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Pandemic unveils growing suicide crisis for communities of color
This story is a collaboration between KHN and “Science Friday.”
Rafiah Maxie has been a licensed clinical social worker in the Chicago area for a decade. Throughout that time, she’d viewed suicide as a problem most prevalent among middle-aged white men.
Until May 27, 2020.
That day, Maxie’s 19-year-old son, Jamal Clay – who loved playing the trumpet and participating in theater, who would help her unload groceries from the car and raise funds for the March of the Dimes – killed himself in their garage.
“Now I cannot blink without seeing my son hanging,” said Maxie, who is Black.
Clay’s death, along with the suicides of more than 100 other Black residents in Illinois last year, has led locals to call for new prevention efforts focused on Black communities. In 2020, during the pandemic’s first year, suicides among White residents decreased compared with previous years, while they increased among Black residents, according to state data.
But this is not a local problem. Nor is it limited to the pandemic.
Interviews with a dozen suicide researchers, data collected from states across the country, and a review of decades of research revealed that suicide is a growing crisis for communities of color – one that plagued them well before the pandemic and has only been exacerbated since.
Overall suicide rates in the U.S. decreased in 2019 and 2020. National and local studies attribute the trend to a drop among White Americans, who make up the majority of suicide deaths. Meanwhile, rates for Black, Hispanic, and Asian Americans – though lower than those of their white peers – continued to climb in many states. (Suicide rates have been consistently high for Native Americans.)
“COVID created more transparency regarding what we already knew was happening,” said Sonyia Richardson, a licensed clinical social worker who focuses on serving people of color, and assistant professor at the University of North Carolina–Charlotte, where she researches suicide. When you put the suicide rates of all communities in one bucket, “that bucket says it’s getting better and what we’re doing is working,” she said. “But that’s not the case for communities of color.”
Losing generations
Although the suicide rate is highest among middle-aged White men, young people of color are emerging as particularly at risk.
Research shows Black kids younger than 13 die by suicide at nearly twice the rate of White kids and, over time, their suicide rates have grown even as rates have decreased for White children. Among teenagers and young adults, suicide deaths have increased more than 45% for Black Americans and about 40% for Asian Americans in the 7 years ending in 2019. Other concerning trends in suicide attempts date to the ’90s.
“We have to pay attention now because if you’re out of the first decade of life and think life is not worth pursuing, that’s a signal to say something is going really wrong.”
These statistics also refute traditional ideas that suicide doesn’t happen in certain ethnic or minority populations because they’re “protected” and “resilient” or the “model minority,” said Kiara Alvarez, a researcher and psychologist at Massachusetts General Hospital who focuses on suicide among Hispanic and immigrant populations.
Although these groups may have had low suicide rates historically, that’s changing, she said.
Paul Chin lost his 17-year-old brother, Chris, to suicide in 2009. A poem Chris wrote in high school about his heritage has left Chin, 8 years his senior, wondering if his brother struggled to feel accepted in the U.S., despite being born and raised in New York.
Growing up, Asian Americans weren’t represented in lessons at school or in pop culture, said Chin, now 37. Even in clinical research on suicide as well as other health topics, kids like Chris are underrepresented, with less than 1% of federal research funding focused on Asian Americans.
It wasn’t until the pandemic, and the concurrent rise in hate crimes against Asian Americans, that Chin saw national attention on the community’s mental health. He hopes the interest is not short-lived.
Suicide is the leading cause of death for Asian Americans ages 15 to 24, yet “that doesn’t get enough attention,” Chin said. “It’s important to continue to share these stories.”
Kathy Williams, who is Black, has been on a similar mission since her 15-year-old son, Torian Graves, died by suicide in 1996. People didn’t talk about suicide in the Black community then, she said. So she started raising the topic at her church in Durham, N.C., and in local schools. She wanted Black families to know the warning signs and society at large to recognize the seriousness of the problem.
The pandemic may have highlighted this, Williams said, but “it has always happened. Always.”
Pandemic sheds light on the triggers
Pinpointing the root causes of rising suicide within communities of color has proved difficult. How much stems from mental illness? How much from socioeconomic changes like job losses or social isolation? Now, COVID-19 may offer some clues.
Recent decades have been marked by growing economic instability, a widening racial wealth gap, and more public attention on police killings of unarmed Black and Brown people, said Michael Lindsey, executive director of the New York University McSilver Institute for Poverty Policy and Research.
With social media, youths face racism on more fronts than their parents did, said Leslie Adams, assistant professor in the department of mental health at Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health.
Each of these factors has been shown to affect suicide risk. For example, experiencing racism and sexism together is linked to a threefold increase in suicidal thoughts for Asian American women, said Brian Keum, assistant professor at UCLA, based on preliminary research findings.
COVID-19 intensified these hardships among communities of color, with disproportionate numbers of lost loved ones, lost jobs, and lost housing. The murder of George Floyd prompted widespread racial unrest, and Asian Americans saw an increase in hate crimes.
At the same time, studies in Connecticut and Maryland found that suicide rates rose within these populations and dropped for their White counterparts.
“It’s not just a problem within the person, but societal issues that need to be addressed,” said Shari Jager-Hyman, assistant professor of psychiatry at the University of Pennsylvania.
Lessons from Texas
In Texas, COVID-19 hit Hispanics especially hard. As of July 2021, they accounted for 45% of all COVID-19 deaths and disproportionately lost jobs. Individuals living in the U.S. without authorization were generally not eligible for unemployment benefits or federal stimulus checks.
During this time, suicide deaths among Hispanic Texans climbed from 847 deaths in 2019 to 962 deaths in 2020, according to preliminary state data. Suicide deaths rose for Black Texans and residents classified as “other” races or ethnicities, but decreased for White Texans.
The numbers didn’t surprise Marc Mendiola. The 20-year-old grew up in a majority-Hispanic community on the south side of San Antonio. Even before the pandemic, he often heard classmates say they were suicidal. Many faced dire finances at home, sometimes living without electricity, food, or water. Those who sought mental health treatment often found services prohibitively expensive or inaccessible because they weren’t offered in Spanish.
