My Triangle Of Recovery

August 5, 2025

Caroline Roodhouse, Author & Book Author

Tom O'Connor, Publisher

Residing in the United Kingdom, Author Caroline Roodhouse is a mother, writer, lifelong learner, strategic communicator, and speaker on mental health and bereavement due to suicide.

The suicide of a loved one can be emotionally devastating. Your grief may be heart-wrenching, and emotions can become overwhelming. Understanding the complex legacy of suicide and learning how to cope with intense grief can aid in healing, while still honoring your loved one's memory.

According to Caroline Roodhouse:

Steve's Journey Intertwined with Other Family Journeys

When my husband, Steve, died by suicide, the shape of my world changed forever. My little unit went from being a neat square, where we filled the four seats in the car and the four chairs around the table, to a wonky and unfamiliar triangle – just my two girls and me – with one corner of our family missing.

"We've found him. He's not alive. And it's clear he has done it to himself." These were the fifteen unforgettable words I heard from the police who delivered the shocking news that my husband, Steve, had taken his own life. No warning. No signs. No note was left behind. No explanation was given. 

An Amplified Loss

Loss by suicide is like grief with a microphone. Everything is amplified. Louder, sharper, deafening at times. Emotions like sadness, anger, guilt, resentment, abandonment, and isolation are all-consuming.

I've experienced many losses in my life, but I discovered the hard way that death by suicide is different. It's utterly bewildering; it's impossible to wrap your head around. Nothing makes sense. 

The practicalities are different, too. The funeral typically marks the end of the formalities that occur when someone dies and the beginning of a new chapter in their absence.

The New Chapter 

However, suicide continues to present more challenges. I had to state to the police about the weeks and months leading up to Steve's death, which was such a distressing procedure for me. 

After facing our first Christmas without Steve, I had the inquest to contend with, which was a monumentally challenging and traumatising experience. 

Even when I started to build a relative normality for my girls and me tentatively, we would continue to face unique problems related to suicide, like painful anniversaries to contend with, bullying at school from unkind kids, and insensitive comments from people at work.

Steve's Exit

Our eighteen years of togetherness were gone in an instant. A broken wife, our two young children, and I were left to pick up the pieces. Our family faced indescribable challenges when we suddenly shifted from four to three. 

Before his suicide, my husband was the victim of a horrendously toxic workplace. Integrity was lacking, communication was poor, and bullying was rife. He was continually demeaned, excluded, ridiculed, screamed at, and even spat at. 

As you can imagine, this took its toll on Steve's emotional and mental state. Despite being moved to a new client, Steve never thrived in a role again. It was as though the fire that maintained his passion and purpose had gone out. He moved from one unsatisfactory project to another within his agency until a new opportunity arose in late 2018.

He was offered the chance to manage a team again, just like the good old days. It felt like a good time for him to return to a more challenging and rewarding position. However, his confidence was low. He wavered. He didn't seem entirely convinced. But I desperately wanted to see that spark reignite. Ultimately, he agreed to take the position. 

Unfortunately, one major factor he hadn't disclosed to me was that this new client was a subsidiary of that questionable, toxic firm he'd escaped not long before. He never began that new job. Instead, he drove off in the opposite direction on the very first day it was due to start, and we never saw him alive again. 

My husband never left a suicide note. No 'warning,' no conversation, no specific reason was given. But I know that bullies deeply and irreparably impacted him at work. Transforming this grief into hope-filled action, I combined our sudden, personal loss with a decade of working in employee communications to create openness around topics like mental health, loss, and grief, and to improve the way we talk about suicide, promoting the services that exist to prevent it.

I had a lot of work to do on myself before I was ready to spot glimmers like these, but it was worth it, and I'm so happy I did. 

Losing someone to suicide leaves you in a unique place, and the complex trauma is something that tests the limits of even the most resilient of us. Years after Steve's death, I learned that many things I thought were significant and essential were, in fact, relatively insignificant in the grand scheme. 

