Suicide is not an abstract subject for me. In 2008, I lost my dad to suicide.
That experience has stayed with me. It has shaped how I think about prevention, about friendship, about silence and, increasingly, about the responsibility we all have to notice when someone is struggling.
So today, on World Suicide Prevention Day, I don’t want to write another piece telling people to talk about mental health. I want to talk about something much more practical: What can we do when we are worried about someone we care about? This is so important because sometimes prevention starts before somebody ever reaches the point of asking for help. It starts with a friend noticing that something has changed.
In the weeks before my dad went missing, the signs were there. I saw them. My response was to get an appointment for him to see his GP. Looking back, I was telling him that I, his son, couldn’t help him. I’d reached the end of my ability to help.
Men and suicide
The statistics are stark. In the UK, men continue to die by suicide at considerably higher rates than women. In 2024, men aged 50–54 had the highest suicide rate of any age and sex group, at 27.5 deaths per 100,000. Provisional data also show the male suicide rate continuing to be substantially higher than the female rate.
Behind every statistic is a person. A dad. A brother. A son. A colleague. A mate.
Someone whose absence will be felt by people for the rest of their lives.
We need to be careful about simplistic explanations of male suicide. There isn’t one type of man who dies by suicide, and there isn’t one reason why somebody reaches that point. We do, however, need to ask whether some men are less likely to say:
“I’m not coping”, and whether the people around them are sufficiently confident to ask: “Are you OK?” and, when the answer doesn’t feel right: “No, really. Are you OK?”
Look for the change, not the diagnosis
Friends don’t need to become therapists. We don’t need to diagnose depression. We don’t need to understand every aspect of somebody’s mental health. We simply need to know the person well enough to notice when they aren’t themselves.
Maybe the mate who normally answers every WhatsApp message has gone quiet.
Maybe the person who always comes to football has stopped turning up.
Maybe he’s drinking more.
Maybe he’s become unusually angry or withdrawn.
Maybe he’s stopped looking after himself.
Maybe he’s giving away possessions.
Maybe he’s talking about being a burden, having no future, or people being better off without him.
Maybe he’s suddenly saying goodbye in ways that feel different.
Or maybe there isn’t an obvious sign at all. That’s important too. We shouldn’t create a checklist that gives us false reassurance. Instead, we should develop something much more useful: curiosity about the people we care about.
Friends can do something powerful
One of the most important things a friend can do is interrupt. Samaritans’ World Suicide Prevention Day message this year is beautifully simple: if you think someone might be suicidal, take action, interrupt their thoughts and show them you care. You don’t have to be an expert. That matters because we can sometimes convince ourselves that asking the question will make things worse.
“I don’t want to put the idea into his head.”
“He’ll tell me if there’s a problem.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“He’s a strong bloke. He’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
What if our greatest mistake is assuming that somebody else will intervene?
This is where my work on active bystandership comes in. It’s helped me immensely. An active bystander isn’t someone who has all the answers. It’s someone who sees something that concerns them and chooses not to walk past it.
That applies to suicide prevention too.
So here are five simple things a friend can do.
1. Notice the change
Don’t wait for a dramatic crisis. Pay attention to changes in behaviour, mood, relationships, drinking, work, routines and communication. Sometimes the earliest intervention is simply: “I’ve noticed you haven’t seemed yourself lately.” That’s a powerful sentence. It says: I’ve noticed you. You matter to me.
2. Ask directly
If you are genuinely worried, don’t hide behind vague language. You can ask: “Are you struggling at the moment?” and if your concern is about suicide, it is OK to ask directly: “Are you thinking about suicide?” Asking the question doesn’t mean you have caused the thought. It may actually give somebody permission to say something they’ve been frightened to say.
As I often say, you can’t make a bad situation worse. Looking back at my dad’s struggles, I so wish I’d asked this question.
3. Stay with them
If somebody tells you they are struggling, resist the temptation to immediately fix them. Listen, acknowledge their response. Don’t judge. Don’t minimise. Don’t tell them how lucky they are. Don’t rush to provide a solution.
Sometimes the most important thing we can communicate is: “I’m here. You’re not dealing with this on your own.”
If you think there is an immediate danger, don’t leave them alone. Help them access urgent professional support.
4. Help them take the next step
We often tell people: “You should get some help.” That’s easy to say. But taking the first step can be incredibly difficult when somebody is overwhelmed. So offer to do it with them. Find the number. Make the call. Go with them. Tell somebody else who needs to know. Help them connect with their GP, a mental-health professional, a crisis service or another source of support.
The goal isn’t for the friend to become the treatment. The goal is to make sure the person doesn’t have to navigate the next step alone.
5. Don’t disappear afterwards
One conversation isn’t necessarily enough. Check in tomorrow and next week, and the week after. Send the message. Make the phone call. Invite them for a walk. Go for a coffee. Watch the football. Go for a run. Do something ordinary.
Sometimes ordinary human connection is incredibly powerful.
We need to make speaking up normal
There is something else I have learned through my work. People don’t simply need tools to intervene. They need permission.
Permission to ask.
Permission to be concerned.
Permission to interrupt.
Permission to say: “Mate, I’m worried about you.”
This is particularly important when we talk about men. We have created cultures where male friendship can sometimes be built around banter, sport, drinking, work and shared experiences, but not necessarily around saying: “I’m struggling.”
We need to widen the definition of friendship. A good friend isn’t just somebody who stands beside you when things are going well. A good friend notices when you are disappearing and does something about it.
My dad
I can’t write this piece without coming back to my dad. Losing somebody to suicide leaves an enormous number of questions. Some have answers. Many don’t. There can be guilt, anger, sadness, confusion and the enduring question of whether something could have been done differently.
I don’t pretend to have resolved all of those feelings but I do know that his death has given me an even stronger belief in something I have spent much of my working life talking about: Silence matters.
What happens when we notice something and say nothing?
What happens when we see a friend struggling but assume somebody else will deal with it?
What happens when we are frightened of getting involved?
Perhaps most importantly: What might happen if we chose to act? We will never know which conversation might change the course of somebody’s life but that shouldn’t stop us having it.
We don’t have to save everybody
That’s an important distinction. The responsibility for suicide prevention cannot sit on the shoulders of friends and family alone. We need good mental-health services, accessible crisis support, responsible workplaces and communities that take suicide seriously. However prevention is also something that happens between people. Sometimes prevention is professional. Sometimes it is clinical and sometimes it is simply one human being saying to another: “I’ve noticed. I’m here. Let’s talk.”
Today, on World Suicide Prevention Day, perhaps we could all think of one person we haven’t spoken to for a while. Pick up the phone. Send the message. Ask the question and if something doesn’t feel right, don’t walk past it.
You don’t need to be an expert to be a good friend. You don’t need your Sergeant to be a good friend. You just need to care enough to act and sometimes that small act of interruption may be the most important thing you do all day.
If you or someone you know is in immediate danger, contact emergency services. In the UK, Samaritans can be contacted free, 24/7, on 116 123.
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