What Qualifies You to Give Parenting Advice When You Lost a Child to Suicide?

“What Qualifies You to Give Parenting Advice When You Lost a Child to Suicide?”

That was the message. Word for word.

A direct message on LinkedIn from someone I’d never spoken to. No context. No conversation. Just that.

It stings. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. There’s a lot of rawness just under the surface of what I do, and a message like that knows exactly where to land.

There was a time I would have engaged. Written something back. Tried to explain myself. Tried to make them see. I’ve learned that nothing good comes from giving that kind of comment air to breathe. Delete. Block. Move on.

But the question stayed with me. Not because the person deserved an answer. Because the question itself deserves one.

What qualifies me?

I held my daughter in a hospital bed and believed that if I loved her hard enough, something would change. It didn’t. I watched the signs and didn’t know what they meant. I had conversations and couldn’t get past her defences. I waited when I should have acted. And Maddie died at 14.

That’s what qualifies me.

Not because loss makes someone an expert. It doesn’t. But because everything I’ve built since then exists to make sure other parents have what I didn’t. Awareness before it’s too late. Language for the conversations that matter. Support before it becomes a crisis.

I didn’t choose this path. I’m on it because the alternative was doing nothing with what I learned, and I couldn’t live with that.

The day after I received that message, I received another one.

A mental health practitioner, someone I’m connected with on LinkedIn, wrote to tell me she’d forwarded one of my articles to a friend whose child was suicidal. The friend read it. It changed how she responded to her kid that week.

Her message said: “This is all to say that your post made a huge difference for one family. Thank you again.”

A few weeks before that, a woman reached out to me while travelling with her child who was severely struggling. She was desperate for resources. She didn’t know who to call. She thought of me because she follows what I write.

She’s from Toronto. I was able to connect her with the right people quickly.

She didn’t contact me because I have a credential on a wall. She contacted me because something I’d written made her feel like I’d understand.

That’s what qualifies me.

I don’t have an official certification or a title. The fact that I’ve been where you are and I’m still here. The fact that I built something from the worst thing that ever happened to me because no parent should have to carry this alone. The fact that when a mother contacts me from an airport because her child is in crisis and she doesn’t know who else to call, I answer.

Over 2,000 parents have reached out to me. Because I tell them the truth. The truth about what I missed. The truth about what I got wrong. The truth about what it costs when you wait too long to act. That’s not something you learn from a textbook. That’s something you learn from living through it and deciding to be useful with what’s left.

I don’t have all the answers. I’ve never claimed to. I’ve made mistakes as a parent that I carry every day. I know what doesn’t work because I’ve lived it. I know what sometimes does because I’ve spent the last decade learning from families who are still in it.

I’m not here as an authority. I’m here as someone who has walked this road and turned around to help the people still on it.

If you’re a parent reading this and you’ve been noticing something in your teen, a shift, a withdrawal, a feeling you can’t name. You don’t have to wait until you’re certain. You don’t have to figure it out alone.

The Teen Signal Check is a free, private tool that helps you sort what you’re seeing into clear next steps. Three minutes. No login. No data shared.

And if you want to talk about what mentorship could look like for your family, or what support actually looks like when things feel uncertain, I’m here for that conversation.

That’s what The MentorWell is for. That’s what I’m for.

To the person who sent that message: I hope you never need what I offer. But if you do, I’ll be here for that conversation too.