68 | Tangled Thoughts: Following the THREAD

Ideation. It doesn’t always arrive loudly.

Sometimes it starts with a whisper—“I’m just tired.”
Other times, it circles silently, gaining strength beneath the surface.

In this episode, we explore THREAD, the second phase of the STEPS model. Here, suicidal ideation begins to take shape—not yet a plan, but not just passing pain. This is the moment to notice the pull, to trace the thread before it tightens.

We walk through six elements of THREAD:
 🧠 Thoughts of Suicide
 🌫 Headspace of Suicidality
 🔁 Recurrence & Distractibility
 🔍 Escalation in Specificity
 ⚖️ Ability & Desire to Resist
 ➡️ Direction Toward Planning

With motivational interviewing and trauma-informed questions, we learn how to sit beside the person—not to interrogate, but to understand.

Because when we notice early, we can stay close.
 And when we stay close, we create safety—one thread at a time.

Connect with Assoc Prof Manaan Kar Ray on Linkedin
Follow us on www.progress.guide

Transcript

Tangled Thoughts: Following the THREAD

[Intro Song – Unravelling Quitely]

[Section 1: Welcome and Recap]

Hi everyone,
 This is Manaan, Welcome back to the PROTECT podcast where we are exploring STEPS 4 HOPE, the fourth book in the Four volume series called  STEPS. Actually a lot of the content in the first 8 episode sequence does relate to STEPS 1. The volumes as you would expect interlinked. Which ever volume it may be We’re here to explore the hard conversations— the ones that stitch pain to meaning, and meaning to life.

I’m so glad you’re here again—whether you’ve been following Ari’s journey with us, or this is your first time listening in.

In this episode, we enter the second step of the STEPS framework—THREAD—the phase of suicidal ideation.

[Section 2: Previous Episode Recap]

Last time, we explored the very beginning of risk—FABRIC—where emotional pain starts to wear through a person’s self-image, relationships, and sense of hope.
We walked alongside Ari as her inner world began to fray: her confidence dimmed, connections loosened, and despair crept in.

We named those threads of fragility, alienation, burdensomeness, rumination, entrapment, and the quiet curtain of despair.
 It was a phase of vulnerability, not yet a crisis—but one where something essential was being lost.

Today, we follow what happens next.
 When a single strand loosens from that weakened fabric.
 And when a new thought begins to form:
 Maybe I don’t want to be here anymore.

Section 3: THREAD – The Thread Is Pulled: Tracing Ideation from Murmur to Meaning

There’s a moment—often missed, often misread—where pain begins to whisper in a different tone.
 It doesn’t arrive shouting.
 It doesn’t always speak of death.
 It often sounds more like exhaustion. A quiet wondering. A thought half-formed:

“What if it just… stopped?”

This is the first shift.
 And this is why we need to trace the THREAD.

Because at this stage, risk is still woven into life.
The person is still reaching, still responsive, still holding the thread in their hands.

But something inside has begun to fray.

THREAD is not an interrogation. It is an invitation.
Not “Are you suicidal?”
But: “Can we trace what you’ve been carrying?”

It allows us to meet people before they reach the point of rupture.

Each letter—T, H, R, E, A, D—is a point of attunement.
 A way to gently follow the strand of suicidal ideation as it loops between overwhelm, resistance, and potential planning.

This is where relational presence matters most.
 Not to pull the thread tight.
 But to hold it with them—and listen for where it might lead.

T – Thoughts of Suicide

The first flicker.

It often hides in casual words:

“I just don’t want to be here.”
 “I wish I could disappear.”
 “I wouldn’t mind if I didn’t wake up tomorrow.”

These are not declarations of intent.
 They’re reflections of emotional pain.
 They signal that something inside is aching to stop—not necessarily to die, but to pause.

