Ashleigh Jaye McDowell

My why.

This October, I’m walking 40km for One Foot Forward, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain properly just how personal this is for me. I’m walking for Dale, my cousin, who we lost to suicide in 2023. I’m walking for the people I’ve loved who have reached points where being alive felt too hard. For the friends I’ve searched entire towns for because they messaged saying goodbye and I was terrified of what I might find. For the friends whose houses I’ve shown up to because they were alone and not okay. For the nights I’ve sat on friends beds for hours because I didn’t know how to fix what they were feeling, but I knew I couldn’t leave them there by themselves. For the times I’ve hidden knives, taken pills away, stayed close, kept talking, kept checking, kept hoping that if I could just get them through that night, maybe tomorrow would feel different. There are moments like that that never really leave you. There’s a kind of fear that comes with loving someone who doesn’t want to be here anymore that is almost impossible to describe. You’re trying to stay calm for them while every part of you is screaming inside. You’re wondering what to say, what not to say, whether you’re doing enough, whether you should call someone, whether they’ll still be here tomorrow. And sometimes you can do everything you know how to do and still wish you could have done more. I’m also walking for the friend I lost who didn’t die by suicide, but who had been hurting for so long that whether they survived or not didn’t seem to matter to them anymore. That has stayed with me too. I’m walking for every person I know who has ever been consumed by their own thoughts. And for all the people I don’t know. The people lying awake at 2am trying to convince themselves to make it to morning. The people who look completely fine while their mind is tearing them apart. The people who keep saying “I’m okay” because explaining how bad it really is feels impossible. The people who are exhausted from fighting a battle nobody else can see. And I’m walking for myself too. Because I know what it is like to be scared of your own thoughts. I know what it is like to have anxiety, depression, OCD and trauma become so loud that you feel trapped inside your own head. I know what it is like to have suicidal thoughts and still somehow wake up the next day and keep going. There have been parts of my life where just getting through the day was the achievement. So this isn’t just a 40km challenge to me. Every kilometre is for someone. For Dale. For the people I’ve lost. For the people I’ve sat beside. For the people I’ve searched for. For the people I’ve tried desperately to keep safe. For the people still here who are quietly fighting like hell. For the families and friends who live with that fear. For the people whose minds tell them that everyone would be better off without them. And for the version of me who has needed someone to remind her to keep going too. I wish mental illness didn’t take so much from people. I wish nobody ever reached a point where death felt easier than another day of living. I wish love alone could always be enough to pull someone out of that place. Sometimes it isn’t. But we can keep talking about it. We can keep showing up. We can keep checking on people, even the ones who seem okay. We can keep reminding people that they matter. And we can keep putting one foot in front of the other. That’s who I’m walking for. 🤍 Share