When a young person says, “I just want to feel heard,” they are not being dramatic. They are naming a primal, unmet need.
By George Cassidy Payne
“I just do it on my wrists. I used to do it on my thighs but I stopped. I just want to feel heard for once in my life.”
That’s what a young person told me recently. Someone who is being called “fat” every day and told—casually, cruelly—to kill themselves. Like many adolescents, they are trying to survive relentless social cruelty while carrying the heavier burden of feeling like there’s no safe place to tell the full truth.
They had spoken to their teacher. They had spoken to their counselor. But there was still more they couldn’t say. Saying more might mean triggering a report to their parents, and sometimes the fear of parental reaction feels more terrifying than the pain itself.
And so, they harm. Quietly. Routinely. Not to die, but to feel—or not to feel. Or to carve out some sense of control in a world where even their own body has become a target for ridicule and disgust.
As a counselor and crisis worker, I’ve heard versions of this story hundreds of times. And yet, every time it lands differently. Every time I hear the sacred ache in someone’s voice as they confess something they were told to keep hidden. When a young person says, “I just want to feel heard,” they are not being dramatic. They are naming a primal, unmet need.
Self-Harm as a Language
Self-injury is not a moral failing or a desperate bid for attention. It is a language, a physical vocabulary, when words no longer feel safe or sufficient. Pain gets externalized onto the body where it feels more containable, more controlled.
Research from the Journal of Adolescent Health shows that for most young people, non-suicidal self-injury (NSSI) isn’t about wanting to die, but about managing overwhelming emotions, especially those tied to shame, isolation, and invisibility. As trauma expert Bessel van der Kolk reminds us, “the body keeps the score.” For some, that score gets carved into skin.
Why Feeling Heard Heals
In conversations with youth who self-harm, I’ve learned the words they fear most are not insults but silence. To be unseen, or to feel like their emotions are an inconvenience, is what traps them in the cycle of secrecy and shame.
When young people say they’re afraid to talk to adults because “they’ll tell my mom,” what they often mean is:
“I don’t feel safe enough to be seen without being punished or pathologized.”
Mandatory reporting, while necessary in some cases, can unintentionally shut down honest dialogue. What we need are bridges—spaces where young people can speak freely without fear of escalation, where the point is relationship rather than risk management.
How to Show Up
When someone tells you they’re self-harming or thinking about suicide, the most important response is not to panic but to be present. To listen deeply. To stay human.
Three practices help:
Validate their pain.
“That makes sense. You’ve been carrying so much. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”
Affirm their worth.
“You matter. You are not broken. You’re surviving something really hard.”
Honor their agency.
“Would it help to talk confidentially with someone at 988? I can sit with you while we figure it out.”
One of the most healing things we can offer is presence without pressure. Not fixing. Not minimizing. Just the dignity of being witnessed.
Beyond Survival
The student who spoke to me may never know how much they taught me. In the middle of their pain, they reached out, not to shock or manipulate, but simply to be heard.
That reaching is the beginning of healing.
If you’re reading this and you relate, if you’ve ever felt like the only way to cope was to hurt yourself, please hear me: You deserve to be heard. Not once. Not halfway. But fully. And safely.
There is no shame in your pain. There is only the need for care, understanding, and space to speak your truth without fear.
Let’s make that possible; for every young person, and for the hurting child that still lives in each of us.
If you or someone you know is struggling with self-harm or suicidal thoughts, call or text 988 for free, confidential support 24/7. You are not alone.
Photo: Pixabay
Editor: Dana Gornall
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George’s essays have appeared in publications such as The Good Men Project, The Buffalo News, The Rochester Democrat & Chronicle, and many more. A poet at heart, his work often blends memoir, philosophy, and theological reflection, rooted in the belief that language can be both a balm and a spark.
Whether reflecting on the writings of Marcus Aurelius, the parables of Jesus, or the mindfulness of a Jain monk sweeping the ground before them, George writes to make space for wonder, doubt, and dialogue.
He joins The Tattooed Buddha as a regular columnist to explore themes of death, inner peace, activism, grief, and contemplative life in a world on fire—and to ask, again and again: How can we live as if everything we do matters?
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