You are valued, you are enough, you are wanted: The lessons two friends left behind

Two friends. Two losses. Two lives that won’t return.

In the past three months, I’ve faced a heartbreak I never imagined: losing two close friends to suicide. Their absences echo through my life, leaving questions I’ll never know how to answer. One question lingers above the rest: What stopped them from reaching out?

We avoid the hardest conversations with those who matter most. We hide behind forced smiles or dismiss our pain with phrases like “I’m fine.” Fear of rejection, judgment or appearing weak traps us in silence.

This silence feeds shame, isolates us and convinces us we’re alone. Without openness, we lose the chance to connect, to understand and to help. Brené Brown, a researcher whose work on shame and vulnerability has shaped how we think about emotional openness, explains in her TED Talk, “Listening to Shame,” that shame thrives in secrecy. It convinces us that if people knew the truth about our struggles, they would reject us. Empathy, however, is the antidote to shame. Brown describes empathy as the act of sitting with someone in their pain — not to fix it, but to say, “You’re not alone. I’m here with you.” When we respond with empathy, we stop shame in its tracks and create the kind of connection that lets people feel safe to open up.

Connection doesn’t require grand gestures. Simon Sinek highlights the power of small, consistent actions to build trust and stability in relationships. One of his simplest suggestions is to text “good morning” to a few close friends every day. It may seem trivial, but that daily act reminds people they matter to someone. It tells them they’re not alone, even in the quietest moments. These small routines don’t fix problems, but they establish a foundation of care and consistency that makes harder conversations possible.

We need to normalize emotional openness in our relationships — not just to prevent tragedy, but to build stronger, more meaningful connections. The stakes couldn’t be higher. Suicide is the second leading cause of death among people aged 10–34 in the United States. The U.S. Surgeon General recently declared that the country is facing an epidemic of loneliness, noting that social disconnection increases the risk of premature death by about 30%. This isn’t just a public health crisis — it’s a reflection of how silence has seeped into our relationships, convincing us we must bear our struggles alone.

I have lived this story. Throughout most of my life, I’ve carried an unconscious belief that it’s unsafe to want others to want me. In my mind, it wasn’t that I believed myself to be unworthy of care, but that it simply was not acceptable to ask for it from my peers and therefore to desire it. Even when friends did reach out, I pulled away, and either said I was too busy or simply didn’t want to go, all to keep myself away from these unsafe desires.

Years of frustration and resentment built up into one statement that I said to my father just over four years ago: “Why is it that I give so much to other people, give them connection, understanding and the space to be themselves, but when I need the same no one is there?” To which he responded, “Sometimes you have to reach for the salt before your dinner mate can hand it to you.”

After some time, I decided to trust a few of my longer-term friends and would ask them to different events. To my surprise, they reached back. Friend after friend asked me to spend time with them. Some say that your beliefs shape your reality, but in this instance, it simply allowed me to see the reality that was already in front of me. When I reached out — when I chose vulnerability over fear — my entire outlook on life changed.

In that realization, I understood a deeper truth about loneliness: It often grows from the belief that you aren’t significant, that you aren’t wanted — or worse still, that you aren’t worth wanting. But that belief is a lie. If I could go back and tell my friends one thing, and anyone else that needs to hear it, it would be this: “You are valued, you are enough and you are wanted.” The world is a better place with you in it, no matter what you have or haven’t done.

We tell ourselves we’re fine, even when we’re not. Admitting the truth can feel too risky. Shame convinces us that opening up will lead to rejection or judgment. We stay quiet, hoping discomfort will pass on its own. But silence doesn’t help — it grows shame and deepens isolation. The longer we avoid hard conversations, the more distant we become, even from those who care about us.

Society reinforces this silence. We idolize stoicism and independence, treating vulnerability as weakness. Social media amplifies these pressures, portraying curated perfection that makes admitting struggle feel like failure. Even in our closest relationships, fear lingers. We convince ourselves that our pain will burden others or that they won’t understand. But these fears, while real, are not insurmountable. We can dismantle the walls of shame and silence one conversation at a time.

Avoiding emotional conversations has far-reaching consequences. Silence doesn’t just hide struggles, it feeds the idea that we’re alone in them. This isolation can be devastating. I’ve seen the cost firsthand. Two of my friends struggled in silence, and their stories ended tragically. Their deaths left behind an aching void and a hard truth: The conversations we avoid are often the ones we need to have the most.

But it’s not just about preventing tragedy. Silence robs us of deeper connection. Vulnerability allows us to truly see and support one another. The cost of silence is immense, but the rewards of openness are far greater.

Creating spaces where vulnerability feels safe requires empathy and consistency. Start by listening deeply, validating emotions and normalizing struggle. Simple statements like, “I’m here to listen, no matter what,” or, “I can see why this feels overwhelming,” dismantle shame and build trust. When starting difficult conversations, be intentional. Instead of a generic “How are you?” try, “I’ve noticed you seem quiet — how are you really feeling?” Share your own struggles using “I” statements, such as, “I’ve been feeling overwhelmed and wanted to talk about it.” These conversations don’t have to be perfect. What matters most is showing up, being honest and listening with an open heart.

Losing two friends to suicide reshaped how I think about vulnerability and connection. Their deaths taught me that silence isn’t neutral — it has consequences. When we avoid hard conversations, we miss opportunities to remind the people we love that they matter and aren’t alone.

We can’t afford to wait. Start small, but start now. Reach out to a friend who’s been on your mind. Ask a loved one how they’re really feeling and listen — even if the answer is difficult. Send that “good morning” text, make that call or carve out time for the conversation you’ve been putting off. These moments may feel small, but they create the foundation of trust and connection every relationship needs.

The hardest conversations are worth it. They remind us of our humanity, deepen our connections and, sometimes, save lives.

Seth Gabrielson is an Opinion analyst who writes about the intersection of politics, science and philosophy, while studying physics, aerospace engineering and German. He can be reached at semiel@umich.edu.

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