Let’s Demystify The Friend-Making Process

If you’re reading this, it’s probably because you’re an open, curious human who is interested in developing real and meaningful connections with other humans (either that or you read my article on Vipassana meditation or Avicii and randomly wandered over here —welcome, get comfortable, and FYI we’re talking about adult friendships today!).

The friend-making process can be more challenging as an adult, when people can be quick to side eye you if you attempt to begin a conversation with a stranger or wonder what your motive is as you approach — Does this rando want to hit on me? Ask for money? Have me sign a petition to ban sporks?

Why is this, and what did we learn about making friends in the first place?

Let’s Rewind For A Minute (and Dig Up Embarrassing Old Pictures): Here’s My Awkward Friend-Making (and Losing) Journey To Date

I’ve outgrown a lot of friends in my life. When I was in elementary school, I thought that the best way to make new friends was to buy them things: Pencils from the pencil dispenser, Almond Joys during lunch time, and overpriced souvenirs on school field trips. It took me a long time to learn that you can’t buy friendships — and the ones that you can buy with money will leave you broke in both dollars and sense.

When I was in middle school, I thought that the best way to make new friends was… Wait. I didn’t really have any friends in middle school. I did, however, pretend to be a green-eyed white girl to catfish my crush and, after that plan went to hell, ate my lunch sitting alone in my math teacher’s classroom every day after that.

In high school, I became friends with fellow nerds. We all went to Matt Rudary’s house to have “homework parties,” which consisted of his mother bringing us red plastic baskets filled with Lays potato chips and us asking Matt how he got his answers to different physics and calculus questions and then copying then (he is now a software engineer at Google — thanks Matt!). The nerd culture was weirdly competitive, where we were lumped together by association but ultimately more frienemies than friends (anyone else who hasn’t repressed their high school memories feel me on this?).

My freshman year at the University of Michigan, I attempted to make friends by chameleon-ing into whatever whoever I was around was like. Oh, you like girls who are dumb? OMG I can barely spell! You go to church every Sunday? Sweet, Jesus is my homie! You like DMX? I love DMX! You like drinking? Sure, I’ll try it! You’re into water polo? No way, I was just about to join the coed water polo team!

For the record — I can spell, I’m spiritual not religious, I don’t like DMX, am totally not into drinking because I’m violently allergic to alcohol, and I could care less about water polo (yet spent a semester frantically splashing around attempting not to drown — water polo players are aggressive).

Long story short, bad shit went down at UMich and I transferred to Smith College for my junior and senior year.

At Smith College, I lived in Gardiner House with my fellow transfer students. We stuck together because everyone else at that point had settled comfortably into their cliques, thus forming friendships by necessity, proximity, and convenience.

I struck gold my senior year at Smith. A breakdancing expo was coming to town and I wanted to go watch the bboys break. I posted on The Daily Jolt, Smith College’s forum, asking if anyone had a video camera and wanted to go with me. One person responded. Her name was Jenny Ng, and she became my forever friend and chosen sister.

Jenny kept me alive during finals by bringing me food when I’d forgotten to eat due to cramming and last-minute paper writing. She made quality time for us to spend together, discovering each other’s quirks, interests, visions, and shared values. She challenged me to be a better version of myself while simultaneously being accepting, caring, and curious. She loved me exactly as I was. And she has for the 20+ years that have passed since then.

When I moved to Los Angeles after college, I fell in and out of different groups of friends.

I met one girl advertising on craigslist looking “to recreate SITC with 3 hot girlfriends” — the awkwardly cobbled-together crew collectively decided I’d be Miranda. I got tired of dressing up in stilettos to go the grocery store with them and peace-d out after a few weeks.

I started hanging out with a group of partiers who accepted me since my alcohol allergy resulted in my being a very reliable designated driver. Along with the alcohol flowed major drama, and at one point the group fractured because of something that someone said or did or didn’t like about someone else (pretty much how all drama works) and that was the end of that.

Another friend group was formed because we all matched in that moment, and over time we drifted apart. Just like love relationships, you can outgrow friend relationships. It isn’t good or bad, it just is — sometimes, things just don’t fit together anymore and it’s more suffering and struggling than it’s worth to try and keep it together.

After a LOT of trial and error (so very, very many errors — with important lessons in each and every one), I can say with confidence that I am grateful to have have developed some of the most extraordinary friendships with amazing humans around the world. Real friendships, with chosen family who are available for emergency calls at 3am, ready and able to call me out on my bs (and have theirs called out in kind), happy to give and receive feedback and support on dreams and passion projects, and who have beds ready for long weekend visits to San Francisco, Los Angeles, NYC, London, and beyond.

I believe that everyone is capable of developing real, meaningful, chosen-family friendships.

Which is why I sat down, broke down the process, and figured out the following steps to making amazing new friends as an adult of any age. I promise that following these steps will work whether you’re a college student, working professional in a new city, someone doing the work in your life to clear out toxic relationships and make space for healthy new friendships, or a senior hitting up your retirement home. It will take work, but it will be more than worth it. I promise.

Here’s A 6-Step Process To Making Amazing New Friends As An Adult

1. Your vibe attracts your tribe — if you’re out in the world living your best life, doing what you love, and sharing it (yoga, art, entrepreneurship, dancing, music, fashion, personal growth work, creating pretty planner spreads, improv comedy, etc.), you will attract people who are passionate about doing the same. Having shared interests is a fantastic start to meeting new friends to build community with!
2. Know and live in alignment with your values. Three qualities I am committed to embodying and require in anyone who I allow into my inner circle are: Integrity, the desire and ability to keep learning and growing, and joyful play and exploration. Get clear on what your core values are and get into alignment with them on a daily basis.
3. Be someone who you want to be friends with. Go on friend dates with yourself! Learn to like and love your own company — would you want to hang out with a clone of you? If not, what would you want to work on so you would?
4. Choose powerfully. If you let people pick you as a friend (or a partner!), then you can only choose from those who have chosen you. Your options multiply exponentially when YOU choose. If there’s someone who you’re drawn to, approach them! Reach out to them, tell them what you notice and appreciate about them, and ask them directly: “I love the way you’re living your life! I’m into [what’s resonating], too. Do you want to exchange info so we can get to know each other better as friends?” If you don’t know and ask for what you want in life, you likely won’t get it — if you know and go for it, there’s a much higher chance you will!
5. Positively contribute to your community! Provide value and recognize the value in others. Commit to leaving people and places better than you found them, each and every time. Don’t be a taker or a matcher, be a giver (with good boundaries — and keep doing the work to set better boundaries so your giving feels nourishing, not draining).
6. Follow up and follow through. Set a date and make a solid plan to meet up!

You are welcome to reach out to me if you are in need of support developing, repairing, or deepening friendships, love or romantic relationships, or healing your relationship with yourself first.

Here’s to creating real and meaningful friendships, community, connection, and love. ❤

FYI I wrote a children’s book for adults, dedicated to you! Click here to get your very own copy as a gift for yourself, for your inner child, or for a special little one in your life who you want to support and champion the dreams of.

If what you just read was helpful/interesting/entertaining, click here to join my mailing list and I’ll keep you in the loop for more!

-Ivy Kwong LMFT, BareIvy.com

Artist’s rendering (this is as good as it’s going to get since all photographic evidence from this era has been destroyed):

Actual pre-perm photos, so you can get a general idea of the extreme awkwardness that ensued:

I was a lonely kid.

Ultra geeky and extremely shy, I begged my mom for a perm since all the popular girls were doing it and looking ah-MAY-zing, a’la Jessie Spano in Saved By The Bell. Maybe a perm was the magic solution to make everything better: Instant volume and instant friends!

As my nostrils stung from the stench of chemicals and my scalp burned from sloppy application of the solution (we saved money by seeing a hairdresser who worked out of her basement and perm-ed me for only $30 — bargain basement indeed), I prayed that I would emerge from the curlers with full, luscious, wavy locks (and if I unexpectedly changed from Chinese to Caucasian in the process, that’d be okay too — maybe then the “ching chong ding dong,” “you eat dogs!”, and incessant direct and indirect racism/ignorance from kids and grown-ass adults would come to an end).

It was rough growing up as a minority in the Midwest. Especially when you are an awkward Asian trapezoid-headed nerd with a crush on the popular blonde-haired, green-eyed star of the wrestling team.

His name was Jimmy Fletcher (name has been changed to protect privacy and confidentiality), and he was beautiful.

He was also a total asshole to me.

To be fair, he was an equal opportunity asshole to almost everyone who wasn’t in the Cool Kids Clique.

I admired him from afar, dreaming of the day I would have my Tai from Clueless or Alison from The Breakfast Club moment.

It never happened, so I got impatient.

And creative.

Before swiping and Invisalign, there was *67.

When you dial *67 before dialing someone’s phone number, the recipient of your call can’t see who’s calling. Ideal for prank calls made during Truth or Dare sleepovers.

And the perfect way to catfish a cute wrestling crush.

To this day, I’m still not sure why I did it. Maybe it was in the middle of an especially dull stretch of homework. Maybe it was an “oh well, what the hell” impulsive instinct to connect. Maybe my daydream accidentally manifested itself into real life, looking up his name in the school phone directory and picking up the phone and dialing *67 and then his number and…

“Hello?”

It was him. His unmistakable, angelic asshole voice.

“Hi. Is this Jimmy?”

“Yeah, it’s Jimmy. Who’s this?”

Uh-oh.

“This is… Stephanie.” Stephanie??!!

“Stephanie who?”

“Stephanie… Jones. I go to another school.” Another school?? “I was at your last wrestling match since I was there watching my brother and I saw you there. I thought you were cute so I asked some friends for your number.”

A pause. “Really? What do you look like?”

Oh, Jimmy. Asking all the important questions.

“I… um… have long strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. Sometimes they’re a little blue. I’m 5'1” and 90 pounds. I have some freckles.” Freckles??!!!

“Wow. You sound really pretty.”

“Thanks. You too.” You too??!?!?! I was officially dying inside, but Jimmy didn’t notice, already caught up in the fantasy of a strawberry blonde dreamgirl from another school thinking he was cute.

Down the rabbit hole I went.

I *67-called him again the next day. And the next. And the next.

Eventually we moved on from hair and eye color to what we wanted to be when we grew up (Olympic gymnast/police officer), subjects we liked/hated (English, Art, and PE/Math), and things we liked to do (read/skateboard).

He asked me if I would meet him at the local McDonald’s on Walton Blvd. I said no, because I had cheerleading practice. Or tutoring. Or something else. Anything else.

Sometimes we talked about not liking our parents.

Sometimes we talked about when we felt scared.

Sad.

Angry.

Alone.

I told him about the time two years ago when I was ten years old and went downstairs into the kitchen and took a knife out of the drawer and looked at it and thought about cutting my wrists because I didn’t want to be hit or screamed at for being a stupid idiot anymore.

He told me about a time he thought about dying, too. And about times when he felt angry. He felt angry a lot.

He told me things that he’d never shared with anyone before. I shared things with him about me — not Stephanie — that I’d never shared with anyone before.

He wasn’t an asshole anymore. He was a human. Thoughtful. Kind. Caring. Curious. Interested in me/Stephanie. Nobody had ever been interested in me before. I loved him as much as my middle school-aged heart was able to love anyone.

He seemed to like me, too… at least the imaginary me with green-and-sometimes-blue-eyes.

The Day It All Went Down In Flames

One day several weeks into our daily phone dates, I forgot to dial *67.

My number showed up on his Caller ID, and later that night he called me back. I picked up the phone in my room as my mom picked up the phone in the kitchen and sat frozen and helpless as the following exchange went down:

“Hello?” asked my mom, in her heavy Chinese accent.

“Hi, Mrs. Jones? Is Stephanie there?”

“Who?”

“Stephanie.”

“Jones? Stephanie?”

“Um, your daughter Stephanie?”

“My daughter — Ivy?”

“Uh, Ivy?”

“No Stephanie. Just Ivy. Ivy Kwong.”

A long pause. And then… click.

I could hear my mom shrugging on the other line as she hung up the phone.

The dial tone hummed from the receiver in my hand.

No Stephanie.

Just Ivy.

My twelve-year-old heart broke, shattering the fantasy that I would ever wear Jimmy Fletcher’s junior varsity wrestling jacket and destroying the illusion that I might be liked, wanted, or accepted for who I really was.

The Next Day At School

I didn’t have any morning classes with Jimmy, so the first time I might see him would be a chance encounter in the hallway or walking through the cafeteria at lunch.

I managed to avoid him until lunchtime.

He was sitting on a long rectangular lunch table. Pointing at me. Laughing with his Cool Kids Clique friends who jeered, “Hi Stephanie!” “Hey, Stephanie Jones!” “What a loser!” “Weirdo.” “Psycho!” “Stalker!”

I kept my head down and my eyes superglued to the ground as I grabbed my styrofoam lunch tray and headed straight for my math teacher’s class. He opened it up to any outcasts who wanted to eat there instead of the cafeteria, pretending to get math help in exchange for a place to hide.

I ate my lunch in that math class every single day for the rest of the year, trying to put the pieces of my heart back together again.

Why Share This Story Now?

Over the years, I randomly thought of Jimmy. From time to time, I wondered how he was doing. If he ever moved out of Rochester Hills, Michigan. If he ever became a police officer. If he had someone to talk to when he felt scared.

Sad.

Angry.

Alone.

A few days ago, I received a FaceBook notification that tickets were available for my high school reunion.

I clicked the link and noticed the last sentence of the event description:

Any funds not used for the event will be donated back to Adams High School in the names of our classmates who are no longer with us.

Jimmy Fletcher. No longer with us.

It had never crossed my mind to search for “Jimmy Fletcher obituary.”

With trembling fingers, I did.

He died less than a month after his 24th birthday.

No other information exists about him online. No photos. No details.

All that remains of Jimmy Fletcher is an empty obituary page on the internet.

And my memories of him.

Those middle school phone calls, when I made him laugh and he made me smile.

