“We’re Starting to Accept Suicide as Normal And That Should Terrify Us”

This week, two stories have really pulled me up.

Two men. Two lives lost to suicide.

One, Jaryd Dawson, brother of AFL captain Jordan Dawson.
The other, NSW Police Sergeant Anthony Baillie.

Different worlds. Same ending.

And at home, in a quiet moment, my wife and I found ourselves having a conversation I never thought I’d hear out loud…

“Maybe we just have to accept that this is normal now.”

That sentence hit hard.

Because part of me understands where it comes from.

When you work in this space, when you live close to it, when you hear the stories, sit in the conversations, stand beside the grief, it can start to feel constant.

Like it’s everywhere.
Like it’s inevitable.
Like it’s just the way things are now.

But here’s the truth we cannot afford to accept:

This is not normal.
And we cannot let it become normal.

In Australia, the most recent confirmed data shows over 3,300 people die by suicide each year, roughly 9 lives every single day. And behind those numbers are real people, real families, real communities.

Around three in every four people who die by suicide are men.

Let that sink in for a moment.

These aren’t just statistics.
They’re fathers.
Sons.
Mates.
Work colleagues.
Good people.

And while we talk about suicide as a crisis, and it is, we also need to talk honestly about the environment people are living in right now.

Because the pressure is real. And it’s building.

Across the country, people are feeling it:

The cost of living continues to rise, stretching households to their limits.
Small businesses are carrying relentless financial and emotional strain.
Farmers and regional communities are dealing with uncertainty that never seems to let up, weather, markets, isolation.
Workplaces are more demanding than ever, with many Australians reporting high levels of stress and burnout.
Financial pressure is now one of the most common contributors to mental health struggles.

This isn’t just “in people’s heads.”

This is real.
This is systemic.
And it’s affecting people who, on the surface, look like they’re holding it all together.

That’s why that conversation at home matters so much.

Because the moment we start to accept suicide as “just part of life”… we’ve already lost something important.

We’ve lowered the bar on what we believe is acceptable.
We’ve normalised something that should never be normal.

And I get it, sometimes it feels easier to accept it than to keep fighting it.

But we can’t afford to go there.

Because while suicide is a reality… it should never be seen as an inevitability.

We don’t need to normalise suicide.

We need to normalise the conversation.

We need to make it okay for someone to say, “I’m not travelling that well,” without fear of judgement or being told to toughen up.

We need workplaces where checking in on someone isn’t a policy, it’s part of the culture.

We need communities where people feel genuinely seen, not just surrounded by others.

And we need mates who notice when something’s off and are willing to lean in, even when it feels uncomfortable.

Because here’s what I’ve learned, both through my own experiences and through The Unbreakable Farmer journey:

People don’t need perfect words.

They don’t need you to have all the answers.

They need safe spaces.

They need someone who will sit with them in the discomfort.
Someone who won’t rush to fix it or change the subject.
Someone who is willing to listen, properly listen, and simply stay.

That might not sound like much.

But in the moments that matter most, it can be everything.

This is the work.

Not just raising awareness.
Not just sharing statistics.

But creating real connection.
Having real conversations.
And building the courage, individually and collectively, to show up for each other.

Because every life lost is not just a number.

It’s a person who mattered.
A story unfinished.
A ripple effect of grief that reaches further than most people realise.

And it’s also a reminder.

A reminder that what we do next matters.

How we show up.
How we speak.
How we listen.

So no, I won’t accept that this is normal.

And I don’t think we should either.

We can acknowledge the reality without surrendering to it.

We can recognise the weight people are carrying while still choosing to do something about it.

And sometimes, that “something” is simpler than we think.

It’s a phone call.
A message.
A quiet conversation.
A willingness to ask, “Are you okay?”, and mean it.

If this piece does anything, let it be this:

Check in on someone today.

Not tomorrow. Not next week. Today.

Have the conversation.
Create the space.
Be the person who notices.

Because silence is where this grows.

And conversation, real, honest, human conversation, is where it starts to change.

This isn’t normal.

But what we do next can be.