Every year, as Thanksgiving approaches, I find myself thinking about a Thanksgiving that almost never happened for me.
In November 2013, three days before Thanksgiving, I attempted to take my own life.Even after all these years, writing those words feels heavy.There is no elegant way to describe a moment when someone reaches a place where living feels harder than leaving. There is no inspirational quote that can fully explain the loneliness, exhaustion, fear, and hopelessness that can exist behind a smile that tells everyone else, “I’m fine.”I wasn’t fine.And at the time, I didn’t know how to explain that.I don’t share this part of my life because I want sympathy. I don’t share it because I believe my experience was more difficult than someone else’s. And I certainly don’t share it because I have somehow figured out all the answers since then.I share it because I survived.Three days later, families gathered around Thanksgiving tables. People passed plates, laughed, told stories, complained about eating too much, and talked about what they were thankful for.I was still here.At the time, I don’t think I fully understood what those words would eventually mean.I was still here.There have been thousands of ordinary moments since November 2013 that I almost never experienced.Birthdays. Christmas mornings. Vacations. Career accomplishments. Mistakes. Laughter that made my stomach hurt. Quiet drives with music playing. Conversations with people I love. New friendships. Goodbyes. Unexpected opportunities. Difficult seasons I thought would never end—and beautiful seasons I never knew were coming.That is one of the strangest things about looking back.The person I was in November 2013 could only see the pain directly in front of him. He couldn’t see everything waiting beyond it.He couldn’t see the life I am living today.And I don’t judge him for that.I feel sad for him.Sometimes I wish I could sit beside that younger version of myself without trying to lecture him or tell him everything would magically become perfect. Because it didn’t. Life after surviving wasn’t suddenly easy. There were still disappointments, losses, insecurities, failures, and days when life felt incredibly heavy.Instead, I think I would simply tell him:You don’t have to figure out the rest of your life tonight.Maybe that would have been enough.Because one of the lessons I have carried with me since 2013 is that life doesn’t always need to be understood in its entirety. Sometimes survival happens quietly—in hours, minutes, conversations, appointments, phone calls, and decisions to stay just a little longer.Today, I am deeply grateful for the life that followed that November night.But gratitude doesn’t mean pretending the past wasn’t painful.There is still sadness when I think about how hopeless I must have felt to believe there was no other way forward. There is sadness knowing that there are people sitting in bedrooms, cars, offices, classrooms, and homes right now carrying that same invisible weight while the people around them may have absolutely no idea.That is why I talk about it.Not because surviving made me extraordinary.It didn’t.I am simply a person who experienced an incredibly dark moment and was fortunate enough to live long enough to discover that one terrible chapter did not get to write the entire story.And perhaps that is what Thanksgiving means differently to me now.It isn’t only about being thankful for accomplishments, possessions, careers, places traveled, or milestones reached.Sometimes I am thankful for something much simpler.Another morning.Another conversation.Another Thanksgiving.Another year of becoming someone I never had the opportunity to meet in 2013.As Thanksgiving approaches each year, I think about the person I was three days before that holiday in 2013. I think about how badly he was hurting and how convinced he was that his story had reached its ending.I wish he could see me now.Not because my life became perfect.But because it continued.
And sometimes, that alone is something worth being profoundly thankful for.