The long after school talks, when he heard and comforted me and I heard and comforted him.

Strange and precious moments forever captured in time, when the veil dropped and we were able to share our hearts and hopes.

Through a phone and strawberry blonde-haired filter, we saw and recognized parts of each other’s real selves. At twelve and thirteen years old.

Eleven years after our phone calls, Jimmy would be dead.

As I was driving to my yoga class yesterday morning, I unexpectedly burst into tears on the I-90.

For Jimmy.

For me.

For all of the middle school kids out there who feel scared. Sad. Angry. Alone.

For all of the adults who have a scared, sad, angry, and lonely middle school kid inside of them.

For all of the pain and suffering that we cause each other. That we inflict upon ourselves. That we get stuck and lost in.

How do we heal each other and ourselves?

The most important human need is not to love. We can love someone but not like them very much.

The most important human need is to be seen. Understood. Accepted. Embraced in all of our imperfections and ugliness. Loved in all of our insecurities and fears. To be heard in our moments of greatest vulnerability and to be responded to with compassion, with kindness, and with love.

I guess love is important after all. But not the conditional, strings attached, if-then kind of love. We need the unconditional, no strings attached, no-matter-what kind of love.

For a few weeks back in 1993, I saw Jimmy. And he saw me, the raw and real me who the shell of Stephanie couldn’t contain. We were lonely, hurting middle school kids who just needed someone to notice us. To feel kindness. To know there was someone out there who cared.

The things that children say to each other can be cruel. I know that mocking insults, jeers, and careless mean remarks hurled my way all those years ago got stuck like barbs in my soul and psyche. It took a long time to remove them. Sometimes things happen that reopen and sting old wounds.

Some of my high school classmates now have children in elementary and middle school. If you’re a parent, I hope that you can take a moment to ask your child how they’re doing. How they’re feeling. What they need from you. And just listen.

If you’re not a parent, I hope that you can take a moment to ask your inner child how they’re doing. How they’re feeling. What they need from you. And just listen.

Please teach your kids to be kind. You can do this by being kind. Talk instead of scream. Forgive instead of punish. Hug instead of hit. Listen instead of lecture. Help instead of hurt. Teach and model inclusion instead of exclusion. Reach out to those who are different from you.

I’m sorry I catfished you, Jimmy. I wish I had been brave enough to walk up to you in person to tell you how I felt. I wish I’d known my worth then, and had the courage to speak the truth:

You are worthy of being seen and heard. You are precious and loved. You are enough, exactly as you are right now.

If you’re reading this, read that last paragraph again. Because you are.

If reading this made you think, feel, or somehow connect with your aliveness, click here and I’ll keep you in the loop for more.

Sometimes things happen in the past that prevent us from being able to move on and truly, fully, deeply live. If you’re ready to heal the past in order to be in the present and create a more vibrant future, reach out and send me a message or request a complimentary 30-minute call. We’re not meant to walk this journey alone. Let’s talk. -Ivy Kwong LMFT, BareIvy.com

The first time I heard Avicii was seven years ago. In the shower. I remember feeling the water, then the music. It hit me with a rush, filling up my body with every beat, pulsing inside me to the point where I couldn’t distinguish between the rhythm and my own heartbeat.

I began dancing on the slippery wet white porcelain, not caring if I slipped and fell. My body had to MOVE, caution be damned:

That’s what inspired music does. It makes you fucking FEEL something. In the din and drudgery of day-to-day life, amidst the struggles and suffering, uncertainty and unknowns, music makes you feel. Connected to yourself, connected to others, connected to Life and to Spirit and this whole goddamn gorgeous, uncontrollable, inexplicable universe.

At some point, this creator of music struggled with his own connection and his own relationship with Life. At some point, maybe you have too.

This is an in-depth look at Avicii’s life, death, and search for meaning as we all continue the search for and creation of our own.

The Life of The Boy Who Became Avicii

Growing up, Tim Bergling was a timid kid whose acne outbreaks made him even more shy and withdrawn. As both an introvert and an empath, he was terrified to speak in front of people, extremely sensitive, and ultimately discovered an outlet for expression, feeling, and connection in a way that felt good and made sense through music.

When he was a 16-year-old high school sophomore, Tim began making remixes in his family home in Stockholm, Sweden. Safely shielded behind a screen name where nobody would judge him by his age or his complexion, he began sharing his mixes in electronic dance music forums.

Two years later, a manager stumbled across one of his postings online. Struck by the raw talent, he invited the 18-year-old out to coffee. Tim had no clue about the business and just wanted to have the chance to DJ in a club instead of his bedroom, but his new manager had a bigger vision in mind for him.

An interview with teenage Tim Bergling:

“Bromance” blew up in 2010, followed by “LE7ELS” in 2011:

Less than a year after that, Avicii was onstage alongside Madonna.

The kid who began by messing around with music in his teenage bedroom “hoping to have a chance to play a gig in a real club,” whose first-ever gig as a DJ was playing to forty students at a high school prom, was now, five years later, commanding $250,000 and up for one night of work to perform in front of thousands. In 2013, he generated $20 million in earnings, followed by $28 million in 2014. His talent was unique, his gifts undeniable.

He couldn’t say “no.”

With immense success came immense stress, pressure, and overwhelm. Avicii may have been invincible onstage, but Tim Bergling didn’t know how to say “no.” He didn’t know how to say “no” to pushy promoters who wanted him to keep touring past the point of exhaustion.

“When I started touring I was eighteen years old. I was straight out of high school, I had shows every single day. I completely overdid it.” -Avicii

He didn’t know how to say “no” to the drinks that were shoved into his hands, to the people, to the partying, to the lifestyle.

“I looked at myself like, “Fuck, you should’ve really stood up for yourself more there. Come on, Tim!” Why didn’t I stop the ship earlier?” -Avicii

All he wanted to do was make music, but everyone wanted a piece of him to break off and keep for themselves. Wanting to please, wanting to be accepted, and wanting to fit into an industry that pushes hard and promotes more, more, more, Tim kept saying “yes, yes, yes.”

The problem is, too much of anything will drown you.

“It’s very easy to become too attached to partying. You become lonely and get anxieties. It becomes toxic.” -Avicii

The signs began, softly at first, as they always do. If you ignore them, they become louder. They whisper, they speak, they shout, and finally, they scream.

January 2012, Age 22: Avicii Hospitalized in New York for 11 Days

Tim is hospitalized in New York City with acute pancreatitis, a consequence of heavy drinking. He remains in the hospital for 11 days.

March 2013, Age 23: Avicii Hospitalized in Australia

Tim is hospitalized again for similar symptoms while on tour in Australia. Doctors urge him to have his gallbladder removed, but he declines.

March 28, 2014, Age 24: Avicii Hospitalized in Miami

Tim is scheduled to be the headliner at the Ultra music festival in Miami. One day before what would have been his third performance in a row, he is again hospitalized with excruciating pain, fever, nausea, and other symptoms of acute pancreatitis. In the hospital, he learns that not only had his acute pancreatitis returned, but his appendix has burst. Both his gall bladder and his appendix have to be removed. Months of scheduled events are canceled so he can recover.

Ominous Foreshadowing

Five years earlier, Avicii released the song “Alcoholic” with the darkly, unapologetically aware lyrics, “Call it what you wanna call it, I’m a fucking alcoholic.”

The Miami hospitalization was a screaming sign, demanding attention after so many subtler ones were ignored: It’s time to do something different, or else you’re going to die.

“I’m happy I got that hospital visit now, ’cause if not I probably would have still kept going and in a year or two years probably something way worse could have happened. Something that’s irreversible. This is not irreversible at all. It was just kind of a wake-up call.” -Avicii

In 2016, in a dramatic move hearing and heeding the loudest wake-up call, Avicii unexpectedly announced that he was going to retire from all live tours. Excerpts from his retirement letter are as follows:

Hello world,

Thank you for letting me fulfill so many of my dreams. I will be forever grateful to have experienced and accomplished all that I have with the help of the team around me and my beloved fans.

Thank you to every fan who has ever bought a ticket or snuck in, bought a song or downloaded it, commented on posts or hated at them. Its your thoughts and ideas about the music that helped me evolve and I do owe everything I have to you.

My path has been filled with success but it hasn’t come without its bumps. I’ve become an adult while growing as an artist, I’ve come to know myself better and realize that there’s so much I want to do with my life. I have strong interests in different areas but there’s so little time to explore them.

Two weeks ago, I took the time to drive across the U.S. with my friends and team, to just look and see and think about things in a new way. It really helped me realize that I needed to make the change that I’d been struggling with for a while.

My choices and career have never been driven by material things, although I’m grateful for all the opportunities and comforts my success has availed me. I know I am blessed to be able to travel all around the world and perform, but I have too little left for the life of a real person behind the artist.

I will never let go of music — I will continue to speak to my fans through it, but I’ve decided this 2016 run will be my last tour and last shows. Let’s make them go out with a bang!

One part of me can never say never, I could be back …but I won’t be right back.

Tim Bergling/Avicii

“I have too little left for the life of a real person behind the artist.” -Tim Bergling/Avicii

And with that, Tim took drastic action with a bold attempt to save and reclaim his own life. He slowed his ass down from a whirlwind of airports, Red Bull, shows, drinks, and airport food to an entirely different pace sprinkled with animals, friends, adventures in nature, and plenty of studio time, documented on his Instagram.

After his last live show, Tim headed to Africa to celebrate his 27th birthday:

And onward to reminiscing about quality time with his parents, reading, and mastering Monopoly on an island:

From the islands, returning to his home in Los Angeles, to his beloved pup Liam, a day out riding rollercoasters, and making music:

“If you don’t like the road you’re walking, start paving another one.” -Avicii, quoting Dolly Parton

Tim’s 2017 unfolded with quiet Fridays in, flea market shopping, and more music-making:

After posting a tribute to his mother Anki Lidén for Mother’s Day, he celebrated Midsummer in Sweden with friends:

From Sweden, he flew onward to Peru to undergo a plant medicine journey in the Amazonian jungle:

Tim and his crew began their medicine journey with Kambo, also known as Sapo, during which poison is gently collected from an Amazonian tree frog and placed into small burned holes in the skin by a shaman — it is used for purging toxins, negative energy, and negative experiences from your body:

“To me it was something I had to do for my health (decision to quit touring). The scene was not for me. It was not the shows and not the music. It was always the other stuff surrounding it that never came naturally to me. I’m more of an introverted person in general. It was always very hard for me. I took on board too much negative energy, I think.” -Avicii

Kambo is sometimes done before an Ayahuasca plant medicine ceremony. Ayahuasca, also known as “Mama Aya,” is often sought out as a psychological or spiritually healing treatment:

While in Peru, Tim connected with furry new animal friends in the Amazon before flying back to LA to release his new EP including “Lonely Together:”

“I just feel happy. I feel free at this point. Like I have my private life back and focusing on myself for the first time in a long time. So far it has paid off tremendously in terms of well-being for me. I’m happier than I have been in a very, very long time. Stress-free more than I have been in a very long time. I can’t say I’m never going to have a show again. I just don’t think I’m going to go back to the touring life.” -Avicii

After the successful launch of his EP, Tim headed into the desert to Black Rock City just after his 28th birthday for Burning Man — not as a scheduled DJ in a camp’s lineup, but as an attendee:

He wrapped up 2017 camping in nature, “being home” in the studio, and with friends, wishing everyone a happy new year:

“The best days are yet to come.” -Avicii

Tim kicked off 2018 with quality time cuddling and hiking with his pup Liam:

And creating, mixing, and collaborating in “Studiomode:”

Tim’s last post on Instagram was taken as he walked across the watery steps of his home in the Hollywood Hills:

On April 14, a fan shared the following photo taken at the Muscat Hills Resort in Muscat, Oman:

On April 19, the last known photo of Tim Bergling was taken aboard a yacht off the Muscat coast:

The next day, he was dead.

“It is with profound sorrow that we announce the loss of Tim Bergling, also known as Avicii. He was found dead in Muscat, Oman this Friday afternoon local time, April 20th. The family is devastated and we ask everyone to please respect their need for privacy in this difficult time. No further statements will be given.” -Avicii’s management

The Cause of Avicii’s Death

Tim Bergling’s family released the following message on April 26, 2018. A cause is not confirmed, although it is heartbreakingly insinuated:

“Stockholm, 26 April 2018

Our beloved Tim was a seeker, a fragile artistic soul searching for answers to existential questions.

An over-achieving perfectionist who travelled and worked hard at a pace that led to extreme stress.

When he stopped touring, he wanted to find a balance in life to be happy and be able to do what he loved most — music.

He really struggled with thoughts about Meaning, Life, Happiness.

He could not go on any longer.

He wanted to find peace.

Tim was not made for the business machine he found himself in; he was a sensitive guy who loved his fans but shunned the spotlight.

Tim, you will forever be loved and sadly missed.

The person you were and your music will keep your memory alive.

We love you,

Your family”

What Happened?

Our minds grasp for an explanation, for something it can latch onto to try and make sense of the senseless. We want to know the cause of his death so that we can have some sense of closure, understanding, and completion. As if knowing could fill the gaping void in the hearts of so many who were touched by his talent and moved by his music.

By fixating on what did or didn’t happen, we distract and distance ourselves from feeling and facing what did happen: Tim Bergling, the brilliant young artist who felt so deeply, whose happiest place was creating music from the powerful, healing, bliss-and-wonder-filled depths he was gifted direct access to, who helped us to find and feel those depths within ourselves, is gone.

He was 28 when he died. A shy Swedish boy thrust suddenly into the spotlight, unsure of who he was outside of his home of making music and told by the industry what he had to be in order to stay in it.

Avicii was a Black Star — an astronomical term for a star that shines so brightly, it burns out and dies, leaving its mass behind.

Ultimately, it is not about how he died. It is about how he lived, why it matters, and what we can do about it.

It is important to feel what you feel, which is what his music and his life were decided to — from joy to pain, grief, confusion, anger, fear, gratitude, longing, love. Feel it all, because you can.

