several times per week, has helped my energy and general confidence around managing my family risk of depression. Instead, when I want to wind down or have something socially, I take a micro dose of CBD oil or a CBD/THC hybrid drink. I still have the occasional glass of wine but consider it a treat not a habit.
I am committed to the fact that when it comes to my mental wellness, the work is never done. How can it be, when the very nature of life includes unexpected curveballs, and new opportunities to experience joy and healing? Here are the areas I am still working on:
Yoga and meditation every day.
Quieting the steady stream of podcasts, TV, and social media scrolling…I am addicted to the humour, information, and drama of my TikTok feed even though I know that for me, it is a distraction tactic that robs energy and attention from sitting with my feelings and doing the things I love.
Setting boundaries. Saying no. Being mindful of people pleasing. And getting over the guilt that often permeates when I put my own needs first.
Honing the practice of doing nothing and experiencing true rest.
This last one is my biggest priority right now. It is uncomfortable to say the least, but I am committed. I write this from a tiny cabin on Lake Erie. For the first time, away by myself and at peace. I am open to the discomfort of being alone with my thoughts and feelings, helped along by the rustic simplicity of the setting and the sound of the waves outside my door. I know this is where hope and healing live, and it is up to me to create the space I need.
Jen wrote the first part of her story at this cottage
I don’t know if or when my sweet dad will be himself again. Or if my mom will find peace and contentment in retirement, as a caregiver dealing with health issues of her own. But I am working on slowing down long enough to process the sadness I feel for them, and to feel gratitude for who they are and how they have shaped my life, right here and right now.
That I have gained the language and comfort speaking about mental health from years of work and study in this space would be an easy assumption. But the truth is, my voice and passion come from my parents. From my dad, I draw kindness and curiosity and humour. My confidence and can-do spirit come from my mom. Put it all together, and I have what it takes to live a good and purposeful life. My gift horse is calm and steady. She has found her stride.
* * *
A couple of days ago I called my parents to hear about dad’s psychiatric appointment. The gist of it wasn’t great as he continues to struggle. But he is home, engaging in conversation, and interested in hearing about his family. I suggested to dad that he take things one day at a time. Enjoy the feeling of the sun on his face, and the St. Lawrence River views. Be entertained by their three dogs and the new puppies playing. Know he has a good life and is so loved. I was worried about sounding preachy, and relieved when my dad said, “Well, those sound like wise words Jen.” I bounced back, “You know where I get that from!”
As I close out this essay, I want to thank Rob, Mason, and Robyn for not batting an eye about me going away for a few days and taking the dog with me. I am also deeply grateful for my friend Silken, who when hearing about my plan to retreat strongly suggested I make a plan: To do nothing. She was firm and loving in her direction when hearing about my agenda to explore, bike, hike, and paddle. Then Silken made it tangible when she called on Day 1 and challenged me to not leave the cottage. Silken, I know you have been to this place where the healing comes from the quiet, and I am grateful for your wisdom.
Jen and Silken
* * *
A final note on the power of storytelling. Writing these words is therapeutic and brings a new level of clarity that will benefit me – and my family – long after I close this laptop. But I had to be ready. Vulnerability flows when we can sit with our feelings, putting aside all the things that keep our minds and bodies busy. I believe that by reflecting on our struggles and acknowledging our progress, we can get a little closer to understanding our needs and ultimately, our purpose. At least, that’s how it is for me right now. I feel present and blessed.
Epilogue
Today, February 22, 2024, is the first time I’ve looked at this essay since July 2023. How surreal it is to consider the heartbreak that was just around the corner, as I rested and wrote at that tiny lakeside cottage. I am doing well now, staying true to my self-care rituals and pacing my healing. The rest of the family are all doing well, too. My mom is making plans for her next chapter and surrounds herself with family and friends. She’s going to church for the first time in years. My sister and I are closer than ever, tied by love and loss and the gifts we were both given by our dad. My son is on a good path, working full time, and I’m learning the delicate balance of being there and letting go. My daughter will start her own next chapter later this year, and celebrating her milestones brings us so much joy. My marriage is solid, and I have amazing friends and a loving extended family.
Looking back at what I wrote last July, I see the progress I am making as the years unfold. My gift horse is here and well, and though she rears up and tries to buck me off from time to time, she’s generally calm, content, and happy to be on the trail she’s walking.
Jennifer Elia, happy
Grief Resources
Podcasts
Everything Happens, with Kate Bowler
o Season 10, Episode 7 on complicated grief: Don’t Come Out Empty Handed with Rabbi Steve Leder
All there is, with Anderson Cooper
o Season 2, Episode 1: Facing our Grief with Francis Weller
Books (available on Indigo or Amazon)
The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief by Francis Weller
Loss: Poems to Better Weather the Many Waves of Grief by Donna Ashworth
Grief and Suicide Survivors Community Resources (all free and accessible online)