Motivational Interviewing (MI)-Informed Prompts

• “When life gets heavy, it’s not unusual to wonder what it might feel like to stop. Have any thoughts like that been coming up for you lately?”
• “Has there ever been a moment where you wished you could just sleep and not have to wake up to this pain?”
• “What would you say is hurting most right now—the part you wish would go away?”

Clinician Insight
Open the door gently. Don't ask, “Are you suicidal?” as the first question. Ask if life has felt like too much. If stopping has felt like relief.
You’re not diagnosing—you’re de-shaming.

H – Headspace of Suicidality

What does it feel like inside when the thoughts arrive?

Is it fog, chaos, numbness, static, a low hum of despair?

Understanding the emotional terrain of suicidal ideation matters. It helps distinguish chronic distress from acute crisis, and it validates the person's internal experience.

Relational Prompts

• “When those thoughts show up, what’s the overall feeling? Numb, panicky, heavy, loud?”
• “Do they sneak up on you or feel like they’ve always been there in the background?”
• “What metaphor would best describe your mind when those thoughts come—storm, silence, prison, tunnel, maybe something else?”

Clinician Insight
Metaphors help when language falters. Offer imagery. Give permission to describe what often feels indescribable. Be curious—not clinical.

R – Recurrence & Distractibility

Does the thread return? Can it be put down?

Do these thoughts come in waves—or do they cling?
 Is the person able to redirect their attention, or are they stuck inside the loop?

Exploratory Questions

• “When those thoughts come, how long do they stay?”
• “Are there things that help you shift focus—like being with someone, moving your body, or watching a show?”
• “Or do they kind of stick around, even when you try to do something else?”

Clinician Insight
This step tells us about emotional flexibility.
When distraction fails, the person may feel trapped. Gently reflect this:

“Sounds like these thoughts really pull you in… even when you try to break free. That sounds exhausting.”

E – Escalation in Specificity

When the thread begins to take form.

There is a difference between “I want to stop hurting” and “I’ve started imagining how.”

This is not always linear. Some people think in detail from the start. Others never form a concrete plan. What matters is not the presence of detail, but the movement toward it.

Gentle Exploration

• “Have the thoughts stayed kind of vague? Or have they started to take on a bit more shape—like an image, a time, or a method?”
• “Even if you haven’t planned anything, have you noticed your mind lingering on certain ideas or ways out?”
• “When you imagine things getting too hard—what kind of picture comes to mind?”

Clinician Insight
Don’t press. Hold the possibility with steady hands. If the person pulls back, don’t pursue—pivot instead:

“I want to honour your pace. You don’t need to tell me everything—just what feels okay to share.”

A – Ability & Desire to Resist

The quiet strength that remains.

Here, we ask: What keeps the thread from snapping?
Not out of pressure—but to remind them it exists.

Affirming Questions

• “When things feel unbearable, what helps you hold on—even just a little longer?”
• “Has there ever been a moment where you almost acted, but didn’t? What stopped you?”
• “Is there anyone or anything in your life that makes the idea of staying even slightly more bearable?”

Clinician Insight
Affirm gently.

“That’s not nothing. Even the tiniest thread of resistance is worth naming. It means something in you still wants life, even when it doesn’t feel like it.”

Explore without pressure. You're gathering threads of hope—not tying a knot too soon.

D – Direction Toward Planning

Has the thread started pointing toward action?

This is where ideation can begin to cross into preparation.
 Even small steps—like researching, setting a date, or rehearsing scenarios—carry important weight.

MI-Style Exploration

• “Has your mind started moving toward when or how?”
• “Sometimes people find themselves Googling things, writing notes, or imagining scenarios—not because they’ve decided, but because they’re trying to prepare. Has anything like that been happening for you?”
• “Has there been a moment recently where it felt like the idea was getting a bit closer to action?”

Clinician Insight
Approach this not with urgency, but with steadiness.
If yes, this is not panic-time—it’s pause-time. Ground the conversation. Reaffirm safety. Offer containment, not escalation.

