Choosing to Stay Another Day When Depression Tells You Not To

I knew her brand, Stay Another Day. I knew the mission. What I didn’t know was how much of her story would mirror conversations I’ve had with myself in the quiet hours. The kind of thoughts you don’t always say out loud because they feel too heavy, too scary, or too shameful.

There was a moment in our conversation where she talked about realizing she didn’t want to live like this anymore. Not that she wanted to die. But that she couldn’t keep waking up every day carrying the same weight. That line stopped me in my tracks. Because I think so many people live right there. Not wanting to disappear—but desperately wanting the pain to stop.

That’s where Mackenzie’s story begins.

When Depression Shows Up Early and Quiet

Mackenzie didn’t grow up thinking something was “wrong” with her. She just felt different.

She spent a lot of her childhood in her bedroom crafting, watching YouTube tutorials, creating things with her hands. She didn’t have a big group of friends. Her family was her world. At the time, it didn’t feel like a red flag—it just felt like who she was.

Then, in eighth grade, everything shifted.

She met a teammate named Emily through travel softball. Emily was the kind of kid who showed up to practice in camo Crocs, smiling, cracking jokes, lifting everyone else up. And then, suddenly, Emily was gone. She had taken her own life.

That loss cracked something open for Mackenzie.

Until then, she thought depression was something adults dealt with later in life. Thirty, forty, older. Not kids her age. Not people who laughed and showed up and seemed okay. Losing Emily forced her to confront a truth most of us don’t want to look at too closely—that depression doesn’t always look like sadness, and suicidal ideation doesn’t always announce itself.

Around the same time, social media started creeping into everything. Comments, messages, and negativity didn’t stay at school anymore. They followed her home. Sat with her at night. Whispered lies when she was already vulnerable.

By freshman year, she noticed it clearly.

Depression had entered the picture.

Struggling in Silence and Hiding in Plain Sight

Here’s the thing about Mackenzie. From the outside, she looked like she was doing everything right.

She was a student athlete. A hard worker. Loud on the field. High energy. The kind of person people wouldn’t expect to be struggling. That made it harder to ask for help.

When she finally started seeing therapists as a teenager, nothing clicked. She ghosted more than a few. Not because therapy doesn’t work—but because the wrong therapist can make you feel even more broken. By sixteen, she was discouraged and convinced she might never get better.

That belief followed her into college.

She trained relentlessly. Rest felt like failure. Pressure became constant. Anxiety turned into something she carried everywhere—even onto the field. Nights were the hardest. That’s when the thoughts crept in. The kind that don’t stop once they start.

Eventually, those thoughts turned into something scarier.

Suicidal ideation.

Mackenzie described reaching a point where she wasn’t saying “I want to die” as much as she was saying “I cannot keep living like this.” Every night for weeks, the thoughts came. Letters crossed her mind. Faces of people she loved. And then one morning, after a particularly bad night, she made a decision.

She turned in all her gear.

She had her dad pack her up.

She went home.

The Week That Changed Everything

Admitting you need help is hard. Admitting you need that level of help is even harder.

Mackenzie tried to get admitted to a mental health facility and was initially turned away because there weren’t any beds available. She was told they didn’t see physical signs of harm on her body. That moment stayed with her. Because mental pain doesn’t always leave visible marks.

When she was finally admitted months later, everything changed.

She describes her life now as “before the hospital” and “after.”

Before, she said things like “yeah, I’m depressed” or “yeah, I don’t want to be here” without really talking about it. After, she learned what it meant to be vulnerable in a room full of people who understood.

Group therapy cracked something open.

Hearing strangers say out loud the same thoughts she had convinced herself made her crazy was freeing. For the first time, she didn’t feel alone. Vulnerability stopped feeling dangerous and started feeling beautiful.

She also realized something else.

People who had no support system at all.

People who couldn’t name a single person in their corner.

That realization made her sob—and it made her grateful for the family who stayed close, especially her sister Kylie.

The Sister Who Stayed

When nights were unbearable in high school, Kylie invited Mackenzie to sleep over. Again and again. No grand speeches. No fixing. Just presence.

That kind of love saves lives.

To this day, Mackenzie credits Kylie as one of the reasons she’s still here. The relationship they share now—working together, building Stay Another Day side by side—grew out of those nights where being alone wasn’t an option.

3 Things I Learned About Suicidal Ideation

1. You don’t have to be in crisis to need help

Mackenzie shared something that I wish more people understood. Calling 988 isn’t only for moments when you’re at the edge. It’s for anxiety attacks. Overwhelm. When you need help finding a therapist. When you just need to say something out loud so it doesn’t live inside your body anymore.

2. The right therapist changes everything

Therapy didn’t magically work the first time for her—and that’s okay. It took years to find someone she clicked with. Now, she goes multiple times a week. That consistency is what helps keep her grounded. Healing isn’t one and done. It’s maintenance.

3. Staying another day is sometimes the bravest thing you can do

Some days, hope looks like big plans. Other days, it looks like making it through the next hour. Mackenzie wrote “stay another day” in her journal night after night because it gave her something manageable to hold onto.

Turning Pain Into Purpose

After a softball injury sidelined her, Mackenzie bought an embroidery machine. Alone with it, she stitched three words that had carried her through her darkest moments.

Stay Another Day.

She realized SAD could also stand for depression—and that wearing it sparked conversations people were afraid to start. What began as a personal coping tool became a movement. Three years later, Stay Another Day has multiple storefronts and over 100,000 items sold. That’s 100,000 reminders walking around in the world saying “you’re not alone.”

That matters.

What This Story Reinforced for Me

When I sat with Mackenzie, I was reminded why this podcast exists.

Because people are walking around carrying things you cannot see.

Because asking for help is not weakness.

Because vulnerability is not dangerous—it’s connective.

Because depression and suicidal ideation don’t discriminate by age, success, or appearance.

And because staying another day can change everything.

If You’re Reading This and Struggling

You are not broken.

You are not dramatic.

You are not weak.

If you need support right now, you can call or text 988, the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline, for free and confidential help. You don’t need the perfect words. You don’t need to be at your worst. You just need to reach out.

And if Mackenzie’s story resonated with you, I hope you’ll listen to the full conversation.

🎧 Listen to For The Hayters on Apple Podcasts or Spotify

📺 Watch the full video episode on YouTube

💬 Share this post with a friend who needs to feel less alone

Your story matters. And you are worth staying for.