“These are conditions the community has always been in,” Mendiola said. “But with the pandemic, it’s even worse.”
Four years ago, Mendiola and his classmates at South San High School began advocating for mental health services. In late 2019, just months before COVID-19 struck, their vision became reality. Six community agencies partnered to offer free services to students and their families across three school districts.
Richard Davidson, chief operating officer of Family Service, one of the groups in the collaborative, said the number of students discussing economic stressors has been on the rise since April 2020. More than 90% of the students who received services in the first half of 2021 were Hispanic, and nearly 10% reported thoughts of suicide or self-harm, program data show. None died by suicide.
Many students are so worried about what’s for dinner the next day that they’re not able to see a future beyond that, Davidson said. That’s when suicide can feel like a viable option.
“One of the things we do is help them see … that despite this situation now, you can create a vision for your future,” Davidson said.
A good future
Researchers say the promise of a good future is often overlooked in suicide prevention, perhaps because achieving it is so challenging. It requires economic and social growth and breaking systemic barriers.
Tevis Simon works to address all those fronts. As a child in West Baltimore, Simon, who is Black, faced poverty and trauma. As an adult, she attempted suicide three times. But now she shares her story with youths across the city to inspire them to overcome challenges. She also talks to politicians, law enforcement agencies, and public policy officials about their responsibilities.
“We can’t not talk about race,” said Simon, 43. “We can’t not talk about systematic oppression. We cannot not talk about these conditions that affect our mental well-being and our feeling and desire to live.”
For Jamal Clay in Illinois, the systemic barriers started early. Before his suicide last year, he had tried to harm himself when he was 12 and the victim of bullies. At that time, he was hospitalized for a few days and told to follow up with outpatient therapy, said his mother, Maxie.
But it was difficult to find therapists who accepted Medicaid, she said. When Maxie finally found one, there was a 60-day wait. Other therapists canceled appointments, she said.
“So we worked on our own,” Maxie said, relying on church and community. Her son seemed to improve. “We thought we closed that chapter in our lives.”
But when the pandemic hit, everything got worse, she said. Clay came home from college and worked at an Amazon warehouse. On drives to and from work, he was frequently pulled over by police. He stopped wearing hats so officers would consider him less intimidating, Maxie said.
“He felt uncomfortable being out in the street,” she said.
Maxie is still trying to make sense of what happened the day Clay died. But she’s found meaning in starting a nonprofit called Soul Survivors of Chicago. Through the organization, she provides education, scholarships and shoes – including Jamal’s old ones – to those impacted by violence, suicide, and trauma.
“My son won’t be able to have a first interview in [those] shoes. He won’t be able to have a nice jump shot or go to church or even meet his wife,” Maxie said.
But she hopes his shoes will carry someone else to a good future.
[Editor’s note: For the purposes of this story, “people of color” or “communities of color” refers to any racial or ethnic populations whose members do not identify as White, including those who are multiracial. Hispanics can be of any race or combination of races.]
KHN senior correspondent JoNel Aleccia contributed to this report. KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.
This story is a collaboration between KHN and “Science Friday.”
Rafiah Maxie has been a licensed clinical social worker in the Chicago area for a decade. Throughout that time, she’d viewed suicide as a problem most prevalent among middle-aged white men.
Until May 27, 2020.
That day, Maxie’s 19-year-old son, Jamal Clay – who loved playing the trumpet and participating in theater, who would help her unload groceries from the car and raise funds for the March of the Dimes – killed himself in their garage.
“Now I cannot blink without seeing my son hanging,” said Maxie, who is Black.
Clay’s death, along with the suicides of more than 100 other Black residents in Illinois last year, has led locals to call for new prevention efforts focused on Black communities. In 2020, during the pandemic’s first year, suicides among White residents decreased compared with previous years, while they increased among Black residents, according to state data.
But this is not a local problem. Nor is it limited to the pandemic.
Interviews with a dozen suicide researchers, data collected from states across the country, and a review of decades of research revealed that suicide is a growing crisis for communities of color – one that plagued them well before the pandemic and has only been exacerbated since.
Overall suicide rates in the U.S. decreased in 2019 and 2020. National and local studies attribute the trend to a drop among White Americans, who make up the majority of suicide deaths. Meanwhile, rates for Black, Hispanic, and Asian Americans – though lower than those of their white peers – continued to climb in many states. (Suicide rates have been consistently high for Native Americans.)
“COVID created more transparency regarding what we already knew was happening,” said Sonyia Richardson, a licensed clinical social worker who focuses on serving people of color, and assistant professor at the University of North Carolina–Charlotte, where she researches suicide. When you put the suicide rates of all communities in one bucket, “that bucket says it’s getting better and what we’re doing is working,” she said. “But that’s not the case for communities of color.”
Losing generations
Although the suicide rate is highest among middle-aged White men, young people of color are emerging as particularly at risk.
Research shows Black kids younger than 13 die by suicide at nearly twice the rate of White kids and, over time, their suicide rates have grown even as rates have decreased for White children. Among teenagers and young adults, suicide deaths have increased more than 45% for Black Americans and about 40% for Asian Americans in the 7 years ending in 2019. Other concerning trends in suicide attempts date to the ’90s.
“We have to pay attention now because if you’re out of the first decade of life and think life is not worth pursuing, that’s a signal to say something is going really wrong.”
These statistics also refute traditional ideas that suicide doesn’t happen in certain ethnic or minority populations because they’re “protected” and “resilient” or the “model minority,” said Kiara Alvarez, a researcher and psychologist at Massachusetts General Hospital who focuses on suicide among Hispanic and immigrant populations.
Although these groups may have had low suicide rates historically, that’s changing, she said.
Paul Chin lost his 17-year-old brother, Chris, to suicide in 2009. A poem Chris wrote in high school about his heritage has left Chin, 8 years his senior, wondering if his brother struggled to feel accepted in the U.S., despite being born and raised in New York.
Growing up, Asian Americans weren’t represented in lessons at school or in pop culture, said Chin, now 37. Even in clinical research on suicide as well as other health topics, kids like Chris are underrepresented, with less than 1% of federal research funding focused on Asian Americans.
