mental health illustration./PHOTO ; pexels-polina-zimmerman-3958406
Erick Wagura knows what it feels like when life caves in. Being unemployed was the trigger, but the weight had been building for years.
An introvert by nature, he could easily slip into solitude without raising alarm. But this time was different. He withdrew further, his silence heavier, until his family began to notice.
“I am always known to keep to myself, but not in a manner that I won’t have a few conversations with my family,” he recalls.
“But as difficult as it was for my family to notice my distress, there were still signs. When I was in that state, they noticed I withdrew further from them than my habits, and they knew there was a problem.”
He attempted to end his life more than twice, and drugs became another way to numb the pain.
What haunted him most was not just unemployment, but the quiet torment of watching peers move forward, building careers, gaining independence, while he felt stuck.
“I used to do drugs to forget,” Wagura recalls quietly. “Even if I knew once sober it wouldn’t change the situation, or I’d wake up to the same reality.”
In Mwihoko, where Wagura lives, these struggles often unfold in silence.
“Rural places don’t have places where young people can talk openly about such things,” he says.
“Sometimes when a young person is under such distress, it may be misinterpreted as either being bewitched or something else.”
For Wagura, that silence could have swallowed him whole. But what made the difference was not an institution or a professional counselor; it was his family.
They chose empathy over judgment, offering words of encouragement, showing patience, and refusing to give up on him.
Even without formal care, that support became his lifeline. “I have learned that life has its own stages,” he says.
“Difficult ones don’t last as long as you keep your head high and have patience. Eventually, things work out.”
Today, Wagura is still searching for stable work, working on himself, and even better, his mental state is steadier.
His story shows the vital role of early recognition and personal support, a lesson that would later inform broader initiatives aimed at preventing others from reaching the brink.
Loss That Sparked Advocacy
Where Wagura’s journey is about survival, Doreen Akinyi’s story is about rebuilding after loss.
A nurse by profession, she lost her husband to suicide a year and a half ago, a tragedy that reshaped her life and purpose.
“Were it that I was full of this information, I would have saved his life. It was just something very minor. To me, it was minor, but for him, it wasn’t. I wish I knew I could have saved my husband’s life. Now I’m a widow taking care of my children alone,” she said.
The grief was not just personal but collective, as she witnessed how the tragedy rippled through her family.
“It doesn’t only take away the person who dies,” she explains.
“It changes the lives of those left behind. You start to question yourself, asking what you missed or what you could have done differently.
For months, those questions and judgments consumed her. The grief was compounded by stigma, too. Neighbors whispered, some blaming her for his death.
“The community saw me as a no-go zone, as a bad woman, as somebody evil,” she says.
Yet, rather than retreat, Doreen chose to break the silence.
After a while, she joined a programme, “the Mental Health Champion Initiative”, first as a participant and then as an advocate, determined to turn her pain into purpose.
“Pain is a teacher,” she says.
She began speaking openly about mental health, drawing from her own pain to help others understand the unseen weight people carry.
Today, she identifies as a mental health champion, using her voice to challenge stigma and create space for conversations that often remain hidden.
Her story highlights another truth about the mental health landscape: families are often the first responders, but rarely are they prepared for the burden.
Without resources, training, or support systems, loved ones carry the weight of silence and stigma alongside their grief.
“Attending the sessions taught me that this journey I’m about to start was with me. It was within me. Now, I can at least pass a message to people that suicide is real. And when you save a life, it’s a plus. When you lose a life, it’s a minus.”
Her advocacy is not built on academic training or funding, but on lived experience.
For survivors like Erick and for families like her own, that openness is often the first step to healing.
Building Champions from the Ground Up
If Erick’s story is about survival and Doreen’s about loss, then Dr. Margaret Kagwe’s work is about prevention and preparation.
The mental health initiative Doreen attended traces their roots to Dr. Kagwe, a therapist and former teacher.
Having worked with young people for years, she noticed recurring themes, including self-care, boundaries, expectations, and even parenting, that significantly influenced their mental wellness.
