It’s been a year.

A year since we lost a vibrant young soul from our team.

A person who brought ideas, energy, and quiet kindness into the room—until one day, he wasn’t in the room anymore.

The loss is still surreal. It left a company. On me.

And today, I’m not writing as a president or a creative. I’m writing as a human who’s been in the dark places too. As someone who wrote Twice Found not as a marketing ploy, but as a confession and a hope. As a man who believes redemption isn’t just a spiritual concept—it’s a daily act of survival.

Here’s the reality we’re up against:

  • Every day, more than 130 people die by suicide in the U.S.
  • Suicide is now the 2nd leading cause of death for people aged 10–34.
  • Men die by suicide nearly 4x more often than women.
  • Over 60% of people struggling with mental illness never seek help.
  • And among our most vulnerable, LGBTQ+ youth are four times more likely to attempt suicide than their non-LGBTQ+ peers.

That’s not just heartbreaking. That’s unacceptable.

We don’t talk about this enough—especially in our workplaces, especially with men, especially in leadership circles where vulnerability is too often seen as a liability instead of what it really is: courage.

We glorify the hustle. We mask pain with productivity. We champion resilience, but never ask what it’s costing people.

And some of us are dying to be asked.

We need to be better. At listening. At noticing. At reaching past the “I’m fine” autopilot.

And we also need to be brave enough to say when we’re not okay—especially those of us in leadership. Because the people around us are watching more than we realize.

If we want to change the culture, we have to model vulnerability. That doesn’t mean trauma-dumping in meetings. But it does mean making space for real talk. Encouraging therapy. Letting mental health days become standard. Listening without judgment. Asking—and then asking again.

I think about our colleague often. About the things he carried alone. About what could’ve been different if he had felt safe enough to speak.

I want his death to matter. I want it to be a wake-up call—not just another whispered tragedy.

And if you’re reading this and you’re struggling:

There is no shame in needing help. There is nothing weak about seeking therapy or talking to a friend.

You are not alone. You are not a burden. You are loved.

It gets better.

Let’s stop the stigma. Let’s be the kind of leaders, colleagues, and friends who don’t just build brands—but build cultures of safety, empathy, and presence.

Today, we remember him.

Tomorrow, we fight for the next one.