It wasn’t until the pandemic, and the concurrent rise in hate crimes against Asian Americans, that Chin saw national attention on the community’s mental health. He hopes the interest is not short-lived.
Suicide is the leading cause of death for Asian Americans ages 15 to 24, yet “that doesn’t get enough attention,” Chin said. “It’s important to continue to share these stories.”
Kathy Williams, who is Black, has been on a similar mission since her 15-year-old son, Torian Graves, died by suicide in 1996. People didn’t talk about suicide in the Black community then, she said. So she started raising the topic at her church in Durham, N.C., and in local schools. She wanted Black families to know the warning signs and society at large to recognize the seriousness of the problem.
The pandemic may have highlighted this, Williams said, but “it has always happened. Always.”
Pandemic sheds light on the triggers
Pinpointing the root causes of rising suicide within communities of color has proved difficult. How much stems from mental illness? How much from socioeconomic changes like job losses or social isolation? Now, COVID-19 may offer some clues.
Recent decades have been marked by growing economic instability, a widening racial wealth gap, and more public attention on police killings of unarmed Black and Brown people, said Michael Lindsey, executive director of the New York University McSilver Institute for Poverty Policy and Research.
With social media, youths face racism on more fronts than their parents did, said Leslie Adams, assistant professor in the department of mental health at Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health.
Each of these factors has been shown to affect suicide risk. For example, experiencing racism and sexism together is linked to a threefold increase in suicidal thoughts for Asian American women, said Brian Keum, assistant professor at UCLA, based on preliminary research findings.
COVID-19 intensified these hardships among communities of color, with disproportionate numbers of lost loved ones, lost jobs, and lost housing. The murder of George Floyd prompted widespread racial unrest, and Asian Americans saw an increase in hate crimes.
At the same time, studies in Connecticut and Maryland found that suicide rates rose within these populations and dropped for their White counterparts.
“It’s not just a problem within the person, but societal issues that need to be addressed,” said Shari Jager-Hyman, assistant professor of psychiatry at the University of Pennsylvania.
Lessons from Texas
In Texas, COVID-19 hit Hispanics especially hard. As of July 2021, they accounted for 45% of all COVID-19 deaths and disproportionately lost jobs. Individuals living in the U.S. without authorization were generally not eligible for unemployment benefits or federal stimulus checks.
During this time, suicide deaths among Hispanic Texans climbed from 847 deaths in 2019 to 962 deaths in 2020, according to preliminary state data. Suicide deaths rose for Black Texans and residents classified as “other” races or ethnicities, but decreased for White Texans.
The numbers didn’t surprise Marc Mendiola. The 20-year-old grew up in a majority-Hispanic community on the south side of San Antonio. Even before the pandemic, he often heard classmates say they were suicidal. Many faced dire finances at home, sometimes living without electricity, food, or water. Those who sought mental health treatment often found services prohibitively expensive or inaccessible because they weren’t offered in Spanish.
“These are conditions the community has always been in,” Mendiola said. “But with the pandemic, it’s even worse.”
Four years ago, Mendiola and his classmates at South San High School began advocating for mental health services. In late 2019, just months before COVID-19 struck, their vision became reality. Six community agencies partnered to offer free services to students and their families across three school districts.
Richard Davidson, chief operating officer of Family Service, one of the groups in the collaborative, said the number of students discussing economic stressors has been on the rise since April 2020. More than 90% of the students who received services in the first half of 2021 were Hispanic, and nearly 10% reported thoughts of suicide or self-harm, program data show. None died by suicide.
Many students are so worried about what’s for dinner the next day that they’re not able to see a future beyond that, Davidson said. That’s when suicide can feel like a viable option.
“One of the things we do is help them see … that despite this situation now, you can create a vision for your future,” Davidson said.
A good future
Researchers say the promise of a good future is often overlooked in suicide prevention, perhaps because achieving it is so challenging. It requires economic and social growth and breaking systemic barriers.
Tevis Simon works to address all those fronts. As a child in West Baltimore, Simon, who is Black, faced poverty and trauma. As an adult, she attempted suicide three times. But now she shares her story with youths across the city to inspire them to overcome challenges. She also talks to politicians, law enforcement agencies, and public policy officials about their responsibilities.
“We can’t not talk about race,” said Simon, 43. “We can’t not talk about systematic oppression. We cannot not talk about these conditions that affect our mental well-being and our feeling and desire to live.”
For Jamal Clay in Illinois, the systemic barriers started early. Before his suicide last year, he had tried to harm himself when he was 12 and the victim of bullies. At that time, he was hospitalized for a few days and told to follow up with outpatient therapy, said his mother, Maxie.
But it was difficult to find therapists who accepted Medicaid, she said. When Maxie finally found one, there was a 60-day wait. Other therapists canceled appointments, she said.
“So we worked on our own,” Maxie said, relying on church and community. Her son seemed to improve. “We thought we closed that chapter in our lives.”
But when the pandemic hit, everything got worse, she said. Clay came home from college and worked at an Amazon warehouse. On drives to and from work, he was frequently pulled over by police. He stopped wearing hats so officers would consider him less intimidating, Maxie said.
“He felt uncomfortable being out in the street,” she said.
Maxie is still trying to make sense of what happened the day Clay died. But she’s found meaning in starting a nonprofit called Soul Survivors of Chicago. Through the organization, she provides education, scholarships and shoes – including Jamal’s old ones – to those impacted by violence, suicide, and trauma.
“My son won’t be able to have a first interview in [those] shoes. He won’t be able to have a nice jump shot or go to church or even meet his wife,” Maxie said.
But she hopes his shoes will carry someone else to a good future.
[Editor’s note: For the purposes of this story, “people of color” or “communities of color” refers to any racial or ethnic populations whose members do not identify as White, including those who are multiracial. Hispanics can be of any race or combination of races.]
KHN senior correspondent JoNel Aleccia contributed to this report. KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.
This story is a collaboration between KHN and “Science Friday.”
Rafiah Maxie has been a licensed clinical social worker in the Chicago area for a decade. Throughout that time, she’d viewed suicide as a problem most prevalent among middle-aged white men.
