It was our busiest May ever.

 

It was also a month of loss.

 

Just as we were nearing the end of May and beginning to catch our breath from another busy Mental Health Awareness Month, my aunt, whom I had moved here from Florida several years ago, passed away peacefully in her sleep. Throughout the month, I tried to visit her as often as I could. Not quite as often as usual, but I was still showing up.

 

Like many of us, I was looking toward a slightly slower pace just on the horizon. For me, that meant June.

 

I found myself thinking there would be more time once things settled down. More conversations. More visits. More opportunities to simply sit and be present. More afternoons to get sing-alongs started with residents in her care center.

 

But as many of us know, there comes a moment when that time is up.

 

Her passing reminded me once again that tomorrow is never guaranteed and that the people we love deserve our time today, not when life finally slows down enough to make room.

 

 

As the Executive Director of Walt's Waltz, I have been present at nearly every workshop, educational presentation, tabling event, community meeting, and outreach opportunity over the past six years. While that was never part of some grand plan, it has become one of the greatest gifts of this work.

It has allowed me to listen.

 

Really listen.

 

For more than six years, people have opened up to me in ways I never expected. Parents worried about their children. Spouses trying to help someone they love. Individuals living with depression, anxiety, PTSD, bipolar disorder, substance use disorders, and countless other challenges. People grieving losses they have never fully spoken about. People carrying stories they have hidden for years because they feared judgment or simply did not know where to begin.

 

Sometimes I notice a semicolon tattoo. Sometimes it is engraved on a ring or hanging from a necklace. Sometimes it is simply a look that says, "You understand."

 

And then the stories come.

 

I have hugged people. I have cried with people. I have celebrated victories with people. I have listened to stories that were heartbreaking and stories that were inspiring. I have learned that every life is more complicated than it appears from the outside and that every person is carrying something we cannot always see.

 

One of the lessons I have learned is how much language matters. At Walt's Celebration of Life, we shared that Walt died from depression. Not because depression defined his life. It certainly did not. Walt lived with anxiety for many years. Following a traumatic event, that anxiety grew into PTSD, and in his final years depression stole something precious from him: hope.

 

Years later, people still stop me and talk about those words.

 

One woman stood at our table with tears in her eyes and said, “Yes, my dad died from depression. That's what he died from, depression.” Then she paused and said something I have never forgotten: "I wish that was what was written on his death certificate."

 

The conversation stayed with me because it reflected something I have heard again and again. For so long, as a society, we have struggled to talk openly about mental illness. We have hidden it, whispered about it, or avoided it altogether. Yet every time someone speaks honestly, it seems to give another person permission to do the same.

 

Perhaps that is one reason our work resonates with so many people. Walt used to tell me, "Mom, you stand before the world naked." He was right. Being open and vulnerable has always been in my nature. I have learned that when people sense honesty, they often feel safe enough to lower their guard. They stop worrying about being judged and begin sharing what they have carried for years.

 

Those stories have taught me more than any report, survey, strategic plan, or grant application ever could. They have shown me what people are carrying, where the gaps exist, and how loneliness, isolation, and stigma continue to affect our communities. They have also taught me about resilience, kindness, courage, and hope.

 

One of the realities of being a boots-on-the-ground organization is that you do not just serve people. You get to know them. You hear their stories, celebrate their victories, and sometimes share in their heartbreak. Over the years, I have learned that most people do not need someone to fix them. They need someone willing to listen. Someone willing to sit with discomfort. Someone willing to acknowledge that life can be messy, complicated, painful, and beautiful all at the same time.

 

 

 

When we started, I never imagined how many people would invite us into their schools, businesses, organizations, and communities. I never imagined the thousands of conversations, the workshops, the presentations, the Community Cookbooks, the Self-Care Kits, the Mental Health First Aid trainings, the art exhibits, the outreach events, or the Stigma-Free Environments that would follow.

 

Growth is a gift, but it also comes with responsibility. One of my lessons from this May is that if Walt's Waltz is going to continue growing, we must continue building the support needed to carry the mission forward. We need more ambassadors, more volunteers, more business partners, more advocates, and more people willing to help create communities where people feel seen, heard, valued, and understood.

 

Growth should never mean losing the heart of what makes Walt's Waltz special. Relationships, conversations, and stories have been our greatest teachers.

This month we welcomed new interns. We worked alongside students and educators. Volunteers gave their time. Businesses opened their doors. Community partners joined us for events. Nearly 1,000 people attended our first-ever Walt's Waltz Renaissance Faire at the Castle. Hundreds of supporters participated in our 6th Annual Walt's Waltz Raffle Rouser. Every one of those efforts represented people choosing to care, choosing to show up, and choosing to be part of something bigger than themselves. And that matters.

In a world where loneliness continues to grow and where too many people feel disconnected, isolated, and unseen, choosing to care is powerful.

 

 

 

Thank you for trusting us and trusting me with your stories. Thank you for inviting us into your schools, businesses, organizations, and communities. Thank you to our students and interns, our board members, volunteers, educators, community partners, businesses, donors, and the many people working behind the scenes who help make this work possible. Walt's Waltz may have started with a single family, but it has grown because of a community.

 

Together, you helped make our 6th Annual Walt's Waltz Raffle Rouser our most successful yet, raising $35,260, an increase of nearly 15% over last year. Supporters shared the raffle with friends and family, helped spread the word, and made this success possible. For a grassroots organization like ours, that support is remarkable.

 

It allows us to continue delivering workshops, creating self-care resources, coordinating Mental Health First Aid trainings, supporting Stigma-Free Environments, developing Community Cookbooks, and showing up wherever people need us.

 

The work ahead remains important. We continue to meet parents searching for answers, students carrying heavy burdens, caregivers who are exhausted, and individuals who simply need someone to listen.

 

Yet despite the challenges, I remain hopeful. I remain hopeful because I have seen what happens when people come together. I have seen strangers become friends. I have seen people find the courage to share their stories. I have seen communities rally around one another. I have seen healing begin with a simple conversation.

 

What I have learned over the past six years is that people want to be seen. They want to be heard. They want to know they matter. Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is simply show up, listen, and remind one another that we are not alone.

 

Over the years, I have collected more stories than I could ever tell in a single newsletter. Some are heartbreaking. Some are inspiring. Some still make me laugh. Some have changed the way I think about people, mental health, and what it means to be part of a community. Perhaps in future newsletters, I will share a few of them.

 

Because while statistics are important, stories help us understand what those numbers actually mean. They remind us that behind every struggle, every diagnosis, every loss, and every victory is a human being. And after six years of listening, I have come to believe that some stories need to be heard.

 

If you believe every person deserves to feel seen, heard, valued, and understood, I invite you to walk alongside us. Attend an event. Volunteer. Become a Walt's Waltz Ambassador. Connect us with a business. Share our mission. Support our programs when you are able. Most importantly, continue having the conversations that help break stigma and build understanding.

 

Mental health affects every family, every workplace, every school, and every community. Together, we can create more connection, more understanding, and more hope.