Tell me again how your “inability to breathe properly” in a mask is more important of an issue than black people being shot in the streets, indigenous women going missing, innocent people dying of starvation and COVID-19 in Yemen, families being separated at the border, and trans people having their rights stripped away. It seems that the two most dangerous things about living in America today are being Black/Brown and being exposed to COVID-19. Only one of these two dangerous activities is avoidable. One is simply existing. What more can we as minorities do? We are tired. We are angry. We can't breathe.

“Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?” I asked. “Yes,” he responded. Fighting tears, I asked, “Do you have a plan?” He responded, “I would go to the top of the parking deck and jump.” Suddenly, I was aware of the space my heart took up in my chest. It was beating so hard that it blocked my breath from escaping my lungs. After hanging up the phone I collapsed, sobbing on the floor of my apartment, visualizing the 523 miles of space between me and the little brother I was supposed to protect. I thought I’d been prepared to discuss suicide before this, but there’s no script on how to be a mental health ally. It’s not about giving advice, but about aiding another in discovering their own path to wellness. I couldn’t tell my brother how to “feel better,” but I could help him find resources and support. Being raised in the Black community, my brother and I saw the stigma that prevents minorities from receiving counseling. We were told that mental illness was for the privileged, not the poor. Even though this stigma has begun to change, we carried those notions into adulthood. Being in the Air Force my brother thought, “What would my commanding officers think of me?” I thought about my experience with PTSD and why I had not received counseling either. Why was I worried about my credibility as a young adult entering the workforce? It was through this reflection that my perspective changed. Thankfully, my brother received counseling and is no longer having suicidal ideations. I’ve been receiving my own counseling as well! Counseling has completely changed my life and I’m now in my final year of the M.A., Clinical Mental Health Counseling program at UNC Pembroke. I have decided to commit my life as a counselor to bridge the gap between quality counseling and minority communities. The experience of having a brother with suicidal ideations made me realize the importance of mental health and the need for counselors in minority communities because counseling is for anyone in any stage of life.

“Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?” I asked my little brother, fully expecting him to shoot down my fears. “Yes,” he responded. Fighting back tears, I asked, “Do you have a specific plan, or just thoughts?” He responded, “I would go to the top of the parking deck, and jump.” Suddenly, I became aware of my heart and the amount of space it took up in my chest. My heart was beating so hard, so fast, that it blocked my breath from escaping my lungs. After hanging up the phone I collapsed, hands shaking, sobbing on the floor of my apartment, visualizing the 523 miles of space between me and the little brother that I was supposed to protect. This conversation changed my perspective on allyship, mental health, and life. After being a resident advisor for two years during college, I thought I was fully prepared to speak with people about suicide. I memorized the script, and was comfortable saying the word when asking the question “have you had thoughts of suicide?” I knew by saying the word “suicide,” I did not increase the likelihood of a person having suicidal ideations, but instead, I decreased their chances of dying from suicide. Just by extending a hand of support, the door to continued discussions on how to cope would be opened. I thought I had been fully prepared, until speaking with my brother. I did not read anything in the script about how to talk to my own brother about his plans of suicide. The script did not tell me what I should do to cope with my own panic and depression as a result of fear of losing my little brother. The script had become null-and-void. There is no script on how to be a mental health ally, because allyship is not about giving advice or mentoring a person in distress. Allyship in mental health is about aiding another person in discovering their own solutions, and their own path to those solutions. I could not tell my brother how to “feel better,” but I could help him find resources and offer him support. My brother and I are mixed-race children from a military town, who were raised in the Black church. I saw, firsthand, the stigma that prevents people from seeking help, especially in minority communities. Mental health was not an issue that we saw people actively speaking about, or seeking help for. We were told that mental illness was only for the privileged, not for the poor. To us, it was something to conceal and simply pray about. Even though the stigma surrounding mental illness has begun to change, my brother carried various notions into young adulthood. My brother knew men could cry, but he still did not want to show his emotions. He knew counseling was good, but he was worried that people might judge him. As an Airman in the Air Force, he thought “What would my commanding officers think of me? Would this affect my path to becoming a pilot?” I began to think about my own experiences with mental health and why I had not sought out counseling, even though I have been living with ADHD, PTSD, and anxiety since I was 11 years old. I thought about why I had not sought counseling even though I had recommended counseling to my brother, and many of my residents in distress. I contemplated going to counseling, but never followed through because of how people might view me, or how expensive it could be. I thought about my credibility as a young adult entering a full-time job and how that could be affected by a diagnosis. I thought about the money I would spend, and how it could be used elsewhere. It was through this reflection that my perspective on life changed as well. I am grateful to say that my brother attended counseling, and is no longer having thoughts of suicide. I am thankful for the opportunities I have been given to attend graduate school and receive my own counseling. I am in the process of earning my M.A. in Clinical Mental Health Counseling, and strongly believe that the best counselors receive counseling themselves. The experience of having a brother with suicidal ideations made me change my perspective on life because I realized the importance of mental health counseling, and the need for clinical mental health counselors in minority communities. Counseling is not only for people with diagnosed illnesses or suicidal ideations. Counseling is for anyone, at any point or stage of life. Through advocacy, education, allyship, and perseverance I plan on committing my life and career as a Clinical Mental Health Counselor to bridge the gap between quality counseling and minority communities.

“Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?” I asked my little brother, fully expecting him to shoot down my fears. “Yes,” he responded. Fighting back tears, I asked, “Do you have a specific plan, or just thoughts?” He responded, “I would go to the top of the parking deck, and jump.” Suddenly, I became aware of my heart and the amount of space it took up in my chest. My heart was beating so hard, so fast, that it blocked my breath from escaping my lungs. After hanging up the phone I collapsed, hands shaking, sobbing on the floor of my apartment, visualizing the 523 miles of space between me and the little brother that I was supposed to protect. This conversation changed my perspective on allyship, mental health, and the impact I hope to have. After being a resident advisor for two years during college, I thought I was fully prepared to speak with people about suicide. I memorized the script, and was comfortable saying the word when asking the question “have you had thoughts of suicide?” I knew by saying the word “suicide,” I did not increase the likelihood of a person having suicidal ideations, but instead, I decreased their chances of dying from suicide. Just by extending a hand of support, the door to continued discussions on how to cope would be opened. I thought I had been fully prepared, until speaking with my brother. I did not read anything in the script about how to talk to my own brother about his plans of suicide. The script did not tell me what I should do to cope with my own panic and depression as a result of fear of losing my little brother. The script had become null-and-void. There is no script on how to be a mental health ally, because allyship is not about giving advice or mentoring a person in distress. Allyship in mental health is about aiding another person in discovering their own solutions, and their own path to those solutions. I could not tell my brother how to “feel better,” but I could help him find resources and offer him support. My brother and I are mixed-race children from a military town, who were raised in the Black church. I saw, firsthand, the stigma that prevents people from seeking help, especially in minority communities. Mental health was not an issue that we saw people actively speaking about, or seeking help for. We were told that mental illness was only for the privileged, not for the poor. To us, it was something to conceal and simply pray about. Even though the stigma surrounding mental illness has begun to change, my brother carried various notions into young adulthood. My brother knew men could cry, but he still did not want to show his emotions. He knew counseling was good, but he was worried that people might judge him. As an Airman in the Air Force, he thought “What would my commanding officers think of me? Would this affect my path to becoming a pilot?” I began to think about my own experiences with mental health and why I had not sought out counseling, even though I have been living with ADHD, PTSD, and anxiety since I was 11 years old. I thought about why I had not sought counseling even though I had recommended counseling to my brother, and many of my residents in distress. I contemplated going to counseling, but never followed through because of how people might view me, or how expensive it could be. I thought about my credibility as a young adult entering a full-time job and how that could be affected by a diagnosis. I thought about the money I would spend, and how it could be used elsewhere. It was through this reflection that my aspirations to positively impact minority communities through mental health awareness and counseling took shape. I am grateful to say that my brother attended counseling, and is no longer having thoughts of suicide. I am thankful for the opportunities I have been given to attend graduate school and receive my own counseling. I am in the process of earning my M.A. in Clinical Mental Health Counseling, and strongly believe that the best counselors receive counseling themselves. The experience of having a brother with suicidal ideations influenced me because I realized the importance of mental health counseling, and the need for clinical mental health counselors in minority communities. Counseling is not only for people with diagnosed illnesses or suicidal ideations. Counseling is for anyone, at any point in life. Through advocacy, education, allyship, and perseverance I plan on committing my life and career as a Clinical Mental Health Counselor to bridge the gap between quality counseling and minority communities.

“Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?” I asked my little brother, fully expecting him to shoot down my fears. “Yes,” he responded. Fighting back tears, I asked, “Do you have a specific plan, or just thoughts?” He responded, “I would go to the top of the parking deck, and jump.” Suddenly, I became aware of my heart and the amount of space it took up in my chest. My heart was beating so hard, so fast, that it blocked my breath from escaping my lungs. After hanging up the phone I collapsed, hands shaking, sobbing on the floor of my apartment, visualizing the 523 miles of space between me and the little brother that I was supposed to protect. After being a resident advisor for two years, I thought I was fully prepared to talk about suicide. I memorized the script, and was comfortable saying the word when asking the question “have you had thoughts of suicide?” I knew by saying “suicide,” I did not increase the likelihood of a person having suicidal ideations, but instead, I decreased their chances of dying from suicide. Just by extending a hand of support, the door to continued discussions on how to cope would be opened. I thought I had been fully prepared, until speaking with my brother. I did not read anything in the script about how to talk to my own brother about his plans of suicide. The script did not tell me what I should do to cope with my own panic and depression as a result. The script had become null-and-void. There is no script on how to be a mental health ally, because allyship is not about giving advice or mentoring a person in distress. Allyship in mental health is about aiding another person in discovering their own path to a solution. I could not tell my brother how to “feel better,” but I could help him find resources and offer him support. My brother and I are mixed-race children from a military town, who were raised in the Black church. I saw, firsthand, the stigma that prevents people from seeking help, especially in minority communities. We were told that mental illness was only for the privileged, not for the poor. To us, it was something to conceal and simply pray about. Even though the stigma surrounding mental illness has begun to change, my brother carried various notions into young adulthood. My brother knew men could cry, but he still did not want to show his emotions. He knew counseling was good, but he was worried that people might judge him. As an Air Force Airman, he thought “What would my commanding officers think?” I began to think about my own experiences with mental health and why I had not sought out counseling, even though I have been living with PTSD and anxiety since I was 11 years old. I thought about why I had not sought counseling even though I had recommended counseling to my brother, and many residents. I contemplated going to counseling, but never followed through because of how people might view me. I thought about how my credibility as a young adult could be affected by a diagnosis. I thought about the money I would spend, and how it could be used elsewhere. It was through this reflection that my perspective on mental health, and my career aspirations changed. I am grateful to say that my brother attended counseling, and is no longer having thoughts of suicide. I am thankful for the opportunities I have been given to receive my own counseling while in the process of earning a M.A. in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. The experience of having a brother with suicidal ideations impacted my career aspirations because I realized the importance of mental health counseling, and the need for clinical mental health counselors in minority communities. Counseling is not only for people with diagnosed illnesses or suicidal ideations. Counseling is for anyone, at any point in life. Through advocacy, education, allyship, and perseverance I plan on committing my life and career as a Clinical Mental Health Counselor to bridge the gap between quality counseling and minority communities.

“Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?” I asked my little brother, fully expecting him to shoot down my fears. “Yes,” he responded. Fighting back tears, I asked, “Do you have a specific plan, or just thoughts?” He responded, “I would go to the top of the parking deck, and jump.” Suddenly, I became aware of my heart and the amount of space it took up in my chest. My heart was beating so hard, so fast, that it blocked my breath from escaping my lungs. After hanging up the phone I collapsed, hands shaking, sobbing on the floor of my apartment, visualizing the 523 miles of space between me and the little brother that I was supposed to protect. This conversation changed my perspective on allyship, mental health, and life. After being a resident advisor for two years during college, I thought I was fully prepared to speak with people about suicide. I memorized the script, and was comfortable saying the word when asking the question “have you had thoughts of suicide?” I knew by saying the word “suicide,” I did not increase the likelihood of a person having suicidal ideations, but instead, I decreased their chances of dying from suicide. Just by extending a hand of support, the door to continued discussions on how to cope would be opened. I thought I had been fully prepared, until speaking with my brother. I did not read anything in the script about how to talk to my own brother about his plans of suicide. The script did not tell me what I should do to cope with my own panic and depression as a result of fear of losing my little brother. The script had become null-and-void. There is no script on how to be a mental health ally, because allyship is not about giving advice or mentoring a person in distress. Allyship in mental health is about aiding another person in discovering their own solutions, and their own path to those solutions. I could not tell my brother how to “feel better,” but I could help him find resources and offer him support. My brother and I are mixed-race children from a military town, who were raised in the Black church. I saw, firsthand, the stigma that prevents people from seeking help, especially in minority communities. Mental health was not an issue that we saw people actively speaking about, or seeking help for. We were told that mental illness was only for the privileged, not for the poor. To us, it was something to conceal and simply pray about. Even though the stigma surrounding mental illness has begun to change, my brother carried various notions into young adulthood. My brother knew men could cry, but he still did not want to show his emotions. He knew counseling was good, but he was worried that people might judge him. As an Airman in the Air Force, he thought “What would my commanding officers think of me? Would this affect my path to becoming a pilot?” I began to think about my own experiences with mental health and why I had not sought out counseling, even though I have been living with ADHD, PTSD, and anxiety since I was 11 years old. I thought about why I had not sought counseling even though I had recommended counseling to my brother, and many of my residents in distress. I contemplated going to counseling, but never followed through because of how people might view me, or how expensive it could be. I thought about my credibility as a young adult entering a full-time job and how that could be affected by a diagnosis. I thought about the money I would spend, and how it could be used elsewhere. It was through this reflection that my perspective on life changed as well. I am grateful to say that my brother attended counseling, and is no longer having thoughts of suicide. I am thankful for the opportunities I have been given to attend graduate school and receive my own counseling. I am in the process of earning my M.A. in Clinical Mental Health Counseling, and strongly believe that the best counselors receive counseling themselves. The experience of having a brother with suicidal ideations made me change my perspective on life because I realized the importance of mental health counseling, and the need for clinical mental health counselors in minority communities. Counseling is not only for people with diagnosed illnesses or suicidal ideations. Counseling is for anyone, at any point or stage of life. Through advocacy, education, allyship, and perseverance I plan on committing my life and career as a Clinical Mental Health Counselor to bridge the gap between quality counseling and minority communities.