Until May 27, 2020.
That day, Maxie’s 19-year-old son, Jamal Clay – who loved playing the trumpet and participating in theater, who would help her unload groceries from the car and raise funds for the March of the Dimes – killed himself in their garage.
“Now I cannot blink without seeing my son hanging,” said Maxie, who is Black.
Clay’s death, along with the suicides of more than 100 other Black residents in Illinois last year, has led locals to call for new prevention efforts focused on Black communities. In 2020, during the pandemic’s first year, suicides among White residents decreased compared with previous years, while they increased among Black residents, according to state data.
But this is not a local problem. Nor is it limited to the pandemic.
Interviews with a dozen suicide researchers, data collected from states across the country, and a review of decades of research revealed that suicide is a growing crisis for communities of color – one that plagued them well before the pandemic and has only been exacerbated since.
Overall suicide rates in the U.S. decreased in 2019 and 2020. National and local studies attribute the trend to a drop among White Americans, who make up the majority of suicide deaths. Meanwhile, rates for Black, Hispanic, and Asian Americans – though lower than those of their white peers – continued to climb in many states. (Suicide rates have been consistently high for Native Americans.)
“COVID created more transparency regarding what we already knew was happening,” said Sonyia Richardson, a licensed clinical social worker who focuses on serving people of color, and assistant professor at the University of North Carolina–Charlotte, where she researches suicide. When you put the suicide rates of all communities in one bucket, “that bucket says it’s getting better and what we’re doing is working,” she said. “But that’s not the case for communities of color.”
Losing generations
Although the suicide rate is highest among middle-aged White men, young people of color are emerging as particularly at risk.
Research shows Black kids younger than 13 die by suicide at nearly twice the rate of White kids and, over time, their suicide rates have grown even as rates have decreased for White children. Among teenagers and young adults, suicide deaths have increased more than 45% for Black Americans and about 40% for Asian Americans in the 7 years ending in 2019. Other concerning trends in suicide attempts date to the ’90s.
“We have to pay attention now because if you’re out of the first decade of life and think life is not worth pursuing, that’s a signal to say something is going really wrong.”
These statistics also refute traditional ideas that suicide doesn’t happen in certain ethnic or minority populations because they’re “protected” and “resilient” or the “model minority,” said Kiara Alvarez, a researcher and psychologist at Massachusetts General Hospital who focuses on suicide among Hispanic and immigrant populations.
Although these groups may have had low suicide rates historically, that’s changing, she said.
Paul Chin lost his 17-year-old brother, Chris, to suicide in 2009. A poem Chris wrote in high school about his heritage has left Chin, 8 years his senior, wondering if his brother struggled to feel accepted in the U.S., despite being born and raised in New York.
Growing up, Asian Americans weren’t represented in lessons at school or in pop culture, said Chin, now 37. Even in clinical research on suicide as well as other health topics, kids like Chris are underrepresented, with less than 1% of federal research funding focused on Asian Americans.
It wasn’t until the pandemic, and the concurrent rise in hate crimes against Asian Americans, that Chin saw national attention on the community’s mental health. He hopes the interest is not short-lived.
Suicide is the leading cause of death for Asian Americans ages 15 to 24, yet “that doesn’t get enough attention,” Chin said. “It’s important to continue to share these stories.”
Kathy Williams, who is Black, has been on a similar mission since her 15-year-old son, Torian Graves, died by suicide in 1996. People didn’t talk about suicide in the Black community then, she said. So she started raising the topic at her church in Durham, N.C., and in local schools. She wanted Black families to know the warning signs and society at large to recognize the seriousness of the problem.
The pandemic may have highlighted this, Williams said, but “it has always happened. Always.”
Pandemic sheds light on the triggers
Pinpointing the root causes of rising suicide within communities of color has proved difficult. How much stems from mental illness? How much from socioeconomic changes like job losses or social isolation? Now, COVID-19 may offer some clues.
Recent decades have been marked by growing economic instability, a widening racial wealth gap, and more public attention on police killings of unarmed Black and Brown people, said Michael Lindsey, executive director of the New York University McSilver Institute for Poverty Policy and Research.
With social media, youths face racism on more fronts than their parents did, said Leslie Adams, assistant professor in the department of mental health at Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health.
Each of these factors has been shown to affect suicide risk. For example, experiencing racism and sexism together is linked to a threefold increase in suicidal thoughts for Asian American women, said Brian Keum, assistant professor at UCLA, based on preliminary research findings.
COVID-19 intensified these hardships among communities of color, with disproportionate numbers of lost loved ones, lost jobs, and lost housing. The murder of George Floyd prompted widespread racial unrest, and Asian Americans saw an increase in hate crimes.
At the same time, studies in Connecticut and Maryland found that suicide rates rose within these populations and dropped for their White counterparts.
“It’s not just a problem within the person, but societal issues that need to be addressed,” said Shari Jager-Hyman, assistant professor of psychiatry at the University of Pennsylvania.
Lessons from Texas
In Texas, COVID-19 hit Hispanics especially hard. As of July 2021, they accounted for 45% of all COVID-19 deaths and disproportionately lost jobs. Individuals living in the U.S. without authorization were generally not eligible for unemployment benefits or federal stimulus checks.
During this time, suicide deaths among Hispanic Texans climbed from 847 deaths in 2019 to 962 deaths in 2020, according to preliminary state data. Suicide deaths rose for Black Texans and residents classified as “other” races or ethnicities, but decreased for White Texans.
The numbers didn’t surprise Marc Mendiola. The 20-year-old grew up in a majority-Hispanic community on the south side of San Antonio. Even before the pandemic, he often heard classmates say they were suicidal. Many faced dire finances at home, sometimes living without electricity, food, or water. Those who sought mental health treatment often found services prohibitively expensive or inaccessible because they weren’t offered in Spanish.
“These are conditions the community has always been in,” Mendiola said. “But with the pandemic, it’s even worse.”
Four years ago, Mendiola and his classmates at South San High School began advocating for mental health services. In late 2019, just months before COVID-19 struck, their vision became reality. Six community agencies partnered to offer free services to students and their families across three school districts.
