It was a simple question. Or at least sounded like one.

“No pressure, but if you’re willing to share…tell about a time you were misunderstood.”

We had no idea what we were in for. Nobody said, “buckle up.” There was no warning my life was about to be upended.

Or that a complete stranger, half my age, was about to save my life.

The audience was mixed for the last group session of the day. Therapists, psychologists, and observers sat and waited for someone to speak.

Then her hand went up, “I can.”

All eyes were on the young woman. She had been smiling and laughing. Now?

Jaw clenched.
Not angry. Worse.

Icy resignation.

Eyes that danced a minute before…now flat. Just like her voice.
She’d gained the floor with two words and her tone.

“I was at church camp several years ago. I went every summer since I was little and loved everything about it.

“This year was different. I felt ‘off.’
I’d have really high, ‘highs’ and then deep lows. There were days I’d hang out with friends all day.
Others, I binged Netflix. I was still an A student. Barely.
I almost didn’t go to camp but my parents talked me into it”

“We were halfway through and I started to struggle. One afternoon I caught up to a counselor. I pulled her aside and asked if I could take a break.

Something was wrong.

I wasn’t feeling ‘normal’ and not in a good place. I just wanted to lay down for a while.”

Her voice was steel and teeth were clenched.

“The counselor said, ‘Oh honey…It’s just hormones! You’re at that age and it’ll be ok in a bit. Don’t worry about it. You’ll get used to it.’”

Her tears started. The only noise was from people reaching for the scattered boxes of Kleenex to  hand her. Then the hammer fell.

“Two weeks later I tried to take my life.” She was in this room today because she had tried a second time.
Now it was people reaching for Kleenex to wipe their own eyes.

“It wasn’t her fault. I was already seeing a counselor, but didn’t know it was  depression, yet. Everything I read said it was, but I didn’t know—Maybe I didn’t want to know?”

Then the knife.

“I don’t blame her at all for where I ended up. I blame her for not asking any questions…not even ‘What do you mean?’ I was invisible, or felt like I was…Like I didn’t matter.”

She looked at the floor. I looked at my heart.

I had said and done the same thing to others. And myself. As a coach, youth pastor, Sunday School teacher. As a team leader, manager, sales manager. And as a husband and father. I wanted to be anywhere else in the world besides that room.

“I’ve never been back to church. Never will. My parents still go and invite me—I don’t.”

It took a minute for people to regain their composure. The leaders of the group thanked everyone for sharing, noted there was a lot to process, and called it a day…early. We shuffled out the door in silence. I put my sunglasses on before I got to the door to cover my tears. And my shame. By the time I got to my truck, I had full on sobs.

Forty-five minutes of them. I couldn’t drive. I wanted to vomit.

I had just witnessed the tragedy of a WORDwreck for the first time and was afraid of how many I had caused. Unknowingly.
___________________________________

As I tried to get control of myself, I wrestled with rationalization. “No idea who this girl is…” I didn’t need to.
“She has mental issues…was she even telling the truth?” I wasn’t an observer that day. I was in the room for the same reason she was. Who was I to judge?

And there was no doubt she was telling the truth.

As I sat with my thoughts, tears streaming, choking on snot and bile, I realized it wasn’t that I didn’t want to believe her.

I didn’t want to recognize the truth.

Fifty-four years of accomplishments, recognition, and titles went out the window in that moment. I had earned a new title.

Hypocrite.

Not because of anything I’d done…Because of what I’d said.
And left unsaid.

I had been the counselor—being seen, without letting people shine.
And the young woman—making decisions because of other people’s words.

The evidence convicted me.
But with acceptance?

Came freedom.
_________________________________

I had a “peace that passes all understanding…” moment.

I couldn’t drive yet. I was untangling my own WORDwreckage. Trying to understand how a guy…

·       Married to a beautiful wife with three amazing kids

·       First granddaughter on the way

·       With a house, 2 cars, and no financial issues.

·       In church with a great friend group.

·       First trip to Tokyo eight weeks away.

·       #1 in his role at a Fortune 50 company.

…gets to the point of wanting to take his own life.

Thanks to the love of my wife and the relationship we built, I felt safe enough to confess I had made a plan. We went to the hospital together. Her first words as we left the intake process? “I never thought you’d do it—even though you needed to.”

Sometimes the last thing we want to do is the thing we need to do the most.

And thanks to the young woman, in her authenticity and vulnerability, I found the answer.

Words.

They’re the first thing we think of.
But the last we think about.

The ones we say to others…and ourselves.
The ones others say to us…and about us.
The ones we see, hear, and scroll.

All leaving WORDprints.

2+2 never fails to be 4. Numbers always math. Words don’t. And they carry consequences.

Their distortions divide…us from who we want to be and from others.
___________________________

Nearly three years later? Still carry the diagnosis. No need for a safety plan. No meds. Granddaughter is beautiful. Getting ready for our third trip to Japan.

Transferred to San Antonio…my wife earned a promotion. I resigned.  Because I still can’t unsee words. Is it a calling? No idea, but definitely more than a conviction.

I think of the young woman daily and pray for her. I thanked her profusely the day after she told her story. Then stumbled all over the impact it had on me. I hope she understood, but at the time, her words had taken away mine. I think she’d be more interested in knowing where her story has gone and the people it’s impacted. From what I know of her, she’d be stunned.

Even more so knowing I told my story to a police officer friend.
He used it to talk a husband and father of three off a balcony.

The dad was listening to the wrong words. Like I did.

Ready To Read the WORDwall? Click Here

More about WORDlabs? Right here

Have a word, label, or sentence you’ve carried and ready to share? Click here.

THE NEXT RE|vision? The Trillion Dollar Price Tag.
The Collision? We spend more on words each year…than Amazon.

Interested in more?