How My Colleagues Literally Saved My Life — 'I Was A Ticking Time-Bomb Until They Intervened'
A story of depression, survival, and extraordinary workplace care.
Martinan | Canva I was a time bomb. For months, I’d told myself I could hold on. I could beat away the black dog of depression pulling me under.
I was wrong. The agitated despair was a jackhammer in my brain, and I was falling apart.
Still, I kept going through the motions. Getting my kids up and off to school and daycare. Smiling at people on my way into work as a hospital chaplain. Completing visits. Charting.
Eight years earlier, I’d gone through something similar and barely made it out alive. Back then, I’d had to get special permission from my social worker in inpatient psych to use a pen — just so I could resign from my job.
This time, I tried to do things differently. I saw my doctor, started vitamins, and found a therapist. I wasn’t interested in seeing a psychiatrist due to painful past experiences.
Still, my colleague-friends Katrina and Madison encouraged me to see one through a self-pay rapid access program. They even paid for it. I was so anxious that Katrina went with me.
I didn’t trust my psychiatrist. Even if he’d been amazing, my judgment by then — where I was concerned — was shot.
I met with a couple of other colleagues to see if they had ideas. But I felt so hopeless that I wasn’t open to suggestions. Eyes glistening, one asked, “Lizzy, what can I do?”
I looked her in the eye. “I guess just pray I don’t die?” I honestly had no other answer.
Those colleagues would eventually be the ones who would save my life.
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The intervention
She’d promised not to talk to our boss, Julie. I must have terrified her, because she did anyway.
A few days later, I was at my desk, about to chart, when I saw a meeting request from Julie. I asked what it was about. She replied that it was about my depression.
She attempted to reassure me by adding, “You’re highly valued. Your job is secure.” I felt anything but secure.
I agreed to meet — an agreement I had no intention of keeping. That moment, as I sat at my computer, I knew I couldn’t cope any longer. I began charting like mad.
My car contained a small kit I’d desperately compiled. My get-out-of-jail kit. My suicide kit.
Just then, Katrina came by the office. Invited me for a walk. I tried to wave her off. “I’m charting,” I told her. She said she’d be back in ten minutes — and she was.
We walked out of the building. It didn’t take long for me to vomit up the confused, desperate contents of my brain.
After masterfully gentle and firm work on her part, she drove me to psych emergency services and stayed with me until I got into an ambulance to the psychiatric hospital.
The village
I still have the hoodie and the book (Reasons to Stay Alive, by Matt Haig) that she brought me while I was there. Julie told me to take the time I needed. Madison, my work partner, stepped up, and other colleagues pitched in.
The med combo didn’t work. My psychiatrist recommended twice-weekly Esketamine, a medication used to treat treatment-resistant depression, but I couldn’t drive myself; I’d need transportation.
Julie permitted me to leave early for treatment without taking any PTO — a tremendous gift. But I still needed rides. Madison organized a group of colleagues for chauffeur duty, and Julie let them leave early, too.
For months, colleagues took hours of their day to drive me to twice-weekly treatments. I remember once when the clinic ran late. I briskly walked to the lobby, apologizing.
My colleague Anne looked up from her laptop and smiled, “No, thank you! I had some extra time to finish my paperwork.” She could’ve worked on that from home.
It’s almost unimaginable, isn’t it? A workplace where people show up so fully — not out of obligation, but care. Even in my depression, their love warmed my heart.
The long road
Sadly, Esketamine wasn’t the key for me. The suicidality worsened. I wasn’t sure what I’d do, and I can only imagine how that felt for everyone who cared about me.
Madison encouraged me to reach out to a psychologist I trusted. My house was too busy for a private video chat, so I went to her place. He recommended hospitalization. Again. I trusted him, so I agreed.
Antonio, another friend and colleague, said he’d take me the next morning. I can’t even remember if I asked or if Madison did.
I do remember meeting him at my office. I put my suitcase in his trunk and off we went. I was panicked. Couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t think straight. My brain felt like a nightmarish arcade.
Antonio was unusually quiet and gentle. He stayed with me through intake and listened as I poured out everything to the social worker. I heard his pronounced exhale as I shared how I’d been feeling and how I’d coped … I felt seen.
When I realized I’d forgotten my CPAP, he drove back, an hour round trip, to get it. The hospital pushed for residential care, but it was way out of my budget. Antonio suggested a GoFundMe and gave me advice on what to write.
I posted it. Days later, I had the $8,500 I needed. Many colleagues had donated. In some workplaces, there might be pushback for even posting something so vulnerable. But my team? They affirmed my openness and opened their checkbooks.
Paying it forward
It took a long time — too long, but I finally found the right providers. I started taking the right med combo, and got better, cheered on by my family, friends, and colleagues.
A year or two later, one of my colleagues relapsed on alcohol. It was my turn to show up the way my team had for me.
When she was struggling and not answering my texts, I drove to her house to check in. I remember telling her how much I care about her, and also saying, “We know how this goes. Either you get help, get arrested, or die.”
I helped her get into treatment and cheered her on when she returned to work, sober and successfully fighting to stay that way. I’m glad to have had the chance to be on the other side — to be the one stepping up. And I got a bitter taste of the fear my colleagues must have felt when they were carrying me.
A life-saving culture
It’s been a few years since that all went down. Anne, the woman who thanked me for the paperwork time? She’s our director now. When she was interviewing, I prayed she’d get it. She’s an incredible leader.
Even with all we went through — all she saw me go through — I never doubt the respect she has for me or my work. She helped build the culture that truly prioritizes employee wellness — not the “here’s a free Calm app subscription” kind.
Antonio is my manager now. I just received my performance review: exceeds expectations. He praised my care and leadership.
I don’t say that to brag. I say it to notice. This man was with me on one of the worst days of my life. Listened as I poured out more pain-filled detail than I’ve ever shared with my husband. And didn’t flinch. And didn’t start seeing me differently because of it.
He was the one who recommended I join our research team last year. I still provide clinical care most of the time, but one day a week I lead our department’s quality improvement initiatives.
I’m proud to contribute to research that helps our department — and chaplains nationwide — provide the most effective spiritual care possible.
My colleagues accompanied me through the worst times of my life — and cheered when I made it out. I’m thankful to work alongside such incredibly compassionate, curious, connected, hope-filled spiritual care providers who never give up on anyone. Including me.
I’ve thought about what makes our team this way. My manager and director are clear: they’re here for us. When their doors are open, we’re genuinely welcomed. They have high expectations, yes — but those expectations always come with the support and guidance we need to thrive.
There are other small pieces, too. We start staff meetings with a check-in where people truly share and receive support. Once a month, our whole department meets with a therapist to debrief, process, or whatever we need.
Of course, we have an advantage. Our professional role is to provide spiritual care to people in crisis. It makes sense that my colleagues are exceptional at caring.
Still, it doesn’t take a spiritual care provider to build this kind of culture. It just takes human beings who care.
If you’re a leader — heck, even if you’re an employee — you can help build this kind of workplace. It starts with compassion. Being non-judgmental. By asking people how they are, and then truly listening to the answer.
That simple act saves lives. It saved mine.
If you or somebody that you know is experiencing a mental health crisis, there is a way to get help. Call SAMHSA’s National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357) or text "HELLO" to 741741 to be connected with the Crisis Text Line.
Lizzy Dieng is a board-certified chaplain and a writer for Medium publications such as The Virago, Backyard Church, and The Parenting Portal. A neurodivergent mom of five, she writes the raw truth about mental health, spirituality, and living abundantly.”
