September is Suicide Awareness Month, a time when our feeds are often filled with infographics, hotline numbers, and stories from suicide-attempt survivors.
These messages are important. But even so, they can feel far away, like this is something that happens to other people, or something we don’t talk about in the Latinx community.
As a therapist, and as someone whose dissertation research focused on Chicana teen suicidality, I can tell you this: many of us don’t realize just how common suicidal thoughts and attempts are among our young girls. The risk is even higher for our LGBTQ+ youth.
And they are not just statistics.
They are our daughters, our primas, our students, our clients.
They’re the sweet girl at your church. The funny, outspoken teen in your neighborhood. The quiet one who always says she’s fine. The one carrying far more than she might let on.
She might be excelling in school, helping raise her siblings, and making her parents proud. She might also be anxious, overwhelmed, disconnected, and terrified to say what she’s really feeling.
In so many of our families, suicidal thoughts are not something we talk about.
We’re taught to pray it away, to push through, to suffer in silence. We’re told “échale ganas”, to keep going, to stay strong, especially as girls.
And when a brave Latina does speak up, she may be dismissed with a “ponte a limpiar, es lo que deberias hacer” or reminded that others have it worse. We might even like to remind them how bad our childhood was, and how they have it good…so they have nothing to complain about.
But the longer we avoid these the truth and have those conversations, the more isolated our girls feel. If we truly want to prevent suicide in our communities, we have to go beyond awareness.
We have to name what’s happening.
We have to challenge the stigma.
We have to create spaces where our youth feel seen, heard, and safe enough to speak honestly about their pain.
Why Our Girls Feel Hopeless, and Why We Must Listen
In my dissertation, I interviewed 11 Chicana women who had attempted suicide during adolescence. Almost every single one of them shared that, at the time, they felt like there was no one they could truly go to. They were often surrounded by family, classmates, and community, but no one felt emotionally safe.
They were navigating depression, anxiety, and, especially in my study, ongoing conflict with their caregivers.
Many described:
- Constant pressure to be the “good” daughter, student, and sister
- The weight of bicultural stress, never feeling fully belonging or accepted in either their Latinx or American cultures (ni de aquí, ni de allá)
- Deep frustration over rigid gender expectations, like being expected to stay quiet, pure, obedient, while brothers and male relatives had more freedom
- Painful parent-child dynamics where love felt conditional on whether they brought pride or shame to the family
- Family messages that dismissed or minimized mental health struggles, even in cases of abuse, they were expected to keep it hidden and carry on
The unspoken rules were clear:
You don’t question how things are done.
You don’t talk about pain.
You pray about it. You work harder. You keep going.
But that silence became a cage. When family is framed as the most important thing, and the family dynamics themselves are the source of pain, what then?
Many of the women I interviewed described feeling trapped. They didn’t want to dishonor their families, but they didn’t know how to survive in them either.
They felt alone and hopeless. And in that hopelessness, they came to believe that dying was the only way out.
When Silence Is Deadly
In many Latinx families, especially among first-gen or immigrant households, talking about suicide is still taboo. There’s fear. There’s shame. There are myths like:
- “She’s just being dramatic.”
- “Suicide is a sin.”
- “We don’t have those problems.”
- “That only happens to white people.”
- “She’s just doing it for attention.”
These beliefs keep us from seeing what’s really happening. They keep our kids in the dark, alone with their pain. And they keep families stuck in guilt and confusion when tragedy strikes.
How Do We Break the Silence?
We need to normalize talking about suicide the same way we talk about school stress or physical health. The goal isn’t to have all the answers. It’s to let our kids know they’re not alone, and that it’s safe to talk about hard things.
Here are a few ways to start:
1. Say the Word
Don’t tiptoe around it. Practice saying “suicide,” “mental health,” and “depression” out loud. If your child hears you name it calmly, they’ll be more likely to trust you with their truth.
Try saying:
“Sometimes people feel so overwhelmed they don’t want to live anymore. If you ever felt that way, I would want to know so I could help. You’re never alone.”
2. Don’t Wait for a Crisis
Check in before something is wrong. Talk about emotions and mental health when things are calm, not just after a meltdown or emergency. It builds trust and emotional safety. And make sure your youth know and feel that your love for them is unconditional.
3. Validate, Don’t Minimize
If a young person says they’re struggling, believe them. Don’t jump into fixing or judging.
Instead of saying:
“You have nothing to be sad about.” or “¿Quieres que te metan al manicomio?”
Try:
“I hear you. That sounds really hard. I’m here for you.”
4. Name Your Own Struggles
You don’t have to tell your whole story, but even a little honesty goes a long way. Let them know you’ve also faced hard times, and found support.
Try:
“I didn’t always know how to ask for help, but I’ve learned it’s okay not to be okay. You can always come to me.”
5. Watch How You Talk About Mental Health
Kids are listening. If they hear you call someone “crazy” for taking medication or going to therapy, they’ll internalize that stigma.
Instead of:
“Esa prima está loca, por eso toma pastillas.”
Say:
“She’s getting the support she needs. That takes courage.”
6. Know the Resources
You don’t have to be a therapist to help. But you can be someone who connects your child to one.
Keep local crisis lines, school counselors, or culturally responsive therapists on hand. (See below for a few options.)
Let’s Teach Our Girls That Their Lives Matter
Our daughters should not have to carry the weight of generational silence.
They deserve to be seen, heard, and supported, not just in moments of crisis, but every day.
Talking about suicide won’t make it more likely. But staying silent might.
Resources for Support
- 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (call or text 988)
988lifeline.org - The Trevor Project (LGBTQ+ youth support)
thetrevorproject.org/get-help - Local school counselors, youth programs, and trusted adults in your community
- Watch: “Ni de Aquí, Ni de Allá” , a video presentation of my research on Chicana adolescent suicidality, exploring biculturalism, family conflict, and mental health stigma
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1iFgKZmWwavmr9Wlu4t3f2TXzfQnwgTzC/view
Final Thought
Breaking cycles is hard. But every time we choose honesty over silence, connection over shame, and support over judgment, we build something new.
We create a culture where our girls can be fully themselves. Where they can say the hard things. Where they know their lives matter.
If this resonated with you, subscribe to the blog for more mental health reflections, tools for healing, and culturally grounded resources. You can also find me on Instagram!
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