by Emily Barnhardt
If had to choose a phrase that encapsulates my story and the pain and suffering I’ve experienced, it would be: “collateral beauty.”
Several years ago, I lost my best friend (who was also my roommate) to suicide. It turned my world upside down.
There are no words to explain the devastating grief that washes over you after a complex loss like suicide; it’s as unpredictable and relentless as waves crashing over the seashore. I wrestled with the never-ending questions and the monstrous-of-all questions, “why?” I broke time and time again over the feeling that I somehow failed her and didn’t love her enough.
I wanted to be angry with her for leaving me that way and giving up.
I wanted to be angry with her for leaving me to pick up the pieces of her life.
I even wanted to hate her, at times, because I just hurt so damn much.
But as much as I wanted to hate her for it, I never could…because the reality was that I loved her so much. That’s why it hurt so damn deeply.
I wanted to talk about her, but felt the unspoken and awkward silence of those who couldn’t bear the darkness.
I felt the influence of shaming stigma, though every ounce of me knew that the way she died did not define her, or speak to the wonderful person she was. Without preparation, my world was forcefully exposed to the nature of “complicated grief” in suicide loss. And through my grief and love for her, I started to find a passionate voice inside of me- a voice that desperately longed to make a difference.
I have also battled my own personal wars
With depression, anxiety, an eating disorder, and trauma.
There were seasons in my past that, truthfully, I should not have survived
There were seasons where I felt the darkness would surely overtake me. Seasons of deep loneliness, desperation, grief and loss, defeat and hopelessness.
Seasons where the light at the end of the tunnel seemed like a cruel joke of a dangling carrot on the end of a stick.
I found help through therapy and treatment, yes. But for me, my healing came through my faith, and in knowing the Lord. He truly changed my darkness into light before my eyes. And it was then that I witnessed just how beauty can truly come from even the most desolate of ashes.
Was it easy? Hell, no.
It was a journey of strenuous mountaintops and a hell of a lot of valleys. But through the journey, I was able to see that we are stretched the most-and can tap into our passion/purpose the most-in those valleys, where we are the most vulnerable and the soil is most fertile.
It was a hard reality for me to wrestle with-– that beauty can come from pain and suffering. In regards to my best friend’s suicide, I struggled with accepting that because it felt like embracing something beautiful would equate to me saying that her death was OK. And it wasn’t OK; it never will be. But I’ve learned that both suffering and beauty can co-exist.
I’ve learned I can simultaneously know that her death was not good-that it was devastating, wounded me deeply and changed me forever- while also knowing that there can be collateral beauty from it.
For me, that collateral beauty has been many things- big and small.
A big thing was the opportunity I was given to help write a book on surviving loss by suicide, and another book on how to help the newly bereaved. I also launched a community in my city (a branch of a larger, international community), that creates a safe space and point of connection for young adults who’ve faced significant loss in their lives.
Through my own struggles with trauma and depression and anxiety, I’ve felt compelled to seek out ways to help others who are suffering. And I’ve found even more healing, myself, through that. Because I’ve learned how much our stories matter; our stories have the power to help others.
I’ve volunteered with a ministry that helps survivors of sexual abuse and sexual assault. I’ve mentored middle schoolers and made it my mission to love on the ones I could see were hurting and struggling. I advocate/write about things I’m passionate about making a difference in (grief, suicide, mental illness, addiction, trauma, relational support, faith), hoping to do my part in starting conversations that matter.
I recently started volunteering with an organization that combats sex trafficking in my city and helps rescue victims from trafficking.
Sharing all of this is in no way an attempt to toot my own horn, because most of the time I truthfully feel so inadequate and ill-equipped to do whatever it is that I’m doing. I share all this, because I want people to know: no matter what we have gone through and experienced, there IS hope for healing and purpose, through our pain. And healing does not equate to moving on or forgetting.
I look at healing in certain ways that we are able to continue living, while using the pain we’ve experienced and honoring the memories of those we’ve loved and lost.
God has shown up in my deepest depths of darkness, and shown me that there is always hope for me, no matter how broken I feel. And the greatest gift I’ve been given-the collateral beauty-is seeing that my story matters, and can help encourage others who feel they are too broken to ever truly live or see beauty, again.