The Valuable Lesson that Naomi Judd Tried to Teach Us…

I can relate…

When I first read that Naomi Judd had passed away, I was sad — not because I am a fan of country music, but rather just because I always feel inspired and happy when women are successful and achieve rewards in a society in which this is so not often the case. But, when I later read of “how” she had passed away — through suicide, I cried because I then felt compelled to go back and watch some recent videos of her speaking openly and honestly about her struggles with both depression and anxiety. She WANTED people to understand this. She WANTED people to know. She WANTED to help.

As someone who struggles with both of these — what I often refer to as: “My Twin Demons” this hits very close to home for me — almost uncomfortably so as part of my family history includes multiple suicides (*Please Note about this — NOT suicidal “attempts” but actually suicides through all traditionally known means*), as well as the aforementioned issues with depression and anxiety. It IS real. It is ALL too real, alas, unfortunately, for many of us.

Awhile back on this blog, I wrote about how one day, in early January of this year, I came very close to walking out into the middle of traffic. It was deliberate — the very real thought of doing so. I’m not going to link here to those specific posts but if anyone would like to read them, they are there to be perused.

As I watched Naomi Judd speak with great candor, courage and eloquence, I felt galvanized in a way that I haven’t felt in quite some time and it had the unintentional effect of making me fully cognizant of something in my life.

The thing is: NO ONE really knows what “might be” happening in an individuals life at any given moment…and who among us knows that perhaps a comment or an action (or both) might just possibly be the tipping point for someone who is ALREADY emotionally and mentally fragile? Think about it.

And, more importantly, who among us would be willing to take that chance?

I once had a very dear friend, whose name was Roger, kill himself.

I was 20. he was 22.

He put a gun in his mouth and blew out his brains.

His mother found him.

I was thrown into a trauma that I have never fully recovered from and, as has so often been the case with me, I wrote about it. I tried to write my way through…