Richard Davidson, chief operating officer of Family Service, one of the groups in the collaborative, said the number of students discussing economic stressors has been on the rise since April 2020. More than 90% of the students who received services in the first half of 2021 were Hispanic, and nearly 10% reported thoughts of suicide or self-harm, program data show. None died by suicide.
Many students are so worried about what’s for dinner the next day that they’re not able to see a future beyond that, Davidson said. That’s when suicide can feel like a viable option.
“One of the things we do is help them see … that despite this situation now, you can create a vision for your future,” Davidson said.
A good future
Researchers say the promise of a good future is often overlooked in suicide prevention, perhaps because achieving it is so challenging. It requires economic and social growth and breaking systemic barriers.
Tevis Simon works to address all those fronts. As a child in West Baltimore, Simon, who is Black, faced poverty and trauma. As an adult, she attempted suicide three times. But now she shares her story with youths across the city to inspire them to overcome challenges. She also talks to politicians, law enforcement agencies, and public policy officials about their responsibilities.
“We can’t not talk about race,” said Simon, 43. “We can’t not talk about systematic oppression. We cannot not talk about these conditions that affect our mental well-being and our feeling and desire to live.”
For Jamal Clay in Illinois, the systemic barriers started early. Before his suicide last year, he had tried to harm himself when he was 12 and the victim of bullies. At that time, he was hospitalized for a few days and told to follow up with outpatient therapy, said his mother, Maxie.
But it was difficult to find therapists who accepted Medicaid, she said. When Maxie finally found one, there was a 60-day wait. Other therapists canceled appointments, she said.
“So we worked on our own,” Maxie said, relying on church and community. Her son seemed to improve. “We thought we closed that chapter in our lives.”
But when the pandemic hit, everything got worse, she said. Clay came home from college and worked at an Amazon warehouse. On drives to and from work, he was frequently pulled over by police. He stopped wearing hats so officers would consider him less intimidating, Maxie said.
“He felt uncomfortable being out in the street,” she said.
Maxie is still trying to make sense of what happened the day Clay died. But she’s found meaning in starting a nonprofit called Soul Survivors of Chicago. Through the organization, she provides education, scholarships and shoes – including Jamal’s old ones – to those impacted by violence, suicide, and trauma.
“My son won’t be able to have a first interview in [those] shoes. He won’t be able to have a nice jump shot or go to church or even meet his wife,” Maxie said.
But she hopes his shoes will carry someone else to a good future.
[Editor’s note: For the purposes of this story, “people of color” or “communities of color” refers to any racial or ethnic populations whose members do not identify as White, including those who are multiracial. Hispanics can be of any race or combination of races.]
KHN senior correspondent JoNel Aleccia contributed to this report. KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.
Sleepless nights, hair loss, and cracked teeth: Pandemic stress takes its toll
In late March, shortly after New York state closed nonessential businesses and asked people to stay home, Ashley Laderer began waking each morning with a throbbing headache.
“The pressure was so intense it felt like my head was going to explode,” recalled the 27-year-old freelance writer from Long Island.
She tried spending less time on the computer and taking over-the-counter pain medication, but the pounding kept breaking through – a constant drumbeat to accompany her equally incessant worries about COVID-19.
“Every day I lived in fear that I was going to get it and I was going to infect my whole family,” she said.
After a month and a half, Ms. Laderer decided to visit a neurologist, who ordered an MRI. But the doctor found no physical cause. The scan was clear.
Then he asked: “Are you under a lot of stress?”
excruciating headaches, episodes of hair loss, upset stomach for weeks on end, sudden outbreaks of shingles, and flare-ups of autoimmune disorders. The disparate symptoms, often in otherwise-healthy individuals, have puzzled doctors and patients alike, sometimes resulting in a series of visits to specialists with few answers. But it turns out there’s a common thread among many of these conditions, one that has been months in the making: chronic stress.
Although people often underestimate the influence of the mind on the body, a growing catalog of research shows that high levels of stress over an extended time can drastically alter physical function and affect nearly every organ system.
Now, at least 8 months into the pandemic, alongside a divisive election cycle and racial unrest, those effects are showing up in a variety of symptoms.
“The mental health component of COVID is starting to come like a tsunami,” said Jennifer Love, MD, a California-based psychiatrist and coauthor of an upcoming book on how to heal from chronic stress.
Nationwide, surveys have found increasing rates of depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts during the pandemic. But many medical experts said it’s too soon to measure the related physical symptoms, since they generally appear months after the stress begins.
Still, some early research, such as a small Chinese study and an online survey of more than 500 people in Turkey, points to an uptick.
In the United States, data from FAIR Health, a nonprofit database that provides cost information to the health industry and consumers, showed slight to moderate increases in the percentage of medical claims related to conditions triggered or exacerbated by stress, like multiple sclerosis and shingles. The portion of claims for the autoimmune disease lupus, for example, showed one of the biggest increases – 12% this year – compared with the same period last year (January to August).
Express Scripts, a major pharmacy benefit manager, reported that prescriptions for anti-insomnia medications increased 15% early in the pandemic.
Perhaps the strongest indicator comes from doctors reporting a growing number of patients with physical symptoms for which they can’t determine a cause.
Shilpi Khetarpal, MD, a dermatologist at the Cleveland Clinic, used to see about five patients a week with stress-related hair loss. Since mid-June, that number has jumped to 20 or 25. Mostly women, ages 20-80, are reporting hair coming out in fistfuls, Dr. Khetarpal said.
In Houston, at least a dozen patients have told fertility specialist Rashmi Kudesia, MD, they’re having irregular menstrual cycles, changes in cervical discharge and breast tenderness, despite normal hormone levels.
Stress is also the culprit dentists are pointing to for the rapid increase in patients with teeth grinding, teeth fractures, and temporomandibular joint dysfunction.
“We, as humans, like to have the idea that we are in control of our minds and that stress isn’t a big deal,” Dr. Love said. “But it’s simply not true.”
How mental stress becomes physical
Stress causes physical changes in the body that can affect nearly every organ system.