Now you have a glimpse of how he lived, which is more important to remember than how he died. How in the last two years of his life, he tried hard to come back home to himself after being lost for too long.

Tim Bergling/Avicii spent his short 28 years on this earth following his truest calling— to make music from a place of curiosity, inspiration, playfulness, and joy— getting lost along the way with all that wasn’t who and what he was, and committing to finding his way back home again, with detours and wanderings along the journey.

So what’s the point?

The point is, we are all here to find and follow our callings as they show up and evolve. To hear and to honor the undeniable call to action to be, to live, to feel, to connect, to create — to tap into the collective consciousness generated through music and art and to wake the fuck up in our own lives when it comes to the preciousness of the limited time that we have here on this planet.

Waking up with breath is a gift.

With living comes a responsibility to tap into your own greatness, your own gifts, and your own Hero.

With living comes a responsibility to save your own life by whatever means possible.

With living comes a responsibility to have the courage to realize when you are off track and to summon the strength to get back onto your path, again and again and again.

With living comes a responsibility to reach out to others, because we are not meant to walk this path alone. A trusted family member. A therapist. A friend.

“Do you ever get the chance to be just Tim?”

“I don’t think I’ve had the chance to really sit back and look at what’s happened. It doesn’t feel real.” -Tim Bergling

You have time now, Tim. It’s a new dawn. It’s a new day. It’s a new life.

For you, and for us.

If reading this made you think, feel, or somehow connect with your aliveness, click here and I’ll keep you in the loop for more.

My first book is available now! You can check it out here (for the record, it’s dedicated to you ❤ ).

P.S. You can reach out to me anytime— as a therapist who has worked with artists, celebrities, musicians, athletes, politicians, execs, and people who are struggling with meaning/purpose, behavioral and/or chemical addictions, the pressure to be someone they are not, or the stress of having to keep it all together but are secretly falling apart inside because they’ve lost their way, I can help. Let’s connect and get you back in alignment with your heart and on your path home to your truest self. -Ivy Kwong LMFT, BareIvy.com

My father is a traditional Chinese man.

He grunts in response to “I love you.” He “doesn’t understand emotions” (his words, not mine) and he processes information like a computer. As a former mechanical engineer and self-taught software developer, he literally thinks in 1’s and 0’s. Right. Wrong. Good. Bad. Acceptable. Unacceptable.

I can’t remember him ever hugging me, although I can remember sitting next to him on the couch once when I was eight years old. He was eating a Dove ice cream bar, watching the Pistons play the Bulls.

My little body was shaking with anxiety and excitement, overwhelmed with the thrill of sitting so close to him for so long without him shooing me away for bothering or distracting him. My little heart pounded as I wished hard for him to reach over and give me a hug, or maybe just a simple pat on my pigtailed head.

Instead, he glanced over during a commercial break ($5 for a Little Ceasars Pizza, Pizza!) at my nervous/joyful shivering. He interpreted it literally. “You’re cold. Go and get a blanket.”

That was a happy moment.

There were more less-than-happy moments, many filled with rage. Tense evenings spent tiptoeing over eggshells, unsure of what mood he would be in when he came home, uncertain of what might trigger an explosion. A firestorm of verbal bashing, barbs, and insults. A hand. A hanger. The hard end of a feather duster.

Over the years, I worked on acceptance and forgiveness. But there is one incident that stands out that I’ve had a really, really hard time letting go of.

It was the day I graduated from USC with my Masters in Marriage & Family Therapy. I’d worked hard to pay my way through grad school and I was proud and excited to walk across the stage with my family cheering me on.

Things didn’t quite work out as planned.

As I was driving my family to campus for my graduation, already wearing my cap and gown, my father sat in the passenger seat of the car, his face cold and angry.

He called me a “stupid idiot” for not having chosen a “smarter, more useful” career path and a “dumb loser” for not having a six-figure paying job lined up and ready for me to begin fresh out of grad school. He yelled that I was a “waste,” that he was ashamed to have me as a daughter, and that he wanted nothing to do with me or my graduation. He announced that he was disappointed in me, and shouted that I would never amount to anything.

My mom and sisters sat still as stone in the back seat, deathly quiet.

I parked the car upon reaching campus and ran off blindly, tears streaming down my face. More than anything, I wanted to make my father proud. I wanted his acceptance. Support. Validation. Kindness. Love.

And once again, today of all days, his anger took over. I accepted my diploma with a heavy heart.

Afterwards, I discovered my dad had taken a taxi back to the hotel with my mom. He hadn’t even stuck around to see me walk across the stage.

I took my sisters to the beach, trying to make the day a happy one. I splurged and bought myself a t-shirt. This was my graduation present to myself.

It was a Peanuts shirt with Lucy sitting in her homemade booth with a sign above it that read: “Psychiatric Help: 5-cents.”

My dad never spoke of that day again. And I didn’t bring it up, either.

Resentment, bitterness, and anger brewed inside of me for a long time. Even as an adult, it wasn’t safe to express my anger towards my father (his response would be immediate — to out-rage me, and he would always win, even if it meant destroying us both). So I turned my anger inward. I self-sabotaged. I made dumb, stupid decisions, many that hurt myself, to prove my father right in some self-righteous, super fucked-up way. I picked partners who were like him — emotionally cold, unavailable, and angry. If I couldn’t change my father, maybe I could change them. I tried to fix them, hoping that if I could help make them happy and better, maybe one day they would be able to help and fix me.

That never happened.

Finally, I stopped trying to fix everyone else and started to work on myself.

I deep dove into the world of therapy and personal development in order to save my own life and sanity. I learned how to feel and express anger in a healthy, non-destructive way. I titrated down the self-sabotaging and bad decisions. I took nine months off from all dating, sex, and relationships (that’s a story for another time) in order to go into a cocoon, completely dissolving myself and all that I thought I knew I was, and building myself into something different from a blueprint of Truth, based on love. For myself first, and only then for others — including my father.

Through this work, I imagined my dad not as an overworked and raging adult, but as a young boy growing up during the Depression in Hong Kong, his mother the third of three wives, lowest on the totem pole, barely ever seeing his father. He slept on a wooden bookshelf nailed to the wall, stuffed into a studio apartment with two other families. A bucket for human waste was next to the single hot plate for cooking. In order to make ends meet, his mother worked as a janitor in a fast food joint and as that lady in a club bathroom who gives you a towel and hopes for a tip.

Not only did he go without hugs, but he went days without food. His favorite toy was an empty medicine bottle that he would go to the water to refill over and dump out, over and over again.

His mother screamed at him, yelled at him, hit him, and hoped that her shrill attacks would motivate him to do better and to be better. So maybe he would have a better life than the one that she could provide for him. And so he screamed at me and yelled at me, repeating what he’d learned was love.

My father didn’t love me the way that I wanted him to love me, but he loved me the best way he knew how.

He gave me all that he could. His maximum capacity for care. More than his own father or mother were able to love him. And I could choose to resent him for it, want him to be different, wish for something more… or I could accept it. I could choose to reject him and what I judged to be not enough, or I could receive it with honor, with appreciation, and with gratitude, knowing that he loved me the very best way he knew how. And I could choose for that to be enough.

I chose acceptance. And forgiveness, for both of us not knowing better for all those years.

And in that moment, the resentment weakened. The bitterness began to dissolve. And the anger shifted into sadness. For me as a trembling little girl, and for him as a lonely little boy who was never hugged by his parents. A little boy who maybe secretly wished for a hug or word of kindness from his angry mom, his absent dad. And in their passing, a little boy who would never have the chance to hope for one again.

We can choose to repeat a cycle of suffering, or we can choose to change it.

Today, during a quiet moment alone with my father at the breakfast table, I told him that I wanted to forgive him for what happened on my graduation day. That I love him, and that I am grateful for him and all that he sacrificed for our family. That I am happy as a therapist, with my chosen lifestyle, and with who I am now. That I accept him, exactly as he is now and as he has always been. Tears welled up and rolled down my cheeks.

He looked at me quietly, without emotion. Then he said, in his logical dad voice:

“That graduation day was different for you than it was for me. Let me explain.

There is a part of you that is a dragon. You were always the best at school. Smart, good at tests, academics always easy for you.

So that day, I was angry. Angry because you weren’t using your smart dragon to make money with a good job. Angry because you had gone to three elite universities with nothing to show for it, just traveling and wasting time that way. I was angry because I always knew you could be a good doctor or lawyer, but you didn’t use the smart dragon to do that.

Now I see that you value different things. Happiness instead of a stable job with a stable paycheck. Traveling instead of consistency. I don’t understand what is in your head but maybe I understand better who you are.

And maybe it is more important for my daughters to be happy. If you are successful as a lawyer but not happy, then that is no good. Now after all these years, I start to see. As long as you are happy and safe, then maybe that is okay.”

Those words may not mean much to others, but they meant everything to me.

The moment I was able to see my father, not as I wished he was, but as he is, he began to see me. Not as he wishes me to be, but as I am.

I cried and gave him a hug. He awkwardly patted my back in return. Then he thoughtfully said, “This is a good lesson that I’ve learned. I think I will share it with people at my Chinese church.”

He stood up from the table, clasped his hands behind his back, and began walking away. Then, he turned around.

“You are still the dragon for your little sisters. You must watch out for them, help them, love them, and take care of them. Since Mom and I won’t be around forever. You are the oldest, so you must always be this dragon for your sisters.”

I promised through my tears. “I will, Dad.”

He walked away, nodding slightly.

And with that, a huge weight lifted off of my chest. When I saw, loved, and accepted my father as he is, he began to see and accept me as I am.

And so it is.

I’m in no way guaranteeing this is what will happen if you do the work. And you 100% need to go through the “Fuck You” in order to get to the “Forgive You.”

That being said, strange and wonderful things may begin to happen as you do the work to forgive, heal, and learn to love yourself, first.

Then and only then will you be able to forgive and truly, freely love others. And even if you don’t get the exact results that you want outside of yourself, you’ll finally have freedom inside of yourself. Joy. And deep, unshakable peace.

The work isn’t easy, but it’s hands down the most important work you will ever do in this lifetime.

If reading this made you think, feel, or somehow connect with your aliveness, click here and I’ll keep you in the loop for more.

My first book is available now! You can check it out here (for the record, it’s dedicated to you ❤ ).

Are you done self-sabotaging? Are you committed to ending a cycle of suffering? If you’re ready to do the work, reach out and send me a message, or request a complimentary 30-minute call. We’re not meant to walk this journey alone. Reach out and let’s do this. -Ivy Kwong LMFT, BareIvy.com

My slow spiral into insanity and inner peace

No talking. No phones or technology. No yoga pants. No working out. No music. No reading. No writing. No killing (even spiders!). No stealing. No masturbating. No sex. No lying. No drugs or alcohol. No moving during “sittings of strong determination.”

The morning gong rings at 4 a.m. sharp to rouse everyone for the opening 4:30–6:30 a.m. meditation session. The first two of 10 1/2 total hours of meditation scheduled every single day. For 10 days straight.

I am officially in Meditation Prison.

How did I end up here?

In a questionable moment of sanity, I decided to book a 10-day silent Vipassana meditation retreat for my birthday. I had no idea what I was in for. Without bothering to do much research beforehand, I figured it’d be nice to disconnect and take a break from technology and social media, relax, and do some yoga and meditation. On a good week, I average about 20 minutes of meditation every few days, so this seemed like a solid way to try and practice it more regularly.

When I looked for payment options on the mysterious website Dhamma.org — complete with a spinning wagon wheel graphic that looked like it was downloaded directly from a GeoCities website in 1998— there was none to be found. What was this madness? What kind of place gives you a bed, three meals a day, and daily meditation instruction for nearly two weeks without requiring a significant chunk of change in return? Was I being lured into an international organ harvesting organization cleverly using the guise of a retreat to find deep inner peace as their cover? Was this some sort of Satanic cult? Do Satanists even meditate?

I had questions.

Digging deeper, I discovered that all of the meditation courses offered via the site are 100 percent donation-based. They won’t accept any money up front, but you can offer a donation after successful completion of one of their programs.

It seemed too good to be true. What was the catch?

I was about to find out.

I was accepted for a 10-day course at the Northwest Vipassana Center located in Onalaska, Washington. On my scheduled day of arrival I road-tripped down from Seattle, grabbed my suitcase (complete with clothes, toiletries, pillow, a sheet for a twin-sized bed, and blankets) — and nervously stepped into the simple, single-story building. It kind of felt like I was starting my freshman year of college all over again.

Immediately upon entering the registration area, I was given paperwork to fill out and a cloth bag into which I was to relinquish my cell phone. The last text that I received was from my father:

“Mom and I suspect this is a cult. If you feel something is out of line just leave right away.”

Thanks for calming my nerves, Dad.

The cloth bag was numbered, and taken away while I was assured it’d be returned on the last day. I sat down to read over the paperwork, preparing to sign away my life:

While agreeing to all the terms and conditions, I noticed that the men who arrived were sent to residential quarters on the far side of the campus and also had a separate dining area. Division of men and women was required at all times.

After my paperwork was squared away, I was assigned to room 10, spot B. No room key. Just go.

I gathered my things and found my room.

The interior was clean, basic, and very college freshman dorm-esque.

I met my roommate briefly and we agreed to keep the temperature a little cooler at night. That was the first and only conversation we’d have for nearly two weeks. It was time for our first “practice” hour of meditation in the meditation hall.

First, everyone selected an assortment of pillows and props from the prop area. If you do this retreat, I highly recommend taking everything that you need immediately and keeping it at your assigned spot, because everything will be completely gone by the second day and you will be left wishing you’d taken an extra pillow to sit on or a set of blocks to prop up your knees with:

Men on the left, women on the right. We filed in through separate entrances, officially beginning our “Noble Silence” in the meditation hall. From the Code of Discipline section of the introductory pamphlet:

All students must observe Noble Silence from the beginning of the course until the morning of the last full day. Noble Silence means silence of body, speech, and mind. Any form of communication with fellow students, whether by gestures, sign language, written notes, etc. is prohibited. Students should cultivate the feeling that they are working in isolation.