I also realized that many tiny things we usually take for granted have become more meaningful than I imagined. I refer to these moments as glimmers, and here are a handful of some recent ones: 

• Receiving a genuine offer from someone to cut my grass - yay!

• Sniffing the gorgeous Daphne shrub at the bottom of my road

• Hearing my mum confuse the word baklava with balaclava 

• Feeling grateful for the lady who let me jump the coffee queue 

• Happy that the daffodils are bringing the sunshine today 

• Learning the word 'southern,' which means 'the serenity one feels when listening to the chirping of birds.'

The Triangle of Recovery is the Power of Three

Triangles are special because they are powerful. When my husband Steve died by suicide, I couldn't come to terms with the fact that we were no longer a family of four—four chairs around a table, four seats in a car, four names on forms and paperwork.

Nothing about the number three was working for me. Three felt all wrong. Then one day, I happened to read in one of Evie's math books that, "Triangles aren't just mathematically significant, they are also fundamental to the way we build our environments, both physical and virtual." This was a pivotal moment for me, confirming something I was starting to understand.

We might not be a perfect square with four straight corners and sides. But we'd become a pretty sturdy triangle with three mighty little points—Evie, Ada, and me. We are scared, but we are stronger. And the love we who remain share now shines even brighter in this darkness.

When I broadened my thinking beyond this and looked at how our tiny trio fit into the bigger picture, I fully embraced the power of three. I drew strength from three areas of my life—my triangle of recovery:

THE POWER OF ME - digging deep, I rediscovered my inner strength, built on what I already knew, and developed the skills and experiences I needed for a happier, more hopeful future.

THE POWER OF MY CHILDREN - I acknowledged and celebrated the resilience, courage, and tenacity my daughters showed to the world.

THE POWER OF MY COMMUNITY - I embraced the right people, learned from others, and became part of something bigger, brighter, and stronger. 

Sharing My Story

I'm frequently told that my honesty in sharing my story gives people comfort, strength, and reassurance. They feel less isolated and are more open to discussing their own experiences. 

And when we are prepared to open ourselves up, that's when we are much more likely to seek ways to heal. There's a quote I share in my book by the brilliant Australian comedian Hannah Gadsby, who says, "There is nothing stronger than a broken woman who has rebuilt herself." I was that broken woman. And by focusing on my recovery triangle, I have slowly and gradually rebuilt myself. I want people to know that yes, my girls and I are scarred, but we are stronger.

Daddy Blackbird

Caroline Roodhouse published Daddy Blackbird: The True Story Of A Family Surviving and Thriving After Loss by Suicide on Amazon (https://amzn.eu/d/hSvKaWm).

In this book, Caroline reflects on her most personal thoughts, experiences, and learnings, as well as those of her young children, to give a voice to those who are often left behind. Caroline's blackbird symbolizes loss, pain, hope, and joy. Caroline created her website https://daddyblackbird.com/. Through Daddy Blackbird, you'll find a unique blend of personal experience and professional expertise that helps organisations to build awareness, resilience, and hope around tough topics like wellbeing, mental health, and suicide. Her website tells us the following story:

Most days, a little blackbird can be seen hopping around the garden, waiting expectantly for a few crumbs or eagerly planning a dip in his pot of water.

This bird symbolises many things – loss, pain, hope, joy. It represents a special person who, on 12 November 2018, left this family forever. A broken wife and two young children were left to pick up the pieces.

This family faced indescribable challenges when they suddenly shifted from four to three. Caroline shares all she has learnt about loss through suicide since Steve became one of those 6,000 people who die like this every year in the UK. She describes the many ways others can take comfort from the strength that emerged when this union of three, this mighty little triangle, began to heal.

Caroline Roodhouse can be reached at carolineroodhouse@gmail.com

If you enjoyed this article, 

Please forward this to a friend or colleague who might benefit from it!