Although symptoms of chronic stress are often dismissed as being in one’s head, the pain is very real, said Kate Harkness, PhD, a professor of psychology and psychiatry at Queen’s University, Kingston, Ont.
When the body feels unsafe – whether it’s a physical threat of attack or a psychological fear of losing a job or catching a disease – the brain signals adrenal glands to pump stress hormones. Adrenaline and cortisol flood the body, activating the fight-or-flight response. They also disrupt bodily functions that aren’t necessary for immediate survival, like digestion and reproduction.
When the danger is over, the hormones return to normal levels. But during times of chronic stress, like a pandemic, the body keeps pumping out stress hormones until it tires itself out. This leads to increased inflammation throughout the body and brain, and a poorly functioning immune system.
Studies link chronic stress to heart disease, muscle tension, gastrointestinal issues and even physical shrinking of the hippocampus, an area of the brain associated with memory and learning. As the immune system acts up, some people can even develop new allergic reactions, Dr. Harkness said.
The good news is that many of these symptoms are reversible. But it’s important to recognize them early, especially when it comes to the brain, said Barbara Sahakian, FBA, FMedSci, a professor of clinical neuropsychology at the University of Cambridge (England).
“The brain is plastic, so we can to some extent modify it,” Dr. Sahakian said. “But we don’t know if there’s a cliff beyond which you can’t reverse a change. So the sooner you catch something, the better.”
The day-to-day impact
In some ways, mental health awareness has increased during the pandemic. TV shows are flush with ads for therapy and meditation apps, like Talkspace and Calm, and companies are announcing mental health days off for staff. But those spurts of attention fail to reveal the full impact of poor mental health on people’s daily lives.
For Alex Kostka, pandemic-related stress has brought on mood swings, nightmares, and jaw pain.
He’d been working at a Whole Foods coffee bar in New York City for only about a month before the pandemic hit, suddenly anointing him an essential worker. As deaths in the city soared, Mr. Kostka continued riding the subway to work, interacting with coworkers in the store and working longer hours for just a $2-per-hour wage increase. (Months later, he’d get a $500 bonus.) It left the 28-year-old feeling constantly unsafe and helpless.
“It was hard not to break down on the subway the minute I got on it,” Mr. Kostka said.
Soon he began waking in the middle of the night with pain from clenching his jaw so tightly. Often his teeth grinding and chomping were loud enough to wake his girlfriend.
Mr. Kostka tried Talkspace, but found texting about his troubles felt impersonal. By the end of the summer, he decided to start using the seven free counseling sessions offered by his employer. That’s helped, he said. But as the sessions run out, he worries the symptoms might return if he’s unable to find a new therapist covered by his insurance.
“Eventually, I will be able to leave this behind me, but it will take time,” Mr. Kostka said. “I’m still very much a work in progress.”
How to mitigate chronic stress
When it comes to chronic stress, seeing a doctor for stomach pain, headaches, or skin rashes may address those physical symptoms. But the root cause is mental, medical experts said.
That means the solution will often involve stress-management techniques. And there’s plenty we can do to feel better:
- Exercise. Even low- to moderate-intensity physical activity can help counteract stress-induced inflammation in the body. It can also increase neuronal connections in the brain.
- Meditation and mindfulness. Research shows this can lead to positive, structural, and functional changes in the brain.
- Fostering social connections. Talking to family and friends, even virtually, or staring into a pet’s eyes can release a hormone that may counteract inflammation.
- Learning something new. Whether it’s a formal class or taking up a casual hobby, learning supports brain plasticity, the ability to change and adapt as a result of experience, which can be protective against depression and other mental illness.
“We shouldn’t think of this stressful situation as a negative sentence for the brain,” said Dr. Harkness. “Because stress changes the brain, that means positive stuff can change the brain, too. And there is plenty we can do to help ourselves feel better in the face of adversity.”
KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a nonprofit news service covering health issues. It is an editorially independent program of KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation), which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.
In late March, shortly after New York state closed nonessential businesses and asked people to stay home, Ashley Laderer began waking each morning with a throbbing headache.
“The pressure was so intense it felt like my head was going to explode,” recalled the 27-year-old freelance writer from Long Island.
She tried spending less time on the computer and taking over-the-counter pain medication, but the pounding kept breaking through – a constant drumbeat to accompany her equally incessant worries about COVID-19.
“Every day I lived in fear that I was going to get it and I was going to infect my whole family,” she said.
After a month and a half, Ms. Laderer decided to visit a neurologist, who ordered an MRI. But the doctor found no physical cause. The scan was clear.
Then he asked: “Are you under a lot of stress?”
excruciating headaches, episodes of hair loss, upset stomach for weeks on end, sudden outbreaks of shingles, and flare-ups of autoimmune disorders. The disparate symptoms, often in otherwise-healthy individuals, have puzzled doctors and patients alike, sometimes resulting in a series of visits to specialists with few answers. But it turns out there’s a common thread among many of these conditions, one that has been months in the making: chronic stress.
Although people often underestimate the influence of the mind on the body, a growing catalog of research shows that high levels of stress over an extended time can drastically alter physical function and affect nearly every organ system.
Now, at least 8 months into the pandemic, alongside a divisive election cycle and racial unrest, those effects are showing up in a variety of symptoms.
“The mental health component of COVID is starting to come like a tsunami,” said Jennifer Love, MD, a California-based psychiatrist and coauthor of an upcoming book on how to heal from chronic stress.
Nationwide, surveys have found increasing rates of depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts during the pandemic. But many medical experts said it’s too soon to measure the related physical symptoms, since they generally appear months after the stress begins.
Still, some early research, such as a small Chinese study and an online survey of more than 500 people in Turkey, points to an uptick.
In the United States, data from FAIR Health, a nonprofit database that provides cost information to the health industry and consumers, showed slight to moderate increases in the percentage of medical claims related to conditions triggered or exacerbated by stress, like multiple sclerosis and shingles. The portion of claims for the autoimmune disease lupus, for example, showed one of the biggest increases – 12% this year – compared with the same period last year (January to August).