My inner introvert was secretly relieved. No forced small talk? Phew.

Little did I know that in less than 48 hours, this feeling would completely change and I would have stolen an entire Halloween pumpkin bucket of full-size candy bars from a small child just to hear another human being’s voice again.

We were welcomed by our teachers: a woman named Tina in her 70s who sat in front atop a stool and a guy with a brown beard who looked to be in his late 30s or early 40s resting cross-legged on a pillow.

As everyone settled down, I was suddenly shocked by the blasting of an elderly Indian gentleman’s voice over the meditation hall speakers. Though he was extremely passionate and seemingly well-intentioned in his delivery, he also sounded — very unfortunately — like a groaning goat either giving birth, or dying, maybe both. If you’d like to experience it for yourself, go ahead and give this a listen.

After the unexpected chanting faded away, we were instructed by the same voice to focus on our breath. Feel the breath moving in and out of your nose. Feel the sensation caused by your breath in that small triangular area between your nostrils and upper lip. Focus all of your attention here, in this small spot.

For an hour, we breathed and meditated together. I finished feeling strong. This was going to be totally doable.

At 9 p.m., we were dismissed back to our rooms to shower and rest. My bedtime is normally much later (i.e. I’m writing this at 2:06 a.m.) but upon reviewing the posted daily schedule and seeing I was going to be woken up at 4 a.m. each morning, I tried my best to knock out. It didn’t work, so Day 0 passed with barely any sleep.

Day 1: Attempting to Herd Cats in My Brain

The morning gong rang at 4 a.m. sharp, as scheduled. I groggily tumbled out of bed and somehow made it to my meditation mat. Swaying from side to side from lack of sleep, I survived the first two hours in a semi-conscious state.

Breakfast followed from 6:30–8 a.m. We were offered an assortment of bread for toasting (raisin, whole grain, 7-grain, and gluten-free rice bread), a giant vat of oatmeal, some strange boiled fruit in syrup to pour over the oatmeal (raisins, plums, and dates?), a Costco-sized bucket of plain yogurt, granola, and two big silver bowls overflowing with bananas, apples, and oranges. Unsurprisingly, the tea and coffee station proved to be very popular:

Everyone was very polite, waiting patiently in line while being very careful not to make direct eye contact.

I slathered two pieces of slightly burnt raisin bread toast with real butter (not the dairy-free option or anything from the tubs of tahini, peanut butter, or jelly), polished off a banana, and sipped some ginger tea with almond milk.

After eating, everyone politely lined up again to scrape leftovers into a compost bucket, place their used forks and spoons into a silverware bin, and wash and stack their dishes.

From 8–9 a.m., we were to gather for the next group meditation in the hall. After that, there was another 9–11 a.m. meditation marathon before lunch, followed by a 1–2:30 p.m. meditation, a 2:30–3:30 p.m. meditation, and another 3:30–5 p.m. meditation with five-minute breaks in between each scheduled sitting before a 5–6 p.m. tea break, 6–7 p.m. group meditation, 7–8:15 p.m. seated lecture, and finally the 8:15–9 p.m. evening meditation.

At some point during these millions of hours of meditation, my butt, back, and basically every part of my body began to hurt, and my mind started to freak out.

Why am I here? What am I doing? This was a terrible idea. One hour, fine. Two hours, OK. Three hours, are you kidding me? Five, six, seven, eight and a half more hours after that? Oh god. What if my legs fall asleep? What if they fall off? Can that happen if my circulation gets cut off for too long? Am I going to be able to walk again? Is my mind going to spontaneously combust and kill me?

I attempted to distract myself from the growing pain in and around my ass by thinking about something else. Anything else. My mind ran with it.

Remember when you jumped off the Macau Tower in China (at 1:23, to be exact)?

How about that time you clung to Richard Branson’s back like a baby koala while he was kitesurfing?

Remember when you went sandboarding down a 1000-foot sand dune in the Sahara Desert after riding a camel?

Made friends with a sweet elephant before she gave you pink eye while you were splashing water at each other?

Went to a giant robot show in Tokyo to watch a massive fire-breathing robot spider battle a shiny robot unicorn that blasted sparkles from its horn?

Swam in the warm, crystal clear waters of Super Paradise Beach in Mykonos? Ate your way across Florence with your sister? Was a bridesmaid during your other sister’s wedding? Went to your friend Chelsey’s wedding? Dressed up to be shot by Richard Kern and film a television pilot in LA? Celebrated Dan Sullivan’s 70th birthday and took photo booth pics with your bff Joe Polish?

Distraction. Distraction. Distraction. Distraction. Distraction.

Were any of these things actually happening in the moment?

No.

The only thing that was real was the fact that I was sitting in a meditation hall on some farmland in the middle of nowhere, Washington.

The only thing that was real was my breath, and the momentary sensations flickering on and off across my body.

The only thing that was real was that nothing was permanent. Everything was changing, all the time. But yet I fought it. I didn’t like the soreness or the pain. I wanted it all to end.

Attempting to put a stop my obsessive thoughts about the past, I started fantasizing about the future. What if I stood up and screamed? A piercing sound to slice through the silence? What if I ran around kicking over people’s meditation benches and shaking them in their shawls? What if I stood up, solemnly announced that I quit, and turned to walk defiantly out the door, never to return again?

My fantasy faded, and I returned to my breath. Still there. Still steady. Still real.

Dinner consisted of a cup of tea and a piece of fruit.

At some point, the hours ended. I crawled into bed at 9:00 p.m., my stomach growling and my mind awake, alive, and alert as ever.

Want to think some more? What should we think about now? How about now? Now?

It was going to be a long night.

Day 2: Planning My Escape

GONG. GONG. GONG.

4 a.m. 4:12 a.m. 4:22 a.m.

In case you didn’t get up to the banging of the big gong, a volunteer walks around 20 minutes later with a smaller gong, whacking it outside each individual room.

GONG. GONG. GONG.

4:30 a.m. Fuck.

As I’m putting my clothes on, I can hear my roommate snoring. I feel a mixture of envy, disgust, and annoyance. I want what she has.

My resolution to go to every single meditation instantly dissolves. I curl back up in bed and pass out, sleeping through the 4:30–6:30am sitting.

My dreams punish me accordingly, maybe out of unconscious guilt. I dream that a man murders a girl. His mother, who happens to be an attorney, refuses to defend him in court. He throws a knife into his mother’s neck and she dies. His best friend is horrified, but — not wanting to upset him — requests a massage using the blood. Suddenly the killer looks directly at me, smiling. I am his girlfriend, and my obedience is expected.

I jerk awake, sweating through my thin sheet. What. The. Actual. Fuck. I haven’t had a dream that disturbing in a long time. I’m a therapist. I’m too disoriented to do a proper dream analysis on myself. It’s 6:33 a.m. Breakfast time.

My thoughts shift from sociopathic serial killers to the type of topping I would like on my toast today. I’m inspired to get creative at the condiment tray.

Would tumeric and peanut butter toast taste good? Cinnamon or cayenne sprinkled on a banana?

My brain is screaming for stimulation. It wants to “like” something and “dislike” something else. It needs to read the news, scan a Facebook feed or watch a movie. It is thinking, thinking, thinking, and obsessively judging everyone and everything. It is judging itself, hating itself, annoyed at itself, and reeling from inner pangs of shame, frustration, and resentment.

Where’s this inner peace that everyone talks about? Liberation from suffering? Total enlightenment?

The hours pass. My brain switches modes, moving from blasting random songs to replaying entire episodes of Black Mirror. (That “White Christmas” episode was so messed up.)

The day passes. My mind swirls, coming up with new business ideas and chapters for a book. I have vivid fantasies about my escape. Minutes and hours pass as I detail where I will go, what I will do, and what I will say as I leave. Escape. Escape. Escape. After lunch, I will escape.

Lunch is a tasty offering of vegetable curry over brown rice, a salad of lettuce topped with shredded carrots, beets, and a sesame-colored “sunshine dressing,” plus a couple scoops of cottage cheese.

I eat. I fantasize about escaping. I don’t escape.

1–2:30 p.m., meditate. 2:30–3:30 p.m., meditate. 3:30–5 p.m., meditate. 6–7 p.m., meditate.

At 7 p.m., everyone gathers in the meditation hall for the evening discourse. We are about to sit and watch a video over an hour long so I happily busy myself by building a comfortable reclining seat out of bolsters and blocks. Kind of like this, but without the eye mask and with my eyes (mostly) open:

After a few minutes of relaxing in my reclined work of art, a volunteer comes by and whisper-scolds me to sit up straight. Damn it.

I reluctantly deconstruct my makeshift bolster bed and hunch over my mat. It begins.

The late S.N. Goenka, the revered teacher of Vipassana meditation, appears in grainy footage dated back to 1991. He is a chubby, cheerful-looking man with a shiny forehead and a crisp white shirt. He looks like a kindly Indian uncle who likes to sing loudly, usually slightly off-key, and gives you sweets while you gather around to listen to his stories.

Except now, there are no sweets. Instead, he speaks of the root cause of all suffering: Craving and aversion.

If we like something, that liking can turn into craving, which turns into clinging. If we cling to something that we want or like desperately, and then we don’t get it or we lose it, we can become despondent, angry, and miserable.

If we dislike something or someone, that dislike can intensify into anger and hatred. When it comes to physical pain, focusing on it, becoming angry with it, and trying to force it to change or go away will only cause it to worsen and strengthen in its power and scope.

At one point, S.N. Goenka says,

“The thing that hurts you the most in life is your own untamed mind. The thing that can help you the most in life is a disciplined mind. When the wild mind is untamed, it can be very harmful. If we learn to tame our minds, then it can help us by reducing our suffering and misery.”

But how do you escape the misery? By understanding that pain, sadness, and suffering are a natural part of life. You also have to understand that these are temporary and ever-changing, just as joy, happiness, and pleasure are. If you stop fighting things you don’t like and stop desperately trying to hold onto things you do like, life can become more peaceful. Everything is temporary, so just notice each feeling. Observe it, without any sort of craving or aversion. Everything will ultimately shift, change, or go away, and that’s OK, because something new will take its place.

This is a practice that offers a way out of suffering. Living not in the past nor in the future, but right now, in the present.

For the first time, a tiny ray of light glints through a crack in the darkness. I think that maybe there’s something to this after all.

It sucks, but I vow to keep sticking it out.

Days 3, 4 and 5: The Suck, a Poem

Suffering streams down my back

Misery clenches my ass

Cracks and creaks cramp my stiff neck

Fact: All of this, too, shall pass.

But not now. Not yet.

Now I am aching. Sore. Straining with gas.

So. Much. Suck.

It was a rainy, soggy, shitty mess during days three through five. The weather decided to match my mood.

We are taught to switch from focusing on the triangle between our nostrils and our upper lip to scanning our entire body for both subtle and intense sensations, from the top of our head to the bottom of our toes. We are to do so with an equanimous mind, merely observing, not reacting, craving, hating, or judging.

Everything hurts. I continue to struggle in an upright seated position for over 10 1/2 freaking hours each day. Distraction. Past. Distraction. Future. Distraction. Past. Distraction. Future. And despite the request for Noble Silence, a couple people continuously burp and yawn loudly. I judge them, annoyed that they would disturb the silence so rudely when they could exert a little effort to contain themselves. I’m noting that this checks the boxes of both a dislike and an aversion. I am supposed to generate love for Mr. Loud Sigh-Yawn and compassion for Burpy McBurpeeson who I feel would be immediately cast as the lead in an all-burped Phantom of the Opera.

I have a lot of work to do.

Stubbornly, I slog onward.

Day 6: Tina, I Have Questions

Students are allowed a five-minute Q&A session with a teacher from noon to 1 p.m. This is the only time we are allowed to speak.

I sign up. I have questions.

I arrive at my assigned time and am ushered inside. Tina awaits my entry in the otherwise empty meditation hall. I notice she is wearing black New Balance sneakers beneath her long skirt.

Me: Isn’t pain an important indicator? Our body’s way of communicating danger to us? How do we determine when and if to react to pain? For example, if someone is burning us with a hot iron, we can’t just observe it and calmly think, “interesting,” before moving on to a different part of the body, right?

Tina: We are learning to observe pain without reacting to it. Explore and observe the pain. If you are in danger or if it is pure torture, take care of yourself. Remove yourself from the danger. Stand up and walk around for a moment. Otherwise, simply notice it. Where is the pain? Where is its epicenter? Where does it begin and where does it end? Don’t stay in it if it’s intolerable. Also understand that it’s not permanent, and this practice and experience is an opportunity to face more and more of your pain in a new way, by observing it instead of reacting to it. If you keep observing and allowing it to be, while staying neutral, it will eventually pass because everything is temporary, even the worst pain. This is a way out of suffering.

Me: Isn’t liking and disliking things part of nature? A dog likes treats and getting its belly rubbed. It dislikes being hit, and will react by biting whomever hit him. Aren’t we wired to seek pleasure and avoid pain? How can we understand what is healthy and good liking as well as disliking, versus excessive craving and unhealthy aversion?

Tina: There are different degrees of liking and disliking something. It’s unhealthy when you inflict suffering on yourself due to your preferences. For example, let’s say you’re really excited to eat chocolate cake for dessert, but when it’s time for dessert, there’s no chocolate cake left. It’s OK and healthy to be disappointed, but then say, “oh well,” and move on. Don’t let the lack of chocolate cake disturb your peace. If you get angry and miserable because things didn’t turn out the way you wanted and hoped, this is what the Vipassana practice helps to free you from. Why make yourself more miserable about something that is temporary? Don’t let your disliking of a person, thing, or situation rob you of your happiness and peace of mind.

