Survivor to Advocate: Turning Pain Into Purpose

My mother Joyce completed suicide with a gun when I was two years old. I don’t remember her. I don’t have memories of her voice, her face, or what it felt like to be held by her. What I have is a lifetime of growing up without her, and the slow, difficult process of turning that loss into something meaningful.

This isn’t a story about one dramatic moment that changed everything. It’s about the years of quiet work that led me from carrying pain silently to using it as fuel for advocacy.

TL;DR: In 2023, 27,300 Americans died by firearm suicide, accounting for 58% of all gun deaths and more than half of all suicides in the country (CDC, 2025). Access to a firearm triples the risk of death by suicide. My mother was one of those statistics. Turning that pain into advocacy didn’t erase the loss, but it gave it direction. If you’re carrying something similar, you’re not alone.

What’s it like growing up with a story you don’t fully understand?

The CDC reports that guns were used in more than half of all suicides in 2023, 27,300 out of 49,316, one of the highest percentages since 2000 (CDC, 2025). Behind every one of those numbers is a family like mine. When you lose a parent at two, you don’t grieve the way adults grieve. You grow up with an absence. A space where something should be.

Other kids had mothers at school events, at dinner tables, at bedtime. I had questions that nobody wanted to answer and a loss that nobody knew how to explain to a child.

For years, I carried that absence without really processing it. I focused on school, on work, on building a career. The loss was always there, but I kept it in a box. I think a lot of people who’ve experienced trauma do the same thing. You compartmentalize because you have to function. But compartmentalizing isn’t the same as healing. And it’s definitely not the same as finding purpose in your pain.

What changed?

Pew Research Center analysis of CDC data shows that in 2023, 46,728 people died from gun-related injuries in the United States (Pew Research Center, 2025). There wasn’t a single moment when everything clicked. It was more of a gradual awakening. As I got older, as I became a father myself, the weight of what happened to my mother started to feel different. Less like a personal tragedy and more like a systemic failure.

I started learning about gun violence statistics. I discovered that suicide accounts for the majority of gun deaths in America. I learned that access to a firearm triples the risk of death by suicide. And I realized that my mother’s story wasn’t just mine. It was shared by tens of thousands of families every year.

That realization shifted something fundamental. My pain wasn’t unique. And if it wasn’t unique, then maybe my voice could help prevent other families from going through the same thing.

What happens when you share your story for the first time?

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention reports that for every suicide death, 135 people are exposed to the loss and affected by it, creating a ripple of grief that extends far beyond the immediate family. The first time I shared my story publicly was terrifying. In the business world, vulnerability isn’t rewarded. You’re supposed to be strong, decisive, unshakeable. Talking about your mother’s suicide in a room full of strangers felt like the opposite of everything I’d been taught about leadership.

But something unexpected happened. People responded. Not with pity, but with their own stories. Other survivors came up afterward to share their experiences. People who had never talked about their own losses found the courage to do so because someone else went first.

That’s when I understood what advocacy actually does. It’s not just about changing policy. It’s about changing the conversation. Making it safe for people to talk about the things that hurt them most.

What does advocacy actually look like day to day?

According to VoterVoice’s 2025 Advocacy Benchmark Report, advocacy organizations facilitated 545 million messages to lawmakers in 2024, yet 44% of advocates say the biggest challenge is simply getting started (VoterVoice, 2025). People think advocacy is giving speeches and attending rallies. Those are part of it. But most advocacy work happens in quieter spaces. Phone calls to legislators. Meetings with community organizations. Reviewing policy proposals. Writing emails. Showing up to hearings that nobody else attends.

I’ve talked about how one person can change policy and the practical steps involved. It’s not glamorous. It’s grinding, persistent work that sometimes takes years to show results.

But that’s exactly why business leaders are well-positioned to be effective advocates. We understand long-term strategy. We know how to build coalitions. We’re comfortable with slow progress because we’ve seen what compound growth looks like in business. Those same principles apply to social change.

How does advocacy make you a better business leader?

Johns Hopkins Center for Gun Violence Solutions reports that the U.S. firearm suicide rate is nearly 10 times that of other high-income countries, and gun suicides reached record levels for the third straight year in 2023 (Johns Hopkins, 2025). Working on a problem that large forces you to think differently about leadership, influence, and what it means to show up for something bigger than yourself.

Some people think I should keep my advocacy separate from my professional life. I disagree. The skills I’ve developed leading teams, scaling operations, and navigating complex stakeholder relationships are exactly the skills that make advocacy effective.

I wrote about the intersection of business leadership and community advocacy in detail. The short version: they make each other stronger. My advocacy work makes me a more empathetic leader. My business experience makes me a more strategic advocate.

At Great Day Improvements, I lead with the understanding that everyone on my team is carrying something. Maybe not the same thing I carry. But everyone has a story, a loss, a challenge that shapes who they are. Recognizing that makes me a better leader.

What would I tell other survivors?

If you’re carrying pain from gun violence, from suicide loss, or from any trauma, here’s what I want you to know:

You don’t have to become a public advocate. That’s my path, not necessarily yours. But I do encourage you to find a way to use your experience for something larger than yourself. That might be mentoring someone. Supporting a local organization. Simply being honest about your story with the people in your life.

Purpose doesn’t erase pain. It gives it a direction. And having a direction makes the pain bearable in a way that silence never does.

The bottom line

Turning pain into purpose isn’t a one-time decision. It’s a daily practice. Some days, the purpose feels clear and powerful. Other days, the pain is just pain. Both are okay.

What matters is the commitment to keep going. To keep showing up. To keep using your story not as a burden but as a bridge to something better.

If my story resonates with you, visit my Advocacy page to learn more about the work I do. And if you or someone you know is struggling, the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline is available 24/7. Call or text 988.

Last updated: March 25, 2026