Express Scripts, a major pharmacy benefit manager, reported that prescriptions for anti-insomnia medications increased 15% early in the pandemic.
Perhaps the strongest indicator comes from doctors reporting a growing number of patients with physical symptoms for which they can’t determine a cause.
Shilpi Khetarpal, MD, a dermatologist at the Cleveland Clinic, used to see about five patients a week with stress-related hair loss. Since mid-June, that number has jumped to 20 or 25. Mostly women, ages 20-80, are reporting hair coming out in fistfuls, Dr. Khetarpal said.
In Houston, at least a dozen patients have told fertility specialist Rashmi Kudesia, MD, they’re having irregular menstrual cycles, changes in cervical discharge and breast tenderness, despite normal hormone levels.
Stress is also the culprit dentists are pointing to for the rapid increase in patients with teeth grinding, teeth fractures, and temporomandibular joint dysfunction.
“We, as humans, like to have the idea that we are in control of our minds and that stress isn’t a big deal,” Dr. Love said. “But it’s simply not true.”
How mental stress becomes physical
Stress causes physical changes in the body that can affect nearly every organ system.
Although symptoms of chronic stress are often dismissed as being in one’s head, the pain is very real, said Kate Harkness, PhD, a professor of psychology and psychiatry at Queen’s University, Kingston, Ont.
When the body feels unsafe – whether it’s a physical threat of attack or a psychological fear of losing a job or catching a disease – the brain signals adrenal glands to pump stress hormones. Adrenaline and cortisol flood the body, activating the fight-or-flight response. They also disrupt bodily functions that aren’t necessary for immediate survival, like digestion and reproduction.
When the danger is over, the hormones return to normal levels. But during times of chronic stress, like a pandemic, the body keeps pumping out stress hormones until it tires itself out. This leads to increased inflammation throughout the body and brain, and a poorly functioning immune system.
Studies link chronic stress to heart disease, muscle tension, gastrointestinal issues and even physical shrinking of the hippocampus, an area of the brain associated with memory and learning. As the immune system acts up, some people can even develop new allergic reactions, Dr. Harkness said.
The good news is that many of these symptoms are reversible. But it’s important to recognize them early, especially when it comes to the brain, said Barbara Sahakian, FBA, FMedSci, a professor of clinical neuropsychology at the University of Cambridge (England).
“The brain is plastic, so we can to some extent modify it,” Dr. Sahakian said. “But we don’t know if there’s a cliff beyond which you can’t reverse a change. So the sooner you catch something, the better.”
The day-to-day impact
In some ways, mental health awareness has increased during the pandemic. TV shows are flush with ads for therapy and meditation apps, like Talkspace and Calm, and companies are announcing mental health days off for staff. But those spurts of attention fail to reveal the full impact of poor mental health on people’s daily lives.
For Alex Kostka, pandemic-related stress has brought on mood swings, nightmares, and jaw pain.
He’d been working at a Whole Foods coffee bar in New York City for only about a month before the pandemic hit, suddenly anointing him an essential worker. As deaths in the city soared, Mr. Kostka continued riding the subway to work, interacting with coworkers in the store and working longer hours for just a $2-per-hour wage increase. (Months later, he’d get a $500 bonus.) It left the 28-year-old feeling constantly unsafe and helpless.
“It was hard not to break down on the subway the minute I got on it,” Mr. Kostka said.
Soon he began waking in the middle of the night with pain from clenching his jaw so tightly. Often his teeth grinding and chomping were loud enough to wake his girlfriend.
Mr. Kostka tried Talkspace, but found texting about his troubles felt impersonal. By the end of the summer, he decided to start using the seven free counseling sessions offered by his employer. That’s helped, he said. But as the sessions run out, he worries the symptoms might return if he’s unable to find a new therapist covered by his insurance.
“Eventually, I will be able to leave this behind me, but it will take time,” Mr. Kostka said. “I’m still very much a work in progress.”
How to mitigate chronic stress
When it comes to chronic stress, seeing a doctor for stomach pain, headaches, or skin rashes may address those physical symptoms. But the root cause is mental, medical experts said.
That means the solution will often involve stress-management techniques. And there’s plenty we can do to feel better:
- Exercise. Even low- to moderate-intensity physical activity can help counteract stress-induced inflammation in the body. It can also increase neuronal connections in the brain.
- Meditation and mindfulness. Research shows this can lead to positive, structural, and functional changes in the brain.
- Fostering social connections. Talking to family and friends, even virtually, or staring into a pet’s eyes can release a hormone that may counteract inflammation.
- Learning something new. Whether it’s a formal class or taking up a casual hobby, learning supports brain plasticity, the ability to change and adapt as a result of experience, which can be protective against depression and other mental illness.
“We shouldn’t think of this stressful situation as a negative sentence for the brain,” said Dr. Harkness. “Because stress changes the brain, that means positive stuff can change the brain, too. And there is plenty we can do to help ourselves feel better in the face of adversity.”
KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a nonprofit news service covering health issues. It is an editorially independent program of KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation), which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.
In late March, shortly after New York state closed nonessential businesses and asked people to stay home, Ashley Laderer began waking each morning with a throbbing headache.
“The pressure was so intense it felt like my head was going to explode,” recalled the 27-year-old freelance writer from Long Island.
She tried spending less time on the computer and taking over-the-counter pain medication, but the pounding kept breaking through – a constant drumbeat to accompany her equally incessant worries about COVID-19.
“Every day I lived in fear that I was going to get it and I was going to infect my whole family,” she said.
After a month and a half, Ms. Laderer decided to visit a neurologist, who ordered an MRI. But the doctor found no physical cause. The scan was clear.
Then he asked: “Are you under a lot of stress?”
excruciating headaches, episodes of hair loss, upset stomach for weeks on end, sudden outbreaks of shingles, and flare-ups of autoimmune disorders. The disparate symptoms, often in otherwise-healthy individuals, have puzzled doctors and patients alike, sometimes resulting in a series of visits to specialists with few answers. But it turns out there’s a common thread among many of these conditions, one that has been months in the making: chronic stress.
