The Case Against Saying "Don't Let it Get to You"

"College Junior's Suicide Leaves Friends, Family Asking, 'Why?' " How often have we encountered headlines like this—with the media admonishing to avoid becoming the next statistic by talking to someone when overwhelmed with hopelessness? Though I would never encourage anyone to take one's own life, I'm rarely surprised that the person in question kept quiet.

Despite lip service to the contrary, our get-over-it culture is not very good at answering a despairing soul's pleas for help. We're told to talk it out with someone, but when we do, too often we get platitudes that defeat their speaker's intention of helping us feel better. Appropriate distress at hearing that one is a danger to self or others can lead to "why would you" questions, denial, or admonition ("Don't think like that!"). If I were suicidal, even anticipating such reactions would silence me. Likewise for preaching that suicide is the wrong choice.

"Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem." Never say that. Despite the altruistic intention to convince the person that the situation has nonlethal solutions, the despondent person perceives it as pooh-poohing her ordeal: "What makes you think my problem is temporary? Do you know how it will be resolved? No? Then stop pretending to know more about my life than I do!"

"Suicide is stupid/selfish." If I had one reason to consider stupid a swearword, this would be it. I remember an otherwise decent person whose condemnation of suicidal people bit like a blast of Midwestern winter wind. I acknowledge that suicide hurts those left behind. But many who kill themselves were beset by a depressive medical disorder. Snapping out of it is more than a matter of will. Some people think they're being anything but stupid or selfish: twenty years ago, I was beset with episodes of feeling that I should spare scores of innocents the unpleasantness of being around me in the future. Positive interactions with people ended these thoughts. Being criticized for my feelings accomplished nothing.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself!" This is another disincentive to voice not only despair but letdowns such as not getting that raise or your car breaking down or…whatever. English is replete with phrases like "don't let it get to you" and "times like this make us stronger." How many folks grew up without hearing about starving children in [your parents' favorite locale] or being told, "Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can't hurt you"? Pessimism brings admonishment to think positive. But even sharing an ambition or dream invites another kind of wisdom: "I hate to burst your bubble, but...," or "Why would you want that?" The urge to help people in this fashion isn't confined to English-speaking countries. After I took offense at a coworker's taunts, another coworker—from Asia—told me, "You take things too serious [sic]." Such statements imply that if you are hurt by another's incivility, it's your fault. Baloney. But objecting yields more clichés: "I'm trying to help you." (Maybe so, but it isn't working.)

Some of these zingers are illogical. Suppose I really am oversensitive. Would telling me so really make me realize I need to toughen up? Or just lead me to beat myself up or brand the critic as an insensitive a-hole? Someone taking umbrage at rude store clerks or aggressive drivers often gets told, "Don't take it personally," That isn't necessarily the case: they're offended because the incivility is wrong. Retaliation is inexcusable, but I get tired of counselors and wellness "experts" implying that if someone else offends you, it's your fault.

We're taught as children about table manners, please-and-thank-you, et cetera. But schooling on how to comfort people and guide them out of a problem seems inadequate, as evidenced by all the "You shoulds/shouldn'ts" and even cookie-cutter uplifters like "You can do anything you set your mind to." They roll off the tongue as if by automation. I can't get mad at someone saying them because they're heart's in the right place. On the other hand, it doesn't sound like they're really listening and if I anticipate such a response, I'm inclined to keep my feelings inside. Not that that does any good.

About 29,000 Americans kill themselves per year, presumably after feeling either that their tunnel would never end or the light up ahead turned out to be an oncoming train. And whenever I hear of a suicide, I can't help wonder if the last thing he heard was "don't let it get to you."