The Anatomy of Your Teen’s Suicide Attempt

It’s a Saturday morning in early December. You’re moving through your day, unaware that the next few hours will forever change your life. Your teenager is locked in her room, and you assume she’s studying for her exams. These exams are everything—her final chance to secure her university admissions. She’s done well this fall. She’s always managed to do decently in school. Sure, she’s had a few issues with friends this year. That’s nothing new. Girls can be caddy. It's been that way since before I was in school. She’s stressed, but it’s just the usual teen pressure, right?

You walk by her door and hear nothing. You figure she was up late studying—no harm in letting her sleep in a bit. It's 9 a.m., and you think about waking her up to get back to work. You quietly knock, but there’s no answer. You try the door handle, but something’s off—the door is locked. A quick flicker of unease passes through you, but you shrug it off. Maybe she wants some privacy.

Then, as you turn toward the kitchen, you spot something on the floor. You freeze. It’s a pill—just one, but it’s there. You bend down for a closer look and then notice others scattered nearby. Your mind races, and you feel that gut-wrenching disbelief for a moment. No, this can’t be happening. You stand there, heart pounding in your chest.

You return to her door and knock again, this time with more urgency. But there’s still no answer. Your unease turns to anxiety, and you wonder why the door’s locked. You feel that nagging, familiar sense of panic creeping in. You have a decision to make: wait for her to open the door or force it open yourself. Your heart is in your throat.

You decide. You put your shoulder into the door, feeling the cold wood resist. The door gives way with a shudder, and you step into the room. What you see stops you in your tracks.

Your daughter is inside—unresponsive. Her body lies there, pale and still, in stark contrast to the study materials you expected to find. Instead, there’s an open bottle of vodka on her dresser and a scattered mess of prescription pills beside her bed.

Your breath catches in your throat. The sight of it—a mix of alcohol and pills—is more than you can bear. You rush to her, shaking her desperately, trying to rouse her. Her breath is shallow, but it’s there. Barely. She stirs, slowly, and you know you don’t have a second to waste.

You call 911, your voice shaky, but urgent. Within minutes, sirens blare. Police, paramedics, fire engines—they swarm your front door. The ambulance arrives, and you watch them lift your daughter onto a stretcher, whisking her away. You follow, heart racing, trying to keep it together as you drive to the hospital, praying she’ll be okay.

She survives. But did it really have to come to this?

This moment, when your heart stops and the world spins, results from what happens when we ignore the warning signs. It’s the bitter truth that I’ve shared with so many parents: you can’t wait until the crisis hits. The signs were there, but you didn’t see them, or perhaps you dismissed them, thinking things would be fine. But when it happens, it happens fast, and it’s devastating.

I’m sharing this with you not to scare you, but to make you listen. Right now, you have the power to change the course. You can get involved before the crisis comes. It’s not too late to take action.

But if you ignore the warnings, one day, you’ll look back and ask yourself, “Why didn’t I listen?” And you’ll wish you had.

I hope you hear me now. Because the next time, it might be too late. Don't wait for the knock on the door to be the one that changes everything.