Healing Through Action: How Loss Led Me to Mental Health Advocacy

Trigger warning: Suicide

I lost my stepdad, Acie "Markus" Kendrick, to suicide in early 2022. My mother found him in one of the bedrooms of our former home in Inglewood, CA, on February 15th. A few hours before, he sent me a text that said, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” with a kiss-blowing gif. That was his goodbye. That message haunted me for a long time, but now it offers a strange comfort. I started a grief journal to release the thoughts that consumed me. Today, I’m sharing excerpts from it because September is Suicide Prevention Month, a time to raise awareness about this critical issue. It’s also an important part of my healing journey and my way of sharing my purpose with the world.

The Call

I’ll never forget where I was when I got the absolute worst call of my life. The room spun, my mind blanked, and I couldn’t function. My cousin had to book my flight because I couldn’t process what had happened. I was at an all-time low, having lost my best friend Eddy just two weeks before. Eddy and Markus were my biggest cheerleaders. I was sick to my stomach.

The five-hour flight from New York to Los Angeles was unbearable and felt like a lifetime. My head pounded from non-stop sobbing as I scrolled through my phone, trying to piece together why he did what he did. I was spiraling.

“How could it be so bad? How could I be so bad he would leave us?” my mom cried in my arms. I felt sick again. I had to reassure her, to remind her this wasn’t her burden to carry. She was fragile, and I worried this would break her. They had been together for 20 years.

People kept saying, “But he was a God-fearing man,” as if that made sense of anything. “How could someone who loved God so much take his own life?” they’d ask.

But his mind was made up. When someone decides, there’s rarely any turning back. He was struggling silently for so long, but finally was free from the thoughts and emotions that consumed him.

In my grief, I carried guilt and regret. I thought I should’ve been kinder, that I should’ve seen the signs and done more. I hated myself for not realizing how much someone so close to me was suffering. But as I’ve gone through this journey, I’ve learned that I’m not alone in these feelings.

A close friend sat me down and said, “You’re the caretaker, you’ve always been. People want to take care of you for a change. You deserve every bit of it.” She was right.

I had to learn to take care of myself. Like they say on airplanes: put on your own oxygen mask before helping others. I also had to learn how to accept help from others, which doesn't come naturally to me. I’ve struggled with my mental health for years, so I had to start being intentional—adopting better habits and learning how to recharge and pour into myself while learning how to lean on my community. I'm getting there. I know many Black women are on a similar journey as me.

According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) , minorities face extra challenges in seeking mental health care. These challenges include cultural stigma, lack of culturally competent providers, systemic racism, socioeconomic barriers, and limited access to mental health resources in our communities. This can result in disparities in mental health treatment and outcomes for minority populations. We desperately need change.

I want to see Black and brown people grow old. I want Black men to feel supported when sharing their emotions and freed from the societal pressures that silence them. I want Black women to feel safe and seen. That’s why I decided to become a leader in the mental health movement and dedicate my life’s work to bringing awareness.

I've had the privilege of working with brilliant leaders who share my mission of centering mental health, well-being, and belonging in Black and brown communities. Leaders like Thomas Drew , Corey Lewis-Utendahl , and Kahlil Dumas , who launched 1AND1, a unique mental health and wellness platform designed to help people achieve their goals and transform their lives. Our work centered around breaking the stigma around mental health in Black communities. I’ve also collaborated with Shadé Akande , the visionary behind ONE X LEAGUE, a social league that creates inclusive spaces for Black and Afro-Latinx women to thrive personally and professionally. My work with Viannca Vélez and Melody Capote at the Caribbean Cultural Center African Diaspora Institute has been deeply fulfilling, especially in raising awareness of the importance of art and healing across diasporic communities.

These collaborations, among many others, have aligned with my values and reinforced my commitment to fostering spaces where Black and brown communities can heal, grow, and thrive. Through this work, I’m reminded daily of the power of collective care and the importance of creating environments where everyone feels seen, supported, and valued.

Take Action

So, what can you do? Start by talking to the youth. Address cultural barriers and use your voice to spark the conversation. We have to engage, especially in Black and Latino communities. I’m inviting you to join me in this movement. Starting a conversation can save a life. Studies show that people with suicidal thoughts feel relief when someone asks about them in a caring way. You can learn more about getting involved by visiting NAMI’s website .

I’m choosing to mobilize instead of agonizing, using my voice and platform to advocate for better mental health outcomes in my community. I look forward to having you on this journey with me. I know it’s what Markus would have wanted.

If you or someone you know is in crisis, call, text, or chat 988 to speak to a trained crisis counselor, available 24/7/365. #SuicidePreventionMonth

With love,

Tiff Knighten