September is Suicide Prevention Month: The Ripple Effects of Suicide
September is Suicide Prevention Month:
The Ripple Effects of Suicide
Stories, Science, & The Hope of Connection
By Dr. Hasti Raveau, PhD, LP
Founder & CEO
Man, oh man. That phrase has been on my heart as I sit down to write this blog post. Suicide is heavy. It is heartbreaking. And for me, it is deeply personal.
During my fourth year of clinical psychology PhD program, I was sitting on the floor of my classmate's apartment, study materials all around us, when her phone rang. It was her advisor: a student a year below us had died of suicide. Moments later, my phone rang too, delivering the same shocking news.
I next learned one of my own research labmates was the person who had found her. He came to supervision the next day, his body visibly shaking as he tried to speak. And here we were, all of us training to be clinical psychologists, stunned, silent, not knowing how to hold him. Even our supervisor had no words. I remember wanting to hug him but freezing, afraid of doing the wrong thing.
Looking back now, I know what the research tells us: connection is one of the strongest protective factors against suicide. Sometimes what matters most is not the perfect words, but presence. Trauma-informed care reminds us that a hug, a hand on the shoulder, or simply saying “I’m here with you” can interrupt the cycle of unbearable aloneness.
At her funeral, I watched her advisor speak with a hollow voice, his face drained of light. I thought: How is this possible? How can someone so loved feel death was the only way out?
But here is the hard truth: Research has shown over and over that suicide is rarely about wanting life to end; suicide is about wanting unbearable pain to stop. Neurodiversity-affirming practice teaches us not to label that pain as weakness or attention-seeking. It teaches us to listen without judgment, to take all suffering seriously, no matter how invisible it may look from the outside.
A year later, I was in Philadelphia with my research lab for a national psychology conference. That night, one of my undergraduates learned his father had died of suicide. And yet the next morning, there he was in his pressed suit, poster board in hand, whispering to me: “I didn’t want to let the team down.”
His guilt broke my heart. And it reminded me of something else the research makes clear: survivors often feel responsible, as though they should have prevented it. Trauma-informed postvention (the care we extend to those left behind) is essential, not just to heal, but to prevent more loss. Families, students, colleagues, they all carry the ripple effects. Supporting them matters as much as prevention itself.
Six months later, I walked into my clinical supervisor’s office. He usually greeted me with a big, warm smile, but that day he looked lost. He told me his graduate school best friend (a husband, father, and fellow clinical psychologist) had died of suicide. He kept saying: “Of all people, not him.”
Research confirms what my advisor was wrestling with: suicide doesn’t always fit the stereotypes. It affects people we least expect, even those surrounded by family, professional success, and purpose. That’s why prevention has to mean creating cultures where we ask, gently but directly: “Are you having thoughts of suicide?” Studies show that asking does not put the idea in someone’s mind, buy can actually lower risk by opening space for honesty and relief.
And then, six months later, it was my 17-year-old brother. I sat in a hospital room, machines keeping his body alive until they couldn’t anymore. The director of clinical training from my program called me that day and said: “Hasti, I need to ask you, are you yourself having thoughts of suicide?”
It stunned me, but he was following the evidence. Research shows that suicide exposure raises risk for loved ones, and screening saves lives. That call, as painful as it was, was an act of care. It reminded me that even when we don’t know what to say, it’s better to ask than to stay silent.
Over a decade has passed. The funerals, the stories, the faces, they are still vivid in my memory. And so is the research I’ve carried with me:
That belonging and connection buffer against despair.
That postvention is prevention.
That asking the hard question can be lifesaving.
That neurodivergent people are at higher risk, and need affirming, not corrective care.
That in some communities, silence or stigma around suicide can make reaching out harder, while in others, spiritual or collective traditions can be sources of deep resilience.
The ripple effects of suicide run long and wide. But prevention is possible. Sometimes it looks like noticing small shifts in a friend’s energy. Sometimes it looks like saying the awkward, honest thing: “I care about you. I’m worried about you. Are you safe?” Sometimes it looks like remembering that even when we are trained to be healers, we too are human, and silence can harm.
September is Suicide Prevention Month.
My hope is that we each take this month as an invitation: to hold one another a little closer, to ask when we’re afraid to ask, and to believe people when they say they’re in pain.
Because every life is worth holding onto.
Populations with the Highest Suicide Rates (U.S. Context):
Middle-aged and older White men – Men die by suicide about 4 times more often than women, and non-Hispanic White men, especially those ages 45–64 and 75+, consistently have the highest rates of suicide. Firearms are the most common means.
American Indian / Alaska Native (AI/AN) youth and young adults – AI/AN youth ages 15–24 have suicide rates 2–3 times higher than the national average. Historical trauma, systemic inequities, and barriers to culturally affirming care play a major role.
LGBTQ+ youth – While not always leading in rate compared to White men, LGBTQ+ youth report much higher prevalence of suicidal thoughts and attempts. For example, nearly half of LGBTQ+ youth seriously considered suicide in the past year (Trevor Project, 2023). Transgender youth are at especially high risk.
Autistic individuals – Autistic adults without intellectual disability are up to 9 times more likely to die by suicide compared to the general population (Hirvikoski et al., 2020).
Global Context:
Worldwide, men account for about 75% of suicide deaths.
Suicide is the 4th leading cause of death among people ages 15–29 (WHO, 2021).
At Mala, suicide prevention is in EVERYTHING we do.
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When care affirms identity, people choose life.
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Until next time,
The Mala Child & Family Institute Team