Me: Speaking of chocolate cake, if my stomach growls when I’m hungry, shouldn’t I eat? Right now, I’m not sleeping well because I’m going to bed hungry. I’m not used to skipping dinner. Then I wake up tired and grumpy because I’m attached to sleep. I have a strong liking and craving for sleep, and I function a heckuva lot better when I have enough of it. I think I could meditate and focus better if I got more sleep. Wouldn’t it be more helpful if I could have more than tea and an apple for dinner so I can wake up more refreshed and alert to do better at this meditation practice?

Tina: It’s true that human beings need food, water, and shelter. However, unless you are actually starving, it can be a helpful practice to observe and accept your hunger during the day or at night. If you lay down and can’t sleep but you are resting your body and mind, you will wake up feeling rested. Be aware of your strong attachment to sleep. If you get angry and make yourself more miserable because you are not sleeping, you’re feeding your craving for sleep and it’s robbing you of your peace by making you mad that you don’t have it. Keep noticing and observing the sensations with an equanimous mind.

Me: I’m playing mind games with myself to get through the meditation sittings. For example, one game I play with myself is, “If I just complete three more full body scans, then I’ll reward and treat myself by allowing my mind to escape into a fantasy about the past or the future for a bit.” Is this OK?

Tina: Your mind games are also a fantasy and future-oriented. We are working on being in the present, not trying to escape into the future. Keep doing the work and take it one body scan at a time, because that is all that’s happening right now.

My time with Tina is up. It’s time to be quiet and get back to the backbreaking work of more (and more and more) meditation.

Day 7: I Break Noble Silence (Five Times)

By this day, I’ve broken my Noble Silence a grand total of five times:

1. “Oooh, snake.” (When I saw a tiny snake slither out from the brush, as if exclaiming what it was out loud would somehow prevent it from attacking me)
2. “Yum!” (When I ate a deliciously sweet blackberry that I picked from a wild blackberry vine)
3. “Ouch!” (When the vine’s thorns pricked me)
4. “Oooh, bunny.” (When I came across a cute wild bunny eating a fern)
5. “Desss-paaa-cito.” (Uttered inadvertently while I was showering — damn you for being so catchy, Justin Bieber)

I’m working on judging myself less. We are told “never to be disappointed, angry, or upset” with ourselves for making mistakes. We are encouraged to “gently and smilingly come back to the practice of scanning your body from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes with a calm and equanimous mind.”

Everything still sucks.

During the discourse this night, S.N. Goenka talks about “five friends that will help you on your path to liberation from suffering:” Faith and devotion, wise effort, wise attention and awareness, concentration, and wisdom. He tells amusing stories to illustrate each point. I do my best to listen through a heavy haze of pain.

Day 8: Impermanence, a Poem

By the time

You finish this poem

You will be

A completely

Different

Person

Than when you began.

The pain has started to wax and wane with each body scan. It’s excruciating, sharp, and intense during one sweep, and completely gone the next. Then it’s back again before fading to a dull throb. Holy crap. This Vipassana meditation thing works. Pain really is only temporary and ever-changing.

I’m not out of the woods yet, but the glint of light has turned into a stronger glimmer. I try not to become attached to any outcome.

Be here now. That’s all there is.

Day 9: Today Was a Good(ish) Day

I suspect I may be developing some supernatural powers. And by supernatural powers, I mean an attention span that lasts longer than five seconds.

Now that I’ve been away from the instant stimulation and gratification of my phone for over 220 hours (but who’s counting?), things are slowing down. And instead of fighting it, I’m just existing in it.

On an early morning walk after meditation and breakfast, I stop to observe a giant ant colony, crouching down to watch this fascinating drama of nature, one that I call, As The Ant World Turns:

I could hear them buzzing, swarming, walking, and crunching. All of my senses were amplified. It was like I was on drugs, except I wasn’t.

I look up at the sky for a moment before re-entering the meditation hall. It’s a vibrant blue with sea turtle and mustache-shaped tufts of white clouds. The limbs of the sun stretch out from millions of miles away to touch my forehead and cheeks with their warmth.

Today, I meditate for all 10 1/2 hours without horrible lasting pain or terrible struggle. My mind still wanders to the past, future, and any number of creative, random, and tempting distractions, but instead of losing control of it for minutes or hours, I am able to notice and “smilingly bring it back” to scanning my body within seconds.

Whaddaya know. Discipline. Focus. Peace. It’s possible after all. Longer and longer moments of it, somehow strangely built up over the course of the past few days.

It’s still hard, but it doesn’t suck as hard anymore. And the times that it does suck pass, replaced by times that suck less, and even times that are kind of pleasant. Those pass too.

Hey look, I’m being!

Walking back to my room after the last 8:15–9pm meditation that night, I stop to look up at the sky again. The starry spread of the Milky Way is clear and vibrant, sparkling like diamond jelly on black toast.

Maybe we look up at the sky to to have our faces stroked by the cosmos.

Maybe we’re all made up of stars after all.

Day 10: But My Body Didn’t Dissolve?

After the 4:30–6:30 a.m. and 8–9 a.m. meditations, we are allowed to come out of Noble Silence and enter a period of Noble Speech.

S.N. Goenka calls this a “soothing balm to help heal our wounds after doing surgery on our minds.” The transition is supposed to help us ease back into the real world.

It’s strange being able to look at everyone and finally talk to them. I take a moment to gather myself in my room to enjoy a few more precious moments of peace and quiet before going out into the chatter.

Across the board, the most common question I’m hearing asked is, “How was your experience?”. Here’s a sampling of the answers I hear:

• OMG MY BODY TOTALLY DISSOLVED! I WAS ONE WITH THE UNIVERSE!
• Everything hurt for awhile and when I accepted and observed it, the pain went away. I started noticing pleasant sensations, like my entire body had been dipped in good vibrations.
• I sweated a ton. Tina told me that this was anger and negative old patterns leaving my body. Apparently I have a lot of rage.
• I’ve done this course four times now. The first time I felt nothing, the second I felt everything, the third time I felt mixed things, and this time I dissolved my body halfway.
• A lot of emotions came up for me. I focused on taming my mind.
• My husband passed away last year. I knew if I didn’t find something to help me calm down my mind, I’d go crazy with misery and sadness. This helped me.
• I completely dissolved and my whole body became a mass of vibrating particles.

There was a surprising amount of talk of “body dissolving.”

My body didn’t “dissolve,” and that’s OK. If I’d heard about that experience earlier, I probably would’ve developed a craving to have that sensation, tried to chase it, and felt upset if it didn’t happen.

It makes sense that we weren’t allowed to talk with each other until the last day. Comparison is the thief of all joy.

The day continued with talks about the importance of serving and giving back, not just with money, but as a volunteer for future courses. S.N. Goenka encouraged us to be happy and for all beings to have peace. We ended with a new meditation of love and compassion, sending out good vibes and caring intentions, pardoning those who we may have been intentionally or unintentionally hurt by, asking for pardon from those who we may have intentionally or unintentionally hurt, and wishing for the liberation, peace, and happiness of all beings. Very lovey-dovey stuff.

I was tired and not sure how strong my vibes of love and compassion were, but I did my best.

And that was it. A little anticlimactic, but it was what it was — for me, at least.

Was it a cult? No.

Was it a magical cure-all for life’s problems? No.

Was it the ultimate way and the only path to enlightenment? No.

Well then, what was it?

Three Main Takeaways and Final Thoughts

1. I found Vipassana meditation to be a tool. Like any tool, if you use it properly, it can be helpful. By scanning your body, paying attention to both slight and significant sensations, and observing instead of reacting to them, you can gain more mastery over your mind and a greater ability to focus, concentrate, and exist in the moment instead of obsessing about the past or fantasizing about the future. Regardless of your religion or belief system, living in the present is a pretty cool thing.
2. It was a powerful experience to objectively observe my mind and all of its crazy-making. By being stuck with it for hours, I noticed where my brain goes to escape from discomfort and how I avoid both emotional and physical pain. I learned more about how I cope by examining what I crave and try to avoid. I also learned that I can be in the suck and it, too, shall pass. It’s OK to feel sadness, anger, worry, pain, and suffering, just like it’s OK to experience pleasure, joy, and excitement, and that all of these feelings will ebb and flow. Nothing is permanent, and that’s life.
3. I was able to reconnect with my body. By noticing and experiencing soft and gentle sensations on and in my body, from the feeling of my clothing to the air on my face, I recognized and appreciated subtle feelings again in addition to stronger ones. All are real, all are valid, and I don’t need to go chasing intense highs to feel something. I’m always feeling something, I just have to take the time and make the effort to notice it. As someone who has been disconnected from my body at times, this was a seemingly small achievement, but a very big one to me.

Would you do it again?

Not anytime soon, but maybe in the future.

Did you find the experience valuable?

Yes.

Would you recommend it?

Yes. Go and have your experience. It won’t be like mine or anyone else’s. It will be uniquely, perfectly, 100 percent yours. And that’s exactly what your life is supposed to be.

If you want to check out a Vipassana Meditation retreat, go here.

If you made it to the end of this article, give yourself a hand and then go out and get a breath of fresh air. And take a look up at the sky while you’re at it. It will be a different sky every time, ever-changing, and it will never look the same again.

A Brutally Honest Review of My 10-Day Silent Vipassana Meditation Retreat was originally published in Human Parts on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

As a therapist who has worked with suicidal teenagers, depressed clients, and survivors of sexual assault, and as a survivor myself, I’m joining the ranks of everyone weighing in on the show.

13 Reasons Why is a Netflix series based on a book about a high school sophomore, Hannah Baker, who commits suicide. Before killing herself, she records her innermost thoughts on cassette tapes that go into incriminating detail about all of the shitty things people have done to her over the course of one school year. Hannah explains how the culmination of all of these shitty things ultimately led to her decision to end her life.

Here’s a comprehensive summary of all of those things and a breakdown of Hannah’s downward mental and emotional spiral, as well as what you can do if you ever find yourself in the position of any of the 13 Reasons Why characters.

WARNING: Major show spoilers, graphic imagery, and discussions of rape and suicide ahead.

Tape 1, Side A (Episode 2): Justin Foley, Starter of Slut-Shaming Rumors

Summary: A guy who who Hannah shares her first kiss with (Justin) brags to his friends that he fingered her on their first date (he didn’t). His bros grab his phone and mass text a compromising photo of Hannah that Justin took without her consent. Justin, his friends, and student who receive the picture slut-shame Hannah so everyone thinks she’s easy and begins to treat her accordingly (a’la that archaic B.S. “that girl is a slut so let’s objectify, judge, and look down on her,” vs “that guy is a stud so let’s worship, praise, and look up to him” thing).

Therapist thoughts: People love to gossip. Especially about juicy topics like sex, and especially when it gives them the chance to judge others in order to feel better about themselves. When rumors start flying, they’re hard if not impossible to stop, and many people are more likely to believe gossip from a stranger than the truth coming straight from the source.

Why? It’s called confirmation bias: We tend to seek out, favor, and hear things that support our existing belief and to dismiss any other proof or information to the contrary, no matter how strong it may be. If someone believes Hannah is a slut because it somehow makes them feel better about themselves, they’re going to see all the reasons to support that belief (i.e. other people talking about it, interpreting a photo a certain way) and ignore all of the reasons that challenge it (i.e. Hannah denying what happened). A victim of an untrue or harmful rumor can feel scared, frustrated, sad, angry, helpless, vulnerable, and alone.

What Hannah needs: A support network of friends who listen to, defend, and love her no matter what.

What Hannah gets: Judgmental looks, rejection, lewd looks, and scorn.

What to do if you’re Justin: So you made out with a chick and you want to exaggerate what happened in order to get more cool points with you bros? Before you do, take a minute and ask yourself if it’s worth it. When in doubt, choose to be kind.

What to do if you’re Hannah: If a nasty rumor gets spread about you, talk to someone about it who you know has your back. A trusted friend, a caring parent, or a therapist. Don’t suffer alone in silence. Remember who you are at your core: You are precious, lovable, and worthy. Recruit others into your life who can affirm this truth along with you.

Tape 1, Side B (Episode 2): Jessica Davis, The Slapping Frienemy

Summary: Hannah’s only friends, Jessica and Alex, stop hanging out with her and leave her out of the loop when they start dating each other. They eventually break up, and Jessica accuses Hannah of being the reason why. When Hannah denies it and says “Fuck you” in a moment of frustration and pain from being falsely accused, Jessica slaps her.

Therapist thoughts: Friend drama sucks. It can happen suddenly and unexpectedly. You can be someone’s bff one day and their mortal enemy the next for real reasons or fake ones conjured up in their imagination. As social creatures, we all want to belong to a group. In a group or herd, there is nurturing, support, and safety. Alone, we can be picked off and killed by predators. For those who remain in the group, kicking someone out can be a trivial and meaningless act. For the one kicked out, it can be the loss of a major lifeline.

What Hannah needs: Communication, calm and loving resolution of a misunderstanding, and caring connection with others.

What Hannah gets: Isolation, deepening loneliness, and a slap in the face/physical abuse.

What to do if you’re Jessica: If you suspect a friend has done something to hurt or betray you, talk to them about it from a calm and grounded place. If you go in furious with your mind already made up about what happened, no communication can occur and no understanding can be found. Take a few breaths, get yourself grounded, and ask the friend in question if you can have an honest, real talk with them. Enter the conversation as open as possible. Be curious and willing to listen, to hear, and to be heard.

What to do if you’re Hannah: If your friends drop you for no reason, you can speak to them directly to tell them how you feel (hurt, confused, sad). If they don’t respond or aren’t willing or able to hear you, seek out support (once again, with a trusted friend, parents, or therapist) and begin looking for new friends. Now that there’s new space in your life, you can intentionally fill it with people who have characteristics you want — caring, consideration, and kindness.

Tape 2, Side A (Episode 3): Alex Standall, “Best Ass” Revenge List Writer

Summary: Alex writes a “Best of/Worst of” list in an attempt to hurt his ex Jessica, listing Jessica as the girl with the “worst ass” in school and listing Hannah as the girl with the “best ass.”

