When trials and suffering test our resolve, we summon up that “father’s face” to illuminate the murky path through life
Five stories
Project Coordinator: Faigy Hutner
As told to Sandy Eller
It’s true that lots of people don’t have it easy growing up, but having an abusive mother left me facing challenges that are far more daunting than what most kids face.
I grew up on Long Island as one of seven kids, attended seminary in Israel, and continued my education to become certified as an LMHC — a licensed mental health counselor. But as time went by, I started heading downhill, and even therapy wasn’t helping me cope with the anxiety and depression that haunted both my days and my nights.
By the time I was 24, I had had enough. Life was just too difficult, too traumatic, so I chose to end it via medical means while I was sitting in my car near a friend’s house in Brooklyn. Then I panicked: I didn’t want to be alone when I died, so I called a friend and told her what I had done, and she called Hatzalah.
I still remember the paramedics loading me into the ambulance and how annoyed, embarrassed, scared, and beyond exhausted I was the whole way to the hospital. Thankfully, my friend came along with me, and if not for her presence, I would have felt completely alone at this lowest moment of my life.
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