Why We Trace the Thread

Because suicide doesn’t always start with a scream.
 Sometimes, it starts with silence.

People don’t always say, “I want to die.”
They say:

“I’m tired.”
“I just want it to stop.”
“I can’t keep going like this.”

THREAD helps us catch the quiet.

It’s a map for early attunement, where presence and permission can change the trajectory of pain.

It tells the person:

“You don’t have to be in crisis for me to care.
 I see that the thread is shifting—and I want to understand, before it becomes a knot too tight to hold.”

It gives us language that is:

• Compassionate, not clinical
• Attuned, not accusatory
• Brave, not brash

Because the truth is:
 We can’t always stop the pain.
But we can trace it, name it, stay beside it.
And sometimes, that’s the thread that holds.

[Section 4: Ari’s Story Segment – The Strand Begins to Unravel]

Let’s return to Ari.

The first time it happened, she was brushing her teeth.
 It was late. She was tired. The house was quiet.
 And the thought slipped in, unannounced:
 “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow.”

No panic. No plan.
 Just a moment of surrender.

A sigh, not a scream.

That was the first tug.
 The first sign of what we call T—Thoughts of Suicide.

A few days later, after a lonely afternoon scrolling through messages that hadn’t come, another thought arrived:
 “Would it matter if I were gone?”

She didn’t say it out loud.
 Didn’t even write it down.
 But it stayed with her, just behind her eyes.

Inside, her headspace began to shift. That’s H.

Some days, she wished she could just dissolve—fade into quiet.
 Other days, she longed for someone to notice, to reach for her, to see what she couldn’t say.

She moved between numbness and ache.
 Between wanting someone to pull her back… and wondering if it was already too late.

At first, she could still shrug the thoughts off.
 Put on a playlist. Take a walk. Watch an old comfort show.
 But slowly, the thoughts began to stick.

That’s R—Recurrence and Distractibility.

The ideas crept in during quiet moments.
 Before sleep. In the shower.
 She’d catch herself thinking, “Why does this keep coming back?”
But there was no clear answer—only repetition.

And then something changed.

The “what if” started becoming “how.”
 Not in vivid detail—but in shape. In outline.
 She began to linger on certain ideas.
 A moment here. A method there.

Her mind, once scattered, started orbiting a darker centre.
 This was E—Escalation in Specificity.

Still, not everything was lost.
 Some days, her sister’s voice could still reach her.
 Sometimes it was the scent of eucalyptus on a damp morning.
 Sometimes it was an unfinished novel.
 Small things. Beautiful things. Things that pulled her back, even for a moment.

But they were fragile.
 Some days, she gripped them tightly.
 Other days, they slipped from her hands.

This is A—Ability and Desire to Resist.

And then came the sketching.

Not a plan. Not yet.
 But... a noticing.
 She began to pay attention to when the house was quietest.
 She thought about who might find her—and when.
 She imagined how she might explain it, in a letter she never wrote.

The thread was no longer loose.
 It had a direction.

That’s D—Direction Toward Planning.

This is THREAD.
 This is ideation.
 It doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it whispers.
 Sometimes, it settles in slowly—until it’s wrapped itself through everything.

From the outside, nothing may look different.
 But inside, the inner weave is shifting.

[Section 5: Closing Reflections and Song]

So, what do we do when the thread starts to move?

We trace it.
 We honour it.
 We ask: Where is this thread pointing?
What is it made of?
What still tethers it to life?

Because suicidal ideation is not proof that nothing matters.
 It is proof that something once mattered deeply—
 and that it may be slipping away.

And our task is to notice.
 Not to panic. Not to pull.
 But to sit beside the person and say:
 “I see the thread. I’m here to hold it with you.”

Next time, we’ll enter the NEEDLE phase—when the thread begins to sharpen into intention.
 But for now, let’s pause here—with Ari—at the edge of ideation.

Here’s a song to close our time together.