Therapist thoughts: If someone hurts us, we want to hurt them back. Directly through violence or indirectly through karma, we want some sort of harm to come upon them — an eye for an eye kind of deal. When Jessica hurts Alex’s feelings by refusing to have sex with him and then breaking up with him, Alex tries to hurt her back by triggering her jealousy. The whole “two wrongs don’t make a right” thing applies here, but that can be impossible to realize when you’re hurting and the only way you think you can make that hurt go away is by hurting the person who hurt you.

Alex takes advantage of Hannah’s already slut-shamed reputation to give her the title of “best ass,” and even though he may even have considered it a compliment to her without meaning to harm her, it just makes things worse. As if Hannah wasn’t already getting unwanted attention from the incident with Justin, now she has more people checking out her ass and judging her —some innocently, some jealously, some with malicious/predatory intent — all judging her with their looks, stares, and gossip. Hannah’s getting attention, but it’s unwanted negative attention that hurts her, not helps her.

Having your name listed as “best ass” on a “best of” list isn’t necessarily horrible in and of itself, but it’s horrible in this instance because it adds to the snowball effect of self-consciousness, insecurity, isolation, and lack of support, respect, and understanding that Hannah is experiencing.

What Hannah needs: For people to leave her alone and give her space so she can start to heal.

What Hannah gets: Pettiness, snarkiness, unwanted sexual attention, and continued slut-shaming and objectification.

What to do if you’re Alex: If you’re hurting after a breakup, talk to someone about it. A good friend, a mental health professional, or someone you trust who has gotten through a tough breakup can help you through the suck. Pain + pain = more pain in the world. Pain + having the courage to reach out, do the work, and heal = Less pain in the world. What do you want to create?

What to do if you’re Hannah: Notice if you start having extreme reactions to relatively small things. For example, you explode and start screaming at someone who asks you an innocent question. Odds are, there’s a lot of stuff brewing beneath the surface and it’s important for it to be addressed. If you’re in this situation, seek out the support that you need and deserve. Approach someone you trust and tell them that you need to talk.

Don’t keep it all inside and don’t try to deal with it all on your own — we are social creatures and we need each other. If you would be there for someone who needs to talk, odds are they will be there for you, too. Reach out and keep reaching out until you find someone who will listen. You can call The Teen Link Chat Line every night between 6–10pm at 1–866–833–6546 or the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 24/7 at 1–800–273–825. There is always someone available to talk to you. You don’t get to get through this alone.

Tape 2, Side B (Episode 4): Tyler Down, Stalker

Summary: School photographer Tyler stalks Hannah, lurking outside of her bedroom and taking pictures of her at night, including an incriminating photo of Hannah making out with a girl named Courtney during a game of drunken Truth or Dare. When Tyler asks out Hannah and she turns him down, he acts vindictively in forwarding the blurry photo in an e-mail to everyone in school.

Therapist thoughts: Stalking is a very real, very scary thing. It is defined as “a willful course of conduct involving repeated or continuing harassment made against the expressed wishes of another individual, which causes that individual to feel emotional distress including fear, harassment, intimidation or apprehension.”

Tyler’s constant refusals to respect Hannah’s requests for him to stop taking photos of her under the pretense “I’m the school photographer/It’s for the year book” is harassment and intimidation. He doesn’t feel very powerful, so he wields his camera as both a weapon and a shield: To attack and to protect him from counter-attacks. Tyler is hurt by everyone’s constant rejection, including Hannah’s. He wants to hurt everyone initially through annoying and invasive photos, and ultimately with actual guns and ammo (as insinuated by the final scenes he is in — season 2?).

As for Hannah, his stalking and shooting her during unwanted times and in non-consensual ways increases her already high anxiety, paranoia, and stress levels. Tyler may only be an annoying mosquito to some people, but to Hannah he is a Hunger Games-like tracker jacker who stings her repeatedly with his refusal to respect her space and wishes, inducing fear and psychological torture.

What Hannah needs: For people to respect her boundaries. To stop when she says “no.” And again, for people to leave her alone and give her space so she can regain her footing and begin the process of healing.

What Hannah gets: Constant violation of her boundaries from people who don’t take “no” for an answer. This wear and tear is exhausting and eroding her energy and ability to say NO, since all of her efforts to protect herself so far have been ignored and steamrolled.

What to do if you’re Tyler: If you feel sad and lonely because people ignore you or push you around, trying to force your way into their lives and into their personal space isn’t the way to fix that. Connect with people who share your interests — start a photography club, take photography classes and workshops, and be with people who appreciate and accept you for who you are. Get help and support for the bullying that you’re suffering. Stalking won’t make girls like you. It will freak them out and scare them away. It might also land you in jail, so just don’t do it.

What to do if you’re Hannah: If you suspect someone is taking pictures of you in bedroom late at night, invest in curtains, blinds, and blackout shades. Also, contact the police. Immediately. In many states, you can file for a restraining order against anyone who has stalked or harassed you.

Tape 3, Side A (Episode 5): Courtney Crimsen, Self-Preserving, Slut-Shaming Perpetuator

Summary: Courtney, a nice-to-everyone-in-a-fake-way perfectionist afraid of being outed for being gay, throws Hannah under the bus and spreads rumors that the photo that Tyler took is of Hannah and “her girlfriend Laura.” To make sure her little lie is believed, Hannah adds gory glorified details to “what she heard” happened the night that Justin supposedly fingered Hannah during their first date on the playground. And so the slut-shaming snowball rolls on, building in momentum and speed.

Therapist thoughts: Clay’s head wound keeps getting re-injured, so it never has a chance to start healing. Just like Clay’s head wound, Hannah’s psychological and emotional wounds are continually hurt, aggravated, and re-opened, so they can’t heal either. Just when Hannah thinks she might have an actual friend in Courtney, shit goes down and she’s betrayed and targeted all over again by someone who she had hoped would help her, not hurt her.

What Hannah needs: A friend who won’t stab her in the back to save themselves.

What Hannah gets: Abandonment and more slut-shaming.

What to do if you’re Courtney: If you’re LGBTQ+ person who is struggling in any way, please know that you don’t have to do it alone. There’s a 24/7 online chat room, 24/7 Trevor Project Hotline, and local LGBTQ centers in cities around the country offering support and resources for anyone at any stage. It can help to talk to someone in a safe, anonymous, and non-judgmental space.

What to do if you’re Hannah: Proceed with care when choosing your friends. Don’t immediately open up your life and your heart to a stranger — that privilege must be earned. Trust must be built over time, through observation and experiences. If someone demonstrates that they are selfish, self-serving, untrustworthy, or any other red flag characteristic, let them go and focus your efforts on finding and more deeply connecting with people who are kind, compassionate, caring, and considerate. It’s better to be alone than surrounded by snakes.

Tape 3, Side B (Episode 6): Marcus Cole, Dehumanizing Opportunist

Summary: Student body president Marcus asks Hannah out and then tries to finger her in a restaurant on their date. He “thought she was easy” and was offended when she rejected him in front of his friends, who he’d invited along to watch. After she pushes him away, he rounds up his buddies and leaves Hannah crying into her milkshake.

Therapist thoughts: Sleazy sexual predators can also come in the form of student body presidents. Hannah had hoped for the best in Marcus but got the worst. Yet another male who heard the rumors and hoped to hook up based on her reputation instead of caring about or wanting to get to know her as a person. This can feel devastatingly dehumanizing and demoralizing, especially when it happens again and again and again. At this point, Hannah is visibly losing faith in males, in people, in herself, and in life.

What Hannah needs: A person who wants to get to know her for who she is.

What Hannah gets: A predator who wants to use her for what he thinks she is, without care or regard for her as a human being with feelings.

What to do if you’re Marcus: Don’t make assumptions about people based on what you hear. Give them a chance to show you who they are, and give yourself a chance to decide who they are for yourself. This means not bringing along the entire basketball team with you to watch.

What to do if you’re Hannah: If you’ve gone out with a bunch of guys who don’t treat you with respect, care, and consideration, do a dating detox. Take a break in order to take care of yourself. Remember, rediscover, and restore your faith in who you are, what you love, and what is most important to you in this world. Validation from assholes isn’t it. Self-love and self-care are. Do it, because you’re worth it.

Tape 4, Side A (Episode 7): Zach Dempsey, Petty Thief with a Weak Spine and Easily Damaged Ego

Summary: Zach, a jock with a softer side that he hides from his teammates, approaches Hannah in the diner after Marcus leaves and simply sits with her. Later in school, he asks out Hannah from a place of willingness to get to know her. She flatly rejects him, assuming he’s just like all the rest. Once Zach’s ego is wounded, he acts out in a snarky way by stealing “positive notes of encouragement” that others have written to her. More little lifelines are lost and destroyed in the process — a miniscule and petty action for Zach, a major and spirit-crushing loss for Hannah.

Therapist thoughts: It seems like Zach is the least predatory of all of the males who have approached Hannah so far (Justin, Tyler and Marcus). At this point, Hannah has had enough — can you blame her? — and seems to have shut down completely when it comes to trusting any males. Based on her experiences to date, she generalizes Zach’s intentions to be like all the others, and her basic survival instincts are kicking in to try and protect her. In the process, they also isolate her, and they set off Zach by crushing his fragile ego. He appears to take on a “it’s so great of me to try and save the girl that everyone else has taken a dump on” attitude and can’t accept the fact that his act of charity has been rejected. When Zach steals Hannah’s notes of encouragement out of spite, he denies her small rays of light and hope, leaving her in ever-deepening darkness. Even though she catches him taking them, she says nothing. Her will to speak up has been beaten down so much it is nearly gone. If nobody listens to you or believes you when you talk, at some point you stop speaking up completely.

What Hannah needs: A person who will respect the boundaries that she sets without taking them personally and acting out to hurt her.

What Hannah gets: A person who takes great offense to her set boundary and punishes her for setting it.

What to do if you’re Zach: If you get turned down by someone you’re interested in, know that it’s not about you. It’s about them. The most loving response to anyone’s “no” is: “Thank you for taking care of yourself.” When someone says no, they are taking care of themselves by setting a boundary. If you care about them or yourself, honor that “no” and move on with dignity and respect.

What to do if you’re Hannah: Remember that “no” is a complete sentence. You don’t ever need to explain or justify your decision to take care of yourself by setting a boundary. Check in with your heart and your body to determine what you need. Speak your truth and say “no” if your heart, body, and spirit are screaming or just whispering it. Take care of yourself and reach out for support in getting your needs met whenever possible.

Tape 4, Side B (Episode 8), Ryan Shaver: Arrogant, Know-It-All Poem Stealer

Summary: A school zine editor, Ryan, admires Hannah’s poetry and publishes her very personal poem without her knowing. It is published anonymously, but without her consent. When Hannah confronts Ryan about not asking her for permission first, he responds flippantly — that he knows better than she does, that her work is wonderful and moving, and that it is best if everyone can read it. Even if that’s not what she wants.

Therapist thoughts: Nobody, including Ryan, has been respecting Hannah’s boundaries or asking for her consent for anything, from touching her body to respecting her privacy or verbal preferences. Everyone assumes that they know what she wants and that it’s conveniently what they want (i.e. Marcus, assuming that Hannah wants his sexual advances — false). And now Ryan, assuming that Hannah will want her poem published and shared — also false. He wants his magazine to look good, even if it means making Hannah feel bad.

Nobody is taking the time or effort to ask or listen to what Hannah wants. Her needs are continually dismissed, her personhood continually denied. Now, even her most private words and private world are subjected for everyone to see and judge. Her identity is being erased, her ability to choose or to have an opinion about anything shut down.

What Hannah needs: A person who will respect her and her wishes by checking in with her, asking what she prefers, and honoring and abiding by her wishes, no questions asked. Someone who is willing to listen to her, understand her, and truly hear her.

What Hannah gets: Another person who ignores her wishes for their own selfish reasons and personal gain.

What to do if you’re Ryan: If you want to share someone’s writing, art, music, or anything else they’ve created from their heart, make an effort to ask them for permission before doing anything. If they want what they’ve created to remain special and sacred to them and them alone, respect their wishes. If they grant you permission, go for it. But make sure you get it first.

What to do if you’re Hannah: If your work is published without your permission, you may want to contact a lawyer to discuss your options. A retraction, apology, and/or reparations for damages incurred may be possibilities to explore further.

Tape 5, Side A (Episode 9): Justin, Rape Accomplice

Summary: Justin (Hannah’s first kiss/fingering liar) is now dating Jessica (who used to date Alex and slapped Hannah). At a party, Jessica gets wasted and Justin leaves his girlfriend alone in a bedroom, realizing she is too drunk to consent to sex. Outside, his wealthy basketball teammate Bryce declares “What’s yours is mine” and enters the room to take advantage of Jessica while she is drunk. Justin makes a weak attempt to stop Bryce, who pushes him aside and closes the bedroom door behind him. Bryce lowers his pants and has sex with Jessica’s semi-conscious body, “shhh-ing” her when she weakly questions what is happening, and leaving the room when he is done defiling her. Hannah, who happens to be hiding in the room, sees and hears everything happening. Shaking, she remains frozen and does nothing to stop it.

Therapist thoughts: Justin comes from a household in which his mother is dominated by a controlling, abusive boyfriend. He is used to seeing his mother pushed around and he is used to her failing again and again to protect him from her boyfriend’s aggression and abuse. Bryce has provided Justin with shelter more than once, protecting him when nobody else would. Justin’s struggle to say “no” to Bryce is real. Just as his mother ultimately refuses to save him, he ultimately refuses to save Jessica. A combination of a dangerous and degrading “bro’s before ho’s” code, a feeling of obligation and “owing” Bryce due to being taken in by him so many times, being put in a position of powerlessness again and again by his own mother, and not being emotionally or physically strong enough to stand up for himself leads to Justin’s soul-crushing choice to let Bryce sexually violate his girlfriend without further protest. Does understanding what happened make it okay or acceptable? Absolutely not. Does deeper understanding raise compassion and concern for those in Justin’s position? Maybe. Hopefully those out there who can relate to Justin’s circumstances will seek help and support to get to a point where they can protect themselves and those they care for.

