In 2018, Vuong Tran tried to take his own life.
What followed was unexpected—not just survival, but the beginning of a long and meaningful journey toward healing, self-understanding, and community.
His story is a powerful reminder that suicide is not the end of the road.
After his attempt, Vuong found himself disoriented and unsure of where he fit in the world.
He was introduced to a program at his local church called Soul Care, which offered one-on-one conversations in a safe, supportive setting.
This first step led him to a five-day stay in a psychiatric hospital, where he experienced, for the first time, genuine empathy from people who understood his pain.
The hospital stay wasn’t just about treatment—it was about connection.
For many suicide attempt survivors, recovery often begins when they realize they’re not alone.
For Vuong, community became the cornerstone of recovery.
He joined several support groups, both religious and secular, and began building honest relationships where people could talk about loneliness, shame, and healing without judgment.
He also began therapy, started antidepressants, and slowly worked his way toward stability.
Then, he decided to give back.
Vuong searched for ways to volunteer in suicide prevention and found his way to AFSP.
He began sharing mental health resources, including the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline and the Crisis Text Line, hoping that someone else might hear what he hadn’t during his own darkest hours.
Today, he wonders what might have changed if he’d known about those resources earlier.
He believes strongly that talking openly about suicide—especially among men and people of color—is a vital part of reducing stigma.
Statistically, men account for nearly 80 percent of all suicides, and many never speak about what they’re going through.
The silence surrounding these experiences doesn’t protect anyone—it isolates the people who need help the most.
Vuong also reflects on how his upbringing shaped his relationship with mental health.
As a child of Vietnamese immigrants, emotional conversations weren’t part of daily life.
His parents’ focus was survival—work, food, security—not feelings or therapy.
Though his family still doesn’t talk about his suicide attempt, Vuong accepts that.
He’s found other circles where he can be honest about his mental health, including a men’s group formed during the pandemic where members meet to talk openly about depression, loneliness, and connection.
Creating that kind of emotional safety is countercultural for many men, but Vuong says it’s essential.
Opening up might feel risky, but finding one safe person to talk to can change everything.
For him, vulnerability and masculinity are not opposites—they’re part of the same conversation.
It’s not always about sharing trauma.
Sometimes it’s just about asking someone how they’re doing and being willing to listen.
Vuong now lives in Portland, Oregon, where he continues to care for his mental health through a combination of therapy, community, faith, and physical activity.
He finds peace in early morning silence, regular exercise, and journaling—tools that help him stay grounded when life feels overwhelming.
The journey hasn’t been easy, but it has been filled with meaning.
Vuong hopes to break the cycle of generational silence by creating a different kind of environment for his future children—one where emotions are acknowledged and conversations are open.
His story highlights the power of community, culture, and personal growth.
If you or someone you love is struggling, it’s okay to speak up.
The National Institute of Mental Health outlines resources for crisis care and long-term support.
You don’t have to wait until things get worse.
Support might be closer than you think.
And even if you’ve been through a suicide attempt, like Vuong, there is still a path forward—one step, one safe conversation, one open heart at a time.