Quiet Confessions, Episode 18 - Suicide Awareness Month: My Story of Survival

In this episode of Quiet Confessions, Chelsea shares their story of surviving postpartum mood and anxiety disorders, suicidal ideation, and the long road through psychiatric hospitalizations and misdiagnoses. With raw honesty, Chelsea reveals the toll of stigma, the failures of the healthcare system, and the terrifying weight of intrusive thoughts—while also highlighting the resilience, healing, and glimmers of hope that kept them moving forward.

As Suicide Awareness Month comes to a close, this episode is a reminder that silence feeds shame—but sharing our stories can save lives.

📌 Key Takeaways

• Postpartum mood and anxiety disorders (PMADs) can include suicidal ideation, and it’s vital to speak openly about these experiences to break stigma.
  
  
• Hospitalizations can be both necessary and traumatizing—highlighting the need for compassionate, effective perinatal mental health care.
  
  
• Misdiagnoses and dismissals by providers can delay critical treatment; self-advocacy is essential, though often exhausting.
  
  
• Healing is possible—through partial hospitalization, outpatient therapy, and learning skills like DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy).
  
  
• Silence feeds shame; stories of survival can help others feel less alone.

💬 Soundbites

1. “The darkness of shame and stigma dies when we bring it into the light.”
   
   
2. “I begged to be admitted because I knew I wasn’t safe. And every time I left worse than when I arrived.”
   
   
3. “I told them over and over again this wasn’t just depression or anxiety—I knew my body. And I was right. Two years later, they found the pituitary tumor.”
   
   
4. “If you’re listening and struggling—even if you’re not suicidal—text 988. You deserve help.”
   
   
5. “Suicide Awareness Month isn’t about statistics. It’s about stories. It’s about saying out loud: I’ve been there, but I’m still here.”

This episode discusses topics that may be triggering for some individuals. Please check the show notes for more information and be mindful of your own mental health and comfort levels.

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Transcript

Chelsea Myers (00:42)
Hey, welcome back to another quiet confession. This is time for just you and me where I can catch you up on where I'm at in all the chaos. And because we're nearing the end of Suicide Awareness Month, I wanted to share a piece of my story and a quote that I really like that sort of sums up why I talk about this so openly is because the darkness of shame

and stigma dies when we bring it into the light. So this is your content warning. Proceed with caution. And if you need to skip this episode to protect your mental health, I 100 % understand. But diving right in, after both my kids were born, I struggled with postpartum mood and anxiety disorders or PMADS. But after having my youngest,

Part of that struggle was suicidal ideation. These weren't just passing thoughts. They were dark, persistent, intrusive, and told me that my family would be better off without me. And that terrified me because I love my kids and I love my husband. But the weight of physical and mental illness that I was enduring...

was just so much that I couldn't think of anything other than making it stop. Keep in mind, I had gone through a traumatic birth experience, was discharged from the hospital so sick that I couldn't eat, lift my head up, or open my eyes without a blinding headache, then hemorrhaged at home and wound up back in the hospital for an emergency surgery and blood transfusion.

After that, I went through a roller coaster of physical and mental health hell that I wouldn't wish on anyone. I was not able to care for myself, let alone my newborn or my then six year old. I remember laying awake at night, insomnia was a trip, ⁓ and bargaining with myself, kind of trying to logic my way out of feelings that

don't follow logic and wondering how long I would feel like this, if I would ever feel like a functioning human again, and if I could even survive long enough to find out. There were times when it got so bad that I needed to be hospitalized. Psychiatric units, locked doors, 15 minute safety checks,

things I never thought I'd experience and were traumatizing beyond anything I could have ever imagined. But three times I begged to be admitted because I knew I wasn't safe. Each time hoping beyond hope that they would be able to bring me back to life. And every time I left worse than when I arrived.

First, just after Halloween, sitting in a local ER for three days until a bed was found three hours away at a psychiatric facility. Next, two days after being discharged from that facility, hopping on a plane and flying to North Carolina's Chapel Hill Perinatal Psychiatric Inpatient Program, where I would stay all the way through Thanksgiving and into December. And lastly, on Christmas Day.

a call to 9-8-8 and a trip to the ED at the bigger state hospital where I spent another three days with my mom by my side waiting for a bed to open up in their psychiatric inpatient program.

That last one was the most dehumanizing experience. No windows, no time outside, incredibly limited therapies, all group therapies, no one-on-one therapies, and doctors telling me I needed to get my act together rather than working to see what the actual cause was to all of this. This six-month period also included

rapid-fire medication changes that left my body completely changed, as well as multiple dismissals when I tried to explain that I was already diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and depression. I know what that feels like, and this wasn't that. I told them over and over again that I must have a brain tumor or something because my symptoms were so physical as well as mental. I didn't recognize myself anymore.

But no one ordered labs, no one ordered scans, no one listened. And that doesn't even begin to cover the medication withdrawals that left me feeling like a drug addict and a complete lack of trust in my own intuition. It wasn't until starting partial hospitalization and then intensive outpatient treatment over the course of two months.

that I was finally, at the very least, handled like a human and taught absolutely essential DBT skills, dialectical behavioral therapy, that I still use today. It wasn't easy. It wasn't even close to easy. It was terrifying. And a lot of it was completely unnecessary. Ultimately, I was diagnosed with a pituitary tumor, a brain tumor.

that was causing absolute mayhem for my entire body. But they didn't catch that until it had ruptured and bled into my brain Almost two years later. But that's a story for another day.

I share this because silence feeds shame, and I don't want other people to feel alone like I did. If you've had those thoughts, the ones telling you that you can't make it even another moment, you are not broken. You are not alone. I learned to take things moment by moment, then minute by minute, hour by hour.

until I could start counting the days between suicidal thoughts.

This doesn't even begin to cover what my partner went through, witnessing me experiencing all of this. Again, a story for another day. If you're listening right now and you're struggling, please, please reach out. Call or text 988 if you're in the US. Someone will answer and they will talk to you and they will help you make decisions from there.

Even if you're not in complete crisis, like even if you're not suicidal, but you're just really struggling mentally, text 988. Someone will talk to you. You deserve help. You deserve to see what's on the other side. Life isn't perfect, but it was never meant to be. The glimmers in between, they don't negate the hard times, but they bring joy that's

pretty unmatched. Maybe someday I'll dive a little deeper into these experiences, but for now, if you want to know more, you can check out my personal episode in season one, my husband's episode, Ben's episode, also in season one, or you can get on Patreon or buy me a coffee.

and check out our joint episode where we update you on a bunch of things and kind of talk about our shared experience through this whole thing. Suicide Awareness Month isn't about statistics, and I certainly never wanted to be a statistic. It's about stories. It's about saying out loud, I've been there, but I'm still here. And if you're still here too, even if it feels impossible, that's

huge. That matters. You matter.

I'll see you next Thursday, and since this was a particularly heavy episode, let's both promise to chase the dopamine today. I highly recommend comfort food, but you do you. See you next week.