In this tape, Hannah elaborates on how Jessica’s rape affected her. She witnessed her friend being sexually violated without her consent. Jessica’s body was used as an object for Bryce’s pleasure and entertainment with zero regard for her feelings or personhood. Over and over again, Hannah has had her emotional and emotional boundaries violated without her consent. Her body has been objectified for the pleasure and amusement of everyone in school via notes, photos, attempted gropes, and stares on a day-to-day basis.

Witnessing Jessica’s rape would be horrific for anyone, even moreso for Hannah given the fact that her spirit has been so beaten down that remains frozen, unable to do anything about it. Just like she is witnessing Jessica being raped and feeling helpless to do anything about it, Hannah has been witnessing her own reputation and spirit being violated for months and has been rendered hopeless and helpless to do anything about it. Every time she has tried to stop anyone from violating her boundaries, they ignore her and sometimes hurt her even more badly and intentionally out of revenge, ego wounding, and spite. Hannah may have been scared that if she dared try to stop Bryce from raping Jessica, he would then focus his attention on hurting her — physically, emotionally, and likely sexually. He is also physically bigger and stronger than she is, wielding a stellar reputation as a favored star athlete in comparison to her smaller size and slut-shamed reputation.

Heartbreakingly, this is a situation that feels all too sickeningly familiar to many survivors of rape and sexual assault. Not only is the physical and sexual violence traumatizing, but the emotional aftermath during and after the event in struggling with whether to speak up, who to tell, what to say, and the risk of not being believed, supported, or worse, shamed and blamed, can be devastating.

Survivors frequently try to numb out or avoid having to face or think about the situation through drugs, alcohol (like Jessica), and high-risk behaviors. If you are the survivor of a sexual assault, please reach out for support when you are ready to do so. You are welcome to reach out to me directly or you can go here to find a therapist or support group for survivors in your area. Healing isn’t easy, but it is possible. Know that you are worthy of healing, love, support, cherishing, and wholeness.

What Hannah and Jessica need: People in their lives who see and respect them as human beings with feelings, boundaries, and souls.

What Hannah and Jessica get: People who use them and take advantage of them in their most vulnerable states.

What to do if you’re Justin: What can do you do if, like Justin, you are living in an unsafe household with the threat of emotional, physical, or sexual violence, with no adult able or willing to protect you? I wish the answer was as easy as saying, “Report the abuse to a school counselor, therapist, or trusted adult and call the cops if you feel like your life is in danger.” Sometimes that’s the answer, but oftentimes things are much more complex than that. There is no “one size fits all” answer for this. Justin tried to deal with his volatile and dangerous living situation by leaving and staying with friends when things got too bad, but that solution isn’t always reliable, safe, or sustainable. Transitional housing may be available in your area via Covenant House and additional shelters and resources may be found here. If you are a member of a church, synagogue, or mosque, reach out to leaders of the institution if you feel safe doing so.

What to do if you’re Hannah/Jessica: If you are able to, you can go directly to a hospital or police station to file a police report. If you go immediately after the assault occurred, a rape kit may be performed as an option (it’s not mandatory and you can choose not to have it done).

It is important to understand that filing a police report is different than pressing charges. You can file a report and never press charges, meaning your rapist will never be served with legal documents or even know that you filed a report. You can choose to wait years before pressing civil or criminal charges, if you ever decide to do so. The statute of limitations varies from state to state. Having the report on file can be one thing you can do for yourself and could be used as evidence for future reports which may help future victims.

Whether or not you file a report, please reach out for help from a therapist or a support group for sexual assault survivors. You don’t have to go through such a traumatic event alone. Please reach out.

Tape 5, Side B (Episode 10): Sherri Holland, Hit and Run Driver Who Lies to Look Out for #1 — Sherri

Summary: Sherri offers Hannah a ride home from the party where she witnessed Bryce raping Jessica. Sherri hits a stop sign and drives off without reporting it to the police, which ultimately results in the death of another student (Jeff Atkins, who deserved better :( ).

Therapist thoughts: When in doubt, live in integrity and do the right thing. Do your best to choose and take actions from a place of care, not fear.

What Hannah needs: Examples of people around her who do the right thing out of courage and love, considering the needs and safety of others.

What Hannah gets: Examples of people around her who do things out of fear and self-preservation, disregarding the needs and safety of others.

What to do if you’re Sherri: If you knock down a stop sign or any other important road sign, call the police. Call in anonymously if you have to.

What to do if you’re Hannah: If you see you are with someone who knocks down a stop sign or any other sign, report it. Once again, anonymously if you have to. Better a call than none at all.

Tape 6, Side A (Episode 11): Clay Jensen, Nice Guy

Summary: Clay is a nice, shy, awkward guy who has always been kind to Hannah. They worked together at a movie theater, hung out at parties, and danced together at a school dance. When they finally kiss, Hannah is flooded with insecurities and memories of all the slut-shaming that has been going down. Overwhelmed, she begins to cry and tells Clay to leave. He is the only person who responds by listening to her, hearing her, and respecting her boundaries and her wishes — and in doing so, he does as she asks. He leaves. In Hannah’s mind, she wishes he’d come back, but out of respect for her asking him to go, he doesn’t.

Therapist thoughts: Clay can’t be condemned for doing anything wrong. Through it all, he did the best he knew how to do. Sure, he may have lacked the courage to tell Hannah about his feelings for her. That’s scary for anyone. It’s also honest and congruent with who Clay was at that point in his life — shy, anxious, and a little awkward. The more he knows, the better he tries to do. We all move at our own pace when it comes to identifying, acknowledging, and sharing our feelings (if we ever do), and our individual process can’t be rushed. We’re ready when we’re ready. We’re not when we’re not.

In the tapes, Hannah explains that she pushes Clay away because she doesn’t feel like she deserves him. She feels broken, and in her brokenness she is afraid she might hurt him. In her despair, she tries to save him from her fate — by rejecting him, his caring, and his love. She feels like she is too much for anyone to handle, including Clay (without even giving him a chance). And herself.

When Hannah asks Clay to leave, he checks in once to make sure. After she yells at him to leave, he leaves. He is the only person who listened to her, honored her, and respected her boundaries by doing as she requested.

When he leaves, she wishes he’d come back — something she should have said out loud. We’ve all had those moments, when we say one thing and mean another, hoping someone the other person will magically read our minds and come back to give us what we want. The thing is, people can’t read our minds. In order to get what we want, we have to ask directly for it.

Hannah, feeling worthless, doesn’t.

What Hannah needs: To share her feelings and the truth of what is going on inside of her with someone who is trustworthy. Clay would likely have been a trustworthy person to open up to, but after being burned too many times and sinking into the depths of depression and anxiety, Hannah is no longer able to meet her own needs or trust anyone else to meet them.

What Hannah gets: An attempt by Clay to love her, which she rejects out of shame, overwhelm, fear, and a culmination of all of the shitty things that have happened to date.

What to do if you’re Clay: Be gentle and kind with yourself. Don’t beat yourself up for what you “should have” done. You did your best with the knowledge you had at the time.

What to do if you’re Hannah: Do your best to take care of yourself, even if nobody else in the world seems able to. Find a therapist to talk to — someone who will be there to give you their unconditional acceptance, attention, and support. In school, in person, or online. We are out there, available at a sliding scale if necessary. Protect and fight for yourself. You ARE worth it and you CAN build a support network around you so you don’t have to do the work alone. Start with a mental health counselor.

The World Health Organization (WHO) defines health as “a state of complete physical, mental, and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity.” Mental health is just as important as physical health, meaning seeing a therapist when you’re struggling emotionally is just as important as seeing a doctor when you’re sick. It is one of the most important and loving things you could ever do for yourself.

Tape 6, Side B (Episode 12): Bryce Walker, Rich Rapist and Entitled Psychopath

Summary: Bryce, the rich jock who raped Jessica, rapes Hannah.

Therapist thoughts: I’m going to go ahead and give Bryce an armchair diagnosis of being a psychopath. Those who are diagnosed with this type of antisocial personality disorder exhibit the following traits:

• A disregard for laws and social mores
• A disregard for the rights of others
• A failure to feel remorse or guilt
• A tendency to display violent behavior

Psychopaths cannot form emotional attachments or feel empathy for others. They can have charming personalities but are extremely manipulative, using others for their own personal gain socially, financially, and sexually.

Psychopaths view their innocent victims as inhuman objects to be tormented or used for their own amusement — in Bryce’s case, Jessica and now Hannah are viewed coldly as inhuman objects to be used for his own sexual desires and gratification. He doesn’t care how they feel or what they want. It’s all about him and it’s only about him, in his mind.

At this point, Hannah is hanging onto by a thin emotional thread.

Being raped by Bryce snaps that thread.

You can witness the exact moment it happens during the rape. At one point, Hannah’s eyes glaze over and she goes completely limp. This response is also common in rape victims — the trauma is so shocking and physically, emotionally, sexually, and mentally devastating that the mind and the body disconnect or shut down completely in an attempt to self-preserve. It can take weeks, months, and often years to reconnect and open again.

The effects of rape can include: Depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, eating disorders (in an attempt to control after feeling helpless and not in control during the rape), self-blame, shame, rage, bouts of extreme anger and sadness, low self-esteem, dissociation (feeling separate from your body, sometimes being unable to feel it or any feelings), isolation, lack of motivation to seek help, and attempted suicide.

It is so very, very important to reach out for support and help if you’ve been raped. First, go to a safe place. Next, get help: Call 911 or RAINN (1–800–656-HOPE) and please get medical support or help — you may have injuries that need to be treated. If you are able to, file a police report and seek support in the form of therapy. If cost is an issue, the Victims Compensation Fund may be able to help with expenses. Remember: It was NOT your fault. It doesn’t matter what you were wearing, if you were drinking, or where you were. If you didn’t want to have sex and someone forced their body onto yours without your consent, that is rape. Help is available. You can get through this, and you don’t have to do it alone. Please reach out.

What Hannah needs: To go to a safe place, call 911 for help, get medical attention, file a police report, and connect with a therapist.

What Hannah gets: Her body violated and used against her will by rapist Bryce, lost and alone afterwards.

What to do if you’re Bryce: If you suspect you may be a psychopath, you can take a test for it here. If you don’t want to be a violent one, read on. Here is another article by James Fallon, a neuroscientist who discovered he was a psychopath — and what he is doing about it.

What to do if you’re Hannah (emphasized, from above):

1. Go to a safe place.
2. Get help: Call 911 or RAINN (1–800–656-HOPE)
3. Please get medical support or help — you may have injuries that need to be treated.
4. If you are able to, file a police report and seek support in the form of therapy. If cost is an issue, the Victims Compensation Fund may be able to help with expenses.
5. Remember: It was NOT your fault. It doesn’t matter what you were wearing, if you were drinking, or where you were. If you didn’t want to have sex and someone forced their body onto yours without your consent, that is rape. Help is available. You can get through this, and you don’t have to do it alone. Please reach out.

Tape 7, Side A (Episode 13): Mr. Porter, Victim Blamer

Summary: In a self-proclaimed last-ditch effort to reach out to someone for help, Hannah goes to speak with the school counselor, Mr. Porter. During their talk, he doesn’t pick up on her signs of depression (feeling lost and empty) and instead asks her all sorts of victim blaming and shaming questions, including:

• “Did you make a decision to do something with a boy that you now regret?” (implying she must have consented during sex and then changed her mind at some point when it was over)
  - “Did anything happen at that party that might be considered illegal? Drinking? Drugs?” (either trying to intimidate her by having her confess illegal activities were happening and/or implying that if she was drinking/on drugs it may have been her fault for being drunk/high — even if she was drunk or on drugs, no consent = no consent = rape)
  - “He’s a senior. That means he’ll be gone in few months.” (implying this guy will be gone soon so you can go ahead and forget about it! UGH)
  - “Did you tell him no? Did you tell him to stop?” (more victim blaming and shaming, implying she may not have given any indication she wanted him to stop — her limp, lifeless body, defeated posture, dead eyes, and complete lack of engagement apparently wasn’t enough)
  - “Did he force himself on you? You think so, but you’re not sure?” (instead of supportive, kind, and nonjudgemental, and compassionate responses, Mr. Porter appears uncomfortable with the topic and asks judgmental, victim-blaming questions attempting to get Hannah out of his office so he doesn’t have to deal with the reality of what may have happened)

Therapist thoughts: The one adult Hannah reaches out to for help lets her down, too. Instead of giving her the benefit of the doubt, referring her to a trained psychotherapist for additional assessment and support, or giving her a list of resources for survivors of sexual assault, he awkwardly dismisses her with nothing but shattered faith and a broken heart.

Hannah does not reach out to her parents for support. Her parents did their best for her when they could (i.e. bought a fancier car for her to drive confidently to the dance), but weren’t able to accommodate all of her requests (i.e. didn’t move when she asked them to since they had a local business, bills to pay, etc.). Hannah acted fine around them and didn’t exhibit any overt signs of suicidality. They, like many parents in sadly similar situations, never suspected this would happen.

What Hannah needs: A counselor who listens to her, supports her, and gives her a referral to a more highly trained mental health provider if they do not feel equipped or able to handle the situation.

What Hannah gets: Victim-blaming and shaming.

What to do if you’re Mr. Porter: Listen. Be fully present. Give students who come to you for support the benefit of the doubt. Have referrals to therapists, groups, and other resources ready for any issues that arise that are beyond your scope of practice. Practice care, compassion, and kindness. If you are burnt out, take time for self-care in order to have the energy needed to do the important work that you do.

What to do if you’re Hannah: Don’t give up hope. If one adult won’t listen to you, keep trying. At some point, you WILL find someone who cares, who will listen, and who can help you. Please continue reaching out for help from a counselor, therapist, hotline, trusted parent or adult, trusted person at a religious institution, or medical professional. We are out there, and we care about you and your well-being and healing.

