As told by Cynthia, Founder of The Novel Advocate
Interview conducted by Hope Warren for The Novel Advocate
Editorial coordination by Vera Steele

Editor’s Note:
This interview-style feature offers a rare look into the heart and experience of Cynthia, the founder of The Novel Advocate. In her own words, she opens up about over a decade in the crime scene cleanup industry, the silent epidemic of suicide, and what it truly means to help those who are hurting. Her story is not just about survival—it’s about showing up for others in their darkest hours and building a platform that refuses to let voices go unheard.

Hope W. :

Cynthia, suicide prevention is clearly something that deeply resonates with you. Can you share why this issue feels so personal?

Cynthia:

Absolutely. Suicide prevention isn’t just a topic I care about—it’s something etched into my bones. I spent 11 and a half years in the crime scene cleanup industry, serving as the operations manager for a company that serviced every state east of the Mississippi River, and I even helped expand our operations to the West Coast.

What most people don’t realize is I was often the second or third phone call someone made after their world had fallen apart. After someone they loved took their life.

I’ve read more suicide notes than any person should. Honestly, even reading one is too many. I’ve been hugged by a crying mother who thanked me simply because I made their home look like it hadn’t happened, days after her child took their life. I’ve handed house keys back to military families with a lump in my throat.

So yes, it’s personal.

And here’s the thing people often misunderstand: You’d think I’d be desensitized. That I’d be okay with it—more calls, more jobs, more money. But it never sat right with me.

There is nothing lucrative about someone else’s blood being on your hands. There’s no comfort in knowing your business is booming because someone didn’t survive. That kind of mindset? Gives me the full-body heebie-jeebies. It’s just… yuck.

If you can make peace with that kind of thinking, you’ve lost your empathy. And I never lost mine.

Hope W. :

You spent more than a decade in a field most people can’t imagine being part of. What was that like? And how did it shape your view on mental health and crisis support?

Cynthia:

A decade goes by fast. And sometimes I look back and think, ‘Wow… that was really my life.’

Every day was different, yet somehow the same. And just when I thought I’d heard it all, someone would call and tell me something that completely blew me away.

People would ask, ‘How do you sleep at night?’ And I’d say, ‘I just close my eyes… and I go to sleep.’ (I’d sometimes tell them about the little football shaped sleeping pill ha ha).

But what I really did was compartmentalize. I took every scene, every note, every scream on the other end of the phone, and I filed it away in a little mental cabinet. What I never expected was the little mental filing cabinet come unlocked and 11.5 years of stuff come flying out… but I am working with someone now to sort through, all of those years and things I have witnessed.

That being said it is a lot of the emotional baggage I took on from this job shaped this version of me  and I am who I am. You don’t walk into people’s lowest moments and walk out unaffected, unscathed. I’m unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—a deeply empathic person. I think that’s why people trusted me. Why they handed me their grief and let me take care of things. But I carry those moments. They live on my heart and tap dance around in my soul. It’s a really been hard especially with everything I have lived through in my life.

I once cleaned up after a military member who had just come home. They were pulled from their unit overseas for being a danger to themselves—brought home to get help. Three days later, they shot themselves in front of their spouse.

The stories behind, every suicide…  There’s always a story. Their story, Their survivors story. There’s always a story.

I cried the entire drive home.

That scene broke something open in me. The system tried to help, but it wasn’t enough. They did bareley enough, I was actually very angry about it. My heart hurt for the spouse, that witnessed it.  That was begging the mlitary members Sargent to come help, right now… and they couldn’t get there in time.

We’re not talking enough about how to really help. And performative awareness doesn’t cut it.

We don’t need more pushup challenges. We need real conversations. We need affordable, accessible mental health care. We need to stop shaming people for being depressed and definitely stop weaponizing their vulnerability.

Hope W. :

When you think about the people you’ve helped—or the ones you couldn’t reach in time—what thoughts stay with you the most?

Cynthia:

I wish they had gotten help. That’s what I always think. I wish they had access to support, to care, to one more conversation that gave them the strength to stay.

I think about their families—the spouses, the parents, the friends—and I think, ‘We failed them.’ Not for lack of love, but because the system is broken.

Depression isn’t a choice. No one chooses to be in that much pain. If it were as easy as flipping a happiness switch, we wouldn’t have an epidemic.

But it isn’t easy. It’s heavy. And it’s real. And pretending it’s not what it is? That costs lives.

Hope W. :

How do you think friends and family members can support someone they love who may be suicidal—especially when they feel helpless?

Cynthia:

Be there. Sit with them in the dark. You don’t have to fix it. You just have to show up.

Check in. Not in a ‘Did you take your meds?’ kind of way, but in a ‘Hey, I’m here’ kind of way. Don’t add weight to the guilt they’re already feeling for struggling.

And please—don’t tell them how to get better. Just let them know it can get better. That healing doesn’t have a deadline. And make sure they know there are options beyond just you: therapy, support groups, pastoral care, online communities.

Sometimes, all it takes is 8 to 10 minutes of conversation to pull someone back from the edge. Not a lecture. Not a solution. Just presence.

Support isn’t telling someone how you would fix it. It’s standing beside them while they figure out their way through.

Hope W. :

What would you say to someone reading this page right now who’s in pain or feeling like no one sees them?

Cynthia:

Nothing stays in the dark forever. There will be light again. It might take time, but it will come.

If you feel invisible right now, please know: you are not. There are people—maybe strangers, maybe someone reading this right now—who are proof that healing is possible.

It’s okay to not be okay. Say it out loud.

I’ve been there. I know how hard it is to ask for help. But the moment you tell someone, ‘I’m not okay’ — that’s not weakness. That’s strength.

Start with that. Just those words.

You don’t have to be perfect to deserve help. You don’t have to be healed to be loved. Just don’t give up.

 

 

Hope W. :

And what does it mean to you to create a space like The Novel Advocate—where stories like this can be shared?

Cynthia:

Creating The Novel Advocate means giving voices back to the ones who have been silenced.

It means standing up for those who have been failed—by the justice system, by their doctors, by their families, by the people who were supposed to protect them. This platform is about reclaiming that space.

It’s a place for people to say, ‘You too? Me too.’

It’s about light. Even when I’ve sat in the dark myself.

I wish I could say I never knew what depression felt like. I wish I could say I’d never had suicidal thoughts. But that wouldn’t be true.

I’m lucky I had a support system that showed up. People from across the country. Even across the world. They noticed when I changed. They checked in.
And now, I want to help build a world that fosters that same kind of care. One where we don’t have to live on the same street to support each other.

This platform is proof that you don’t have to be silent anymore.

If this page helps even one person choose to stay, then I’ve done what I came here to do.

Need help right now?

📞 National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: Call or Text 988
🌐 https://988lifeline.org

 

You are not alone.

It’s okay not to be okay.

 

Hope’s Final Word:
This conversation is just the beginning. In future interviews, I’ll continue speaking with Cynthia about the moments that shaped her, the silence she refuses to sit in, and the path she’s navigating with courage and clarity. Some stories are ongoing—unfolding in the tension between truth and consequence.

What Cynthia is doing is more than reflection—it’s resilience.

And we’ll be here to keep listening.

When the silenced speak, we listen.