“I thought of creating a curriculum that educated people on how to take care of their mental wellness and also how to support others in mental distress,” she explains.
With guidance from her mentor, Dr. Beatrice Kathungu of Kenyatta University, she assembled a pool of psychologists and launched the Mental Health Champion Initiative in July 2020.
The model is simple yet powerful.
Cohorts, typically formed through referrals, bring together trainees from across Kenya and beyond, ranging from rural towns to the United States and Dubai.
Each group undergoes 10 lessons covering basic mental health literacy, abnormal behavior, stigma, and discrimination.
Sessions are designed for people with no prior psychological training.
The popularity lies in accessibility. “Lessons are delivered in a very simple manner,” Dr. Kagwe says.
Personal therapy is part of the graduation process, ensuring trainees are not only informed but also personally equipped to support others.
What began as a small program has since trained hundreds, producing grassroots mental health champions who extend the impact into their families and communities.
Families as Healing Spaces
The program’s ripple effects, Dr. Kagwe notes, are striking.
“The impact on people, families, and survivors is loud and very significant,” she says.
Trainees learn to understand themselves, advocate for others, and create therapeutic environments in daily life.
In many cases, personal therapy sessions evolve into family therapy.
Entire households, once weighed down by silence or conflict, transform into self-healing spaces.
“Fighting stigma is a lesson on its own,” she adds. “We educate trainees on how words that may seem harmless often negatively impact those struggling with mental conditions.”
This directly counters the kind of stigma Doreen experienced.
By normalizing conversations and teaching supportive language, the cohorts dismantle the culture of blame that so often shadows suicide.
Rural Gaps and Everyday Solutions
Yet the work is not without challenges. While half of the participants come from rural areas, online delivery means many others are left behind. Internet connectivity and technology costs limit reach.
Dr. Kagwe sees potential in involving local leaders:
“If chiefs, assistant chiefs, and others could be trained as mental health champions, they could support families in need and give advice accordingly.”
Beyond structural solutions, she stresses the role of ordinary people. Practical actions, she says, are often underestimated but deeply impactful:
- Active listening — allowing loved ones to speak without interruption.
- Reducing stigma — avoiding phrases like “just get over it” in favor of “I’m here for you.”
- Modeling healthy coping — showing children how stress can be managed constructively.
- Offering practical help — from babysitting to running errands for someone overwhelmed.
- Creating community spaces — safe parks, youth centers, libraries, to reduce isolation.
- Choosing kindness over criticism — affirmations that can shift the course of someone’s day.
- Normalizing help-seeking — reframing therapy or counseling as a strength, not a weakness.
“These may seem small, but they shape the emotional climate of our homes and communities,” she emphasizes.
The Future of Suicide Prevention
Looking ahead, Dr. Kagwe envisions greater collaboration across society.
“The biggest opportunity is building community-based, tech-supported, and culturally sensitive systems of care that bring mental health support into everyday spaces,” she says.
That includes training teachers, faith leaders, youth mentors, and local volunteers in basic mental health first aid.
Schools and workplaces, she adds, can become safe entry points for daily, non-stigmatized access.
But stigma and inequity remain barriers. Fear of judgment still prevents people from opening up or seeking help, while rural populations continue to face limited access.
Addressing these, she argues, requires campaigns that humanize mental health, leaders who model acceptance, and policies that integrate mental wellness into community structures.
From Silence to Support
What emerges from Erick’s survival, Doreen’s grief, and Dr. Kagwe’s initiative is a powerful arc from silence to support.
For Erick, support came through family, noticing the quiet withdrawal and choosing empathy over judgment.
For Doreen, purpose emerged from pain, transforming her into a voice against stigma.
And for Dr. Kagwe, systemic solutions are being built to ensure families and communities become healing spaces.
Suicide prevention, in their collective journeys, is not an abstract campaign but a lived reality.
It is found in the willingness to listen, to replace blame with care, and to make mental health part of daily life.
As Suicide Prevention Month comes to an end, it reminds the world that lives can be saved when silence is broken and when families, communities, and ordinary people step into their role as champions of support.