Tape 7, Side A (Episode 13): Hannah’s Suicide

Summary: Hannah takes a package of razor blades from her father’s store, goes home, draws a bath, and slits her wrists. She bleeds to death in the tub.

Therapist thoughts: Hannah is deeply hurting, feeling hopeless, and believing there is nobody who she can trust or turn to for help. She is also angry at those who she holds responsible for her pain, to the point where the only choice that she feels she has left is for her is to kill herself and leave behind recorded messages blaming those who wronged her. She expects everyone who ever hurt her to listen to the tapes after her death and for them to feel guilt and shame, holding them responsible for her death from beyond the grave.

As awful and heartbreaking as all of the things that were done to her were, the choice to commit suicide is ultimately a choice. It was Hannah’s choice, and Hannah’s alone. Saying that anyone else is responsible for a choice that she chose to make is reprehensible.

People who lose someone who they love to suicide tend to face regret even without having a finger pointed directly at them. They are often racked with unanswerable questions and endless “what if’s” about the person who is gone. Survivors blame themselves for not reaching out more, for missing warning signs, for doing too little, for trying to do too much. With 20/20 hindsight, they fantasize about endless scenarios of alternate realities in which they did or said something differently that would have prevented their loved one’s death. The truth is, your actions cannot cause someone else’s suicide. It is their choice, and theirs alone.

Could everyone have been kinder? Absolutely. Were they? No. Were they responsible for Hannah’s killing herself?

No. Hannah was.

If we give other people the power to control us, then we are powerless to the will and the whim of others. As human beings, we have choice: We have the choice to make different decisions, to try different things, and to go different ways than the directions we may be pushed, egged on, threatened, or bullied to. As human beings, we must do our best to choose self-care, self-compassion, self-protection, and self-preservation. It can be extremely difficult work to find the motivation to keep living, to address the underlying issues that contribute to the desire to kill yourself, and to find new ways to cope with emotional distress and challenging situations. It’s challenging work, but it is important and it is necessary and work that only you can do if you are struggling.

You alone can do the work, but you can’t do it alone.

The emotional work necessary to survive can be infinitely harder with a mental illness like depression or anxiety. If this is the case, as it was in Hannah’s, it is imperative to get help from a mental health professional. Not a friend or family member, but from a licensed counselor or therapist. You wouldn’t ask your friend, aunt, or cousin to perform heart surgery on you if you needed it, so if you need help for depression or anxiety, please contact a professional who is trained to help and support you in this way.

Not all kids who are bullied commit suicide. Not everyone who experienced what Hannah did will kill themselves. But some will, and for every person that kills themselves, over 100 others will try. Over 5,200 teenagers attempt suicide every day.

Suicide is the second-leading cause of death for teenagers between the ages of 15–19 in the United states, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), after accidents (#1) and before homicide (#3). More suicide statistics may be found here.

Hannah’s story is important because teenage suicide is a real thing. It’s not necessary to watch in its entirety, but 13 Reasons Why has helped teens, parents, and others have more open conversations about a difficult topic that many would rather ignore, dismiss, or sweep under the rug. We avoid uncomfortable conversations because we don’t like feeling uncomfortable, but often the most uncomfortable conversations are also the most important and necessary ones to have.

Depression, bullying, and suicide need to be talked about. If a show like this helps make it a little easier to introduce or bring up that topic, so be it. If this show can prevent just one suicide by opening the door to talking about very difficult, very important, and very real topics, then it is worth the pain, shock, and discomfort.

Please reach out for help if you are suffering or struggling in any way. You don’t have be alone. You do not have to do this by yourself. Please know that you are worthy and enough exactly as you are. Please know that you are cherished, loved, and lovable. Those who go through the deepest darkness are also capable of generating the brightest light — let’s help get you out of the darkness and into the light. Reach out to any of the below organizations to take one baby steps towards hope and healing. You are so worth it.

And lastly, from my heart to yours, I will say this: I’m sorry that things have happened in your life that have caused you pain. Please forgive me for not doing more. Thank you for being who you are. I love you.

Read and re-read that as many times as you need to.

Now go tell someone else who might need to hear it, too.

Resources for Help and Support

United States

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline | Call: 1-800-273-TALK | Online Option

Trevor Lifeline | 1–866–488–7386

Trans Lifeline | US: 1–877–565–8860, Canada: 1–877–330–6366

Crisis Text Line | Text “741741”

Contra Costa Crisis Center | Crisis & Suicide: 1-800–833–2900 | Live Chat

Common Ground | Call: 1-800-231-1127 | Web Chat
Mental health services for youth offering phone & web crisis lines — help with suicide, bullying, depression, anxiety, and other issues.

Lifeline Crisis Chat | Online Crisis Chat

If reading this made you think, feel, or somehow connect with your aliveness, click here and I’ll keep you in the loop for more.

A friend of mine, Lindsay M. Hawley, passed away by choice on the first day of this year. January 1, 2017.

I haven’t been able to stop crying lately and today my thoughts were consumed by her. I have never lost a friend before, and have definitely never lost anyone to suicide. Sometimes writing helps me sort through my thoughts and feelings, so I wrote this. Maybe it will help just one person to read it as it helped me to write it.

It was a normal day, just like any other day.

I was in my standard seated position with my standard carry-on bag in a standard airport.

I took out my phone and glanced at my Facebook feed, expecting to mindlessly scroll for a few minutes through some combination of the usual: Corgi video, inspirational quote, baby picture, catchy clickbait article via George Takei.

Instead, my heart stopped.

I had to gasp for air because my body had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. Hands shaking like crazy, I searched for proof that what I was seeing wasn’t true.

“Rip sweet beautiful angel.”

“The few months we worked together has left a lifetime of impressions on me about how one should live. You are an inspiration. My daughter will know all about you, and will have you as a model to live by. Thank you for being a bigger part of my life than you would ever know. #livelikelindsay”

“The world honestly confuses me sometimes. Perhaps a light that burns as brightly as yours just can’t be contained on this planet. I hope you’ve found a happy place to rest. Much love to you and all that are feeling your loss.”

I made a phone call. This can’t be true. It can’t. This is bullshit. There has to be another reason for this nonsense, some explanation that makes sense.

“Ivy, she killed herself.”

What?

No.

No, no, no. NO. Please, no…

We had talked just days before. I’d invited her to go snowboarding with me from January 1–7. She said that she couldn’t because she had to prep for her new client, Kodak, and needed to start work for Sundance, but we’d definitely go play in the snow together sometime this season. She’d updated me on how it was going with two of the guys I’d connected her with a few months earlier via my matchmaking efforts:

She was a fiercely alive, badass Jedi warrior princess.

And now she is gone.

Forever.

Frozen in time at the age of 28.

To suicide.

I could say a lot of things about Lindsay M Hawley, but none of them would even come close to doing her justice. Words on a screen feel so damn flat, unable to even come close to capturing the essence of this phenomenal force of a woman. So here’s an attempt to share who she was, in her own flesh, in her own voice.

Her epic selfie fail speedboating around Necker Island:

In her travels around the world, with old friends and making new ones:

On Savvy Stylish Shopping, with visits to her favorite resale shops in San Diego:

On finding your purpose from your story:

Via her blog, Live More Happy (LMH, her initials):

Including entries about how she affords to travel around the world (by thrifting, hustling, and sacrificing stability for the unknown and material things for adventure).

How she coped after being cheated on and lied to by her soon-to-be-fiance.

Her battle with anxiety, attempts to connect with her alcoholic mother, and determination to heal by trying different ways of taking care of herself.

Lindsay felt so deeply, along with a massive responsibility to do so much. Whenever she saw pain or felt suffering in the world, she felt a personal obligation to do something about it. And so she did, again and again and again. Collecting clothing donations for the homeless. Rescuing a puppy from the side of the road, getting it medical treatment, and making sure it was adopted into a loving home. Participating in Bows for a Cause, to help children with cancer. Launching a fundraiser to help raise money for her stepmother Sue’s breast cancer treatment. Championing and contributing to the Spay Neuter Action Project (SNAP San Diego), Peruvian Hearts Foundation, WildCoast, Sports for Exceptional Athletes of San Diego, Urban Angels Volunteer group, Connections Housing of San Diego, Global Wildlife Conservation, and the Door of Faith orphanage in Baja, Mexico:

She was always there as a friend and confidante. Cheering up friends going through breakups with “girls only getaways” to nourishing spaces filled with sunshine and surf. Encouraging both soulmates and strangers to get through the shitty times, to hang in there, to get out of ruts by helping others, and to recognize your infinite potential and to act on it. She believed in others, and in seeing themselves through her eyes, they were able to believe in themselves. Whoever knew her, loved her. I realize how cliche and cheesy this sounds, but it’s the absolute truth:

Lindsay left behind her younger brother Kellen, who she adored and was determined to help through school, and her father and stepmother. You can send support directly to her family here.

Stay connected with Lindsay’s projects and passions here. #livelikeLindsay

I’ve been thinking about her non-stop since I found out she killed herself. And feeling. A lot.

Sadness. Confusion. Guilt. Frustration. Anger.

And fear.

Fear because when I look at Lindsay, I see reflections of myself and others who I know and love.

Someone who said yes to everything and had a hard time saying no if it meant hurting someone else’s feelings, even if that meant it hurt her.

Someone who gave and gave and gave to other people and causes, pouring from her heart and soul and spirit and wallet, but had a hard time receiving, finding it difficult to ask for support or to accept help for herself.

Someone who struggled with connection, who had a million friends and genuinely wanted to, tried to, and did love, but who sometimes suffered from anxiety and isolation, imposter syndrome, feeling disconnected from others and from herself, and trying to fill the emptiness with self-help workshops, gurus, conferences, parties, events, adventures, and numbing distractions.

Someone who was beautiful on the inside and the outside but had challenges with making romantic relationships work.

Someone who lived an enviably glamorous life on FaceBook and Instagram, who went to Necker Island to kick it with Richard Branson, ran around Downtown Vegas with Tony Hsieh, sipped exotic drinks on the beaches of beautiful islands and went on fancy fun adventures around the world, whose light other people marveled at and who others wanted to be.

Someone who was always there for everyone except herself.

I wonder if anyone else out there can relate.

We all have darkness. A shadow side. Parts of ourselves that we are ashamed of, afraid of, concerned that anyone else might see or find out about.

In this day and age where our lives are seemingly under a microscope, available to all for inspection 24/7, there can be crushing pressure to look the right way (perfectly filtered, obviously), do the right thing (make tons of money doing what you love, find and marry the perfect partner, be a perfect parent with a thriving career and thriving children, travel to luxurious vacation destinations and attend fabulous events, be a martyr and sacrifice your own needs for the needs others), and hang out with the right people (because hanging with cool/rich/hot people makes everyone think you are cool/rich/hot by default). There’s more pressure than ever before to deny and hide our struggles, insecurities, and imperfections because God forbid anyone find out at times we struggle with confidence, money, relationships, addiction, parenting, body image, self-love.

I don’t think that darkness is a bad thing. It’s part of who we are. Our darkness can teach us a lot about ourselves, about who we are and what we need. Acknowledging it makes us whole. It only becomes a problem when we deny it, mask it, hide it, avoid it, and pretend it doesn’t exist in order to pretend we are someone we’re not, someone we think and hope other people will like and accept. It’s exhausting trying to prove over social media or in person that we’re good enough, likable enough, and worthy of attention, care, and love.

It’s a dangerous game to constantly judge which parts of us are good or bad, right or wrong, trying to keep what’s okay and shove away what’s not, when the different parts of ourselves aren’t anything except what they are, and that’s okay.

Once we look at and own both our light and darkness, we can finally be seen. Really, truly seen. Which brings about peace and freedom. Peace because you are no longer fighting, exerting energy to be someone you are not, telling half-truths and living a half-life as a result in an attempt to appear perfect. Freedom because once you no longer give a fuck, you can be (or continue to figure out) who you actually are, not who you or anyone else (family, friends, religion, social media) thinks you should be.

There isn’t a definitive destination with an endpoint and gold star once you get there. There’s nowhere to get. Bravely looking at, accepting, and embracing both your light and your darkness is a lifelong journey, a daily practice, and one that you will probably mess up again and again and again.

I know I do.

You can too. And that’s okay.

Suicide doesn’t make any sense. The impact of it never fully goes away and it permanently changes those who are left behind. Once again, I feel like what I’m saying sounds cliche, but it’s the truth.

If you kill yourself, those who know and knew you will never, ever be the same again. Our mutual friend Chelsey described suicide “like releasing a hand grenade directly into the hearts of the people who loved you most.” Accurate.

If you are struggling or feeling overwhelmed right now, please, please, please reach out for support. Right now. Without thinking or hesitation. To that one person in your life who will pick up at 3am who would never judge you (this is usually the same person who you would do the same for). Tell them what sucks. What hurts. What’s really going on. They will listen, and they will love you. Because you are cherished, worthy, loved, and so very precious.

You can also reach out to a caring stranger who will pick up your call anytime via the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1–800–273–8522 or any of these international suicide crisis hotlines. They want to talk to you. Seriously. I volunteered at the Suicide Prevention Line in Culver City for five years. If you don’t call, we literally just sit around nibbling on slightly stale Fig Newtons while staring at each other across the table. We aren’t there for that. We are there for you. To listen to you, to hear you, and to care about you.

You can also reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741–741.

If you want, you can reach out directly to me: http://www.bareivy.com/ I promise I will respond in 24 hours or less.

And now, I’m just going to leave this here. Because #truth.

I miss you, Lindsay. I am trying to do your memory justice and to heal my own heart by sharing your life and your spirit with as many people as I possibly can. I know that you would be stoked if it helps even one person who reads it.

Thank you for making my life brighter by shining your light and better by sharing your darkness.

May you have forever peace, precious Jedi Warrior Princess.