Companion post for Episode 19 of The Chicana Therapist Podcast

A note before you read further: This post discusses suicide, including cultural context around stigma in Latinx communities. If this isn’t something you can take in right now, it’s okay to save it for later. And if you’re in crisis right now, you can stop reading and call or text 988, support is available in English and Spanish, 24/7.

September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month, but honestly, this conversation shouldn’t be limited to one month a year. I’ve spent years researching Chicana/Latina suicide in graduate school, and I’ve worked with countless people navigating suicidal thoughts. So this month felt like the right time to open up a conversation I think we, as a community, don’t have enough.

Suicide is the ninth leading cause of death for Latinx people in the United States. It’s something quietly present in a lot of our lives, even when we don’t talk about it. So let’s talk about it.

It’s Rarely About Wanting to Die

One of the most important shifts in understanding suicide is this: most people experiencing suicidal thoughts don’t actually want to die. They want unbearable pain to stop. When pain feels endless, with no visible solution, the brain can start treating death as the only exit from that pain. NOT because life doesn’t matter, but because the suffering feels inescapable.

This distinction changes how we respond. If we assume someone wants to die, we might argue with them about all the reasons they have to live. But if we understand they want the pain to end, the conversation shifts: how do we make this pain more bearable, right now, together?

During an acute crisis, the brain’s ability to see options can genuinely narrow, almost like tunnel vision. It’s not that a person doesn’t care about their kids, their family, their future. In that moment, their mind may not be able to generate those options at all. That’s why an outside perspective, someone standing outside the tunnel who can see doors the person inside can’t, matters so much.

It is important to note: crisis states are almost always time-limited, even when they don’t feel that way from the inside. The intensity of a crisis doesn’t reliably predict how someone will feel in a week, a month, or a year.

Passive vs. Active Thoughts

Both deserve attention. Passive thoughts are common, but common doesn’t mean normal or something to wait out.

Myths That Keep People Silent

Every one of these myths does the same thing: it makes people less likely to ask for help.

Stigma in Our Latinx Communities

These patterns show up across research and community work, but they’re not a rule for every family. We’re not a monolith. Consider these lenses, not a checklist.

Familismo, the closeness and loyalty we hold for family, is genuinely protective. But it can also create pressure to keep struggles private to avoid el qué dirán (what will people say). The same value that keeps a family close can be the one that keeps a struggling person quiet.

Marianismo and machismo teach very different scripts, but with a similar effect: Marianismo can frame self-sacrifice as a woman’s role, making it harder to name our own suffering as valid. Machismo can frame vulnerability as weakness (los machos no lloran) making emotional expression feel unsafe for men.

Faith can be a genuine source of strength and community. It can also, in some families, frame suicide as a moral failing rather than a health crisis, or turn “Dios no te da más de lo que puedes aguantar” into a reason someone feels they’ve spiritually failed by struggling.

Access barriers are structural, not just cultural: a shortage of bilingual providers, and even when language matches, a lack of cultural fluency around familismo or immigration experiences. Add cost, insurance, and lack of paid time off, and the barriers compound for working-class Latinx families.

Additional stressors layer on top: acculturation and bicultural stress, documentation status fears that make any interaction with formal systems, including healthcare, feel risky, and generational gaps where immigrant parents and U.S.-raised kids may not share a vocabulary for mental health at all.

None of this exists in isolation. Add stigma on top of intolerable pain, and it’s not just “I’m in pain.” It becomes “I’m in pain and I can’t tell anyone.” That compounding is part of why Latinx high school girls report attempting suicide at notably higher rates than their peers, and why LGBTQ+ Latinx youth, who already face elevated risk, carry an even heavier load.

The good news: stigma isn’t fixed. It’s shifting, especially among younger generations having more open conversations about mental health.

What to Actually Say

Ask directly. Skip euphemisms like “you’re not thinking of doing anything crazy, right?” Directness signals you can handle the real answer and removes the burden from them to bring it up first: “Are you thinking about suicide?”

Listen without fixing. Validate the pain, not the plan. “That sounds unbearable”, not “but you have so much to live for.”

Avoid minimizing. Even well-intended comparisons (“other people have it worse”) can shut the conversation down fast.

Some scripts that can help:

If direct emotional language feels unfamiliar in your family, it’s okay to lead with care and observation instead: “I’ve noticed you’ve been different lately, how are you really doing?” You don’t have to say the word “suicide” for someone to feel seen.

It also matters to mention that seeking help doesn’t mean rejecting family, faith, or strength, it means taking care of yourself so you can keep showing up for the people you love.

As a parent: stay calm, don’t punish or shame the response, ask directly, and involve a professional if there’s an active plan.

As a friend: you don’t need to have answers. Staying present and helping someone access support is enough.

As a coworker or someone less close: you’re not expected to be a therapist. Pointing someone to 988, a crisis line, or employee resources is a real and valuable thing to do.

If Someone Is in Crisis Right Now

And if you’re the one supporting someone through this, your well-being matters too. It’s okay to seek your own support, whether that’s therapy, a support group, or someone to process with.

The Recap

Suicidal thoughts are usually about wanting pain to stop, not about wanting to die. The myths we believe about suicide keep people quiet instead of keeping them safe. Stigma in Latinx communities is real and layered, and it’s shifting. You don’t need perfect words to help someone. You need to be direct, present, and ready with a resource.

Save 988 in your phone. Share this with someone who might need it. And revisit this conversation more than once a year.

If this post brought something up for you, it’s okay to step away and come back later, or to reach out to someone you trust. If you’re in crisis, call or text 988, or text AYUDA to 741741 for Spanish-language support.

Listen to the full episode HERE . Follow along on TikTok, Instagram, and Facebook. Join the newsletter at TheChicanaTherapist.com for podcast updates, blog posts, and upcoming retreats — including the Denver mini-retreat for Latinas in the helping professions on October 16th.



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