Although people often underestimate the influence of the mind on the body, a growing catalog of research shows that high levels of stress over an extended time can drastically alter physical function and affect nearly every organ system.
Now, at least 8 months into the pandemic, alongside a divisive election cycle and racial unrest, those effects are showing up in a variety of symptoms.
“The mental health component of COVID is starting to come like a tsunami,” said Jennifer Love, MD, a California-based psychiatrist and coauthor of an upcoming book on how to heal from chronic stress.
Nationwide, surveys have found increasing rates of depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts during the pandemic. But many medical experts said it’s too soon to measure the related physical symptoms, since they generally appear months after the stress begins.
Still, some early research, such as a small Chinese study and an online survey of more than 500 people in Turkey, points to an uptick.
In the United States, data from FAIR Health, a nonprofit database that provides cost information to the health industry and consumers, showed slight to moderate increases in the percentage of medical claims related to conditions triggered or exacerbated by stress, like multiple sclerosis and shingles. The portion of claims for the autoimmune disease lupus, for example, showed one of the biggest increases – 12% this year – compared with the same period last year (January to August).
Express Scripts, a major pharmacy benefit manager, reported that prescriptions for anti-insomnia medications increased 15% early in the pandemic.
Perhaps the strongest indicator comes from doctors reporting a growing number of patients with physical symptoms for which they can’t determine a cause.
Shilpi Khetarpal, MD, a dermatologist at the Cleveland Clinic, used to see about five patients a week with stress-related hair loss. Since mid-June, that number has jumped to 20 or 25. Mostly women, ages 20-80, are reporting hair coming out in fistfuls, Dr. Khetarpal said.
In Houston, at least a dozen patients have told fertility specialist Rashmi Kudesia, MD, they’re having irregular menstrual cycles, changes in cervical discharge and breast tenderness, despite normal hormone levels.
Stress is also the culprit dentists are pointing to for the rapid increase in patients with teeth grinding, teeth fractures, and temporomandibular joint dysfunction.
“We, as humans, like to have the idea that we are in control of our minds and that stress isn’t a big deal,” Dr. Love said. “But it’s simply not true.”
How mental stress becomes physical
Stress causes physical changes in the body that can affect nearly every organ system.
Although symptoms of chronic stress are often dismissed as being in one’s head, the pain is very real, said Kate Harkness, PhD, a professor of psychology and psychiatry at Queen’s University, Kingston, Ont.
When the body feels unsafe – whether it’s a physical threat of attack or a psychological fear of losing a job or catching a disease – the brain signals adrenal glands to pump stress hormones. Adrenaline and cortisol flood the body, activating the fight-or-flight response. They also disrupt bodily functions that aren’t necessary for immediate survival, like digestion and reproduction.
When the danger is over, the hormones return to normal levels. But during times of chronic stress, like a pandemic, the body keeps pumping out stress hormones until it tires itself out. This leads to increased inflammation throughout the body and brain, and a poorly functioning immune system.
Studies link chronic stress to heart disease, muscle tension, gastrointestinal issues and even physical shrinking of the hippocampus, an area of the brain associated with memory and learning. As the immune system acts up, some people can even develop new allergic reactions, Dr. Harkness said.
The good news is that many of these symptoms are reversible. But it’s important to recognize them early, especially when it comes to the brain, said Barbara Sahakian, FBA, FMedSci, a professor of clinical neuropsychology at the University of Cambridge (England).
“The brain is plastic, so we can to some extent modify it,” Dr. Sahakian said. “But we don’t know if there’s a cliff beyond which you can’t reverse a change. So the sooner you catch something, the better.”
The day-to-day impact
In some ways, mental health awareness has increased during the pandemic. TV shows are flush with ads for therapy and meditation apps, like Talkspace and Calm, and companies are announcing mental health days off for staff. But those spurts of attention fail to reveal the full impact of poor mental health on people’s daily lives.
For Alex Kostka, pandemic-related stress has brought on mood swings, nightmares, and jaw pain.
He’d been working at a Whole Foods coffee bar in New York City for only about a month before the pandemic hit, suddenly anointing him an essential worker. As deaths in the city soared, Mr. Kostka continued riding the subway to work, interacting with coworkers in the store and working longer hours for just a $2-per-hour wage increase. (Months later, he’d get a $500 bonus.) It left the 28-year-old feeling constantly unsafe and helpless.
“It was hard not to break down on the subway the minute I got on it,” Mr. Kostka said.
Soon he began waking in the middle of the night with pain from clenching his jaw so tightly. Often his teeth grinding and chomping were loud enough to wake his girlfriend.
Mr. Kostka tried Talkspace, but found texting about his troubles felt impersonal. By the end of the summer, he decided to start using the seven free counseling sessions offered by his employer. That’s helped, he said. But as the sessions run out, he worries the symptoms might return if he’s unable to find a new therapist covered by his insurance.
“Eventually, I will be able to leave this behind me, but it will take time,” Mr. Kostka said. “I’m still very much a work in progress.”
How to mitigate chronic stress
When it comes to chronic stress, seeing a doctor for stomach pain, headaches, or skin rashes may address those physical symptoms. But the root cause is mental, medical experts said.
That means the solution will often involve stress-management techniques. And there’s plenty we can do to feel better:
- Exercise. Even low- to moderate-intensity physical activity can help counteract stress-induced inflammation in the body. It can also increase neuronal connections in the brain.
- Meditation and mindfulness. Research shows this can lead to positive, structural, and functional changes in the brain.
- Fostering social connections. Talking to family and friends, even virtually, or staring into a pet’s eyes can release a hormone that may counteract inflammation.
- Learning something new. Whether it’s a formal class or taking up a casual hobby, learning supports brain plasticity, the ability to change and adapt as a result of experience, which can be protective against depression and other mental illness.
“We shouldn’t think of this stressful situation as a negative sentence for the brain,” said Dr. Harkness. “Because stress changes the brain, that means positive stuff can change the brain, too. And there is plenty we can do to help ourselves feel better in the face of adversity.”
KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a nonprofit news service covering health issues. It is an editorially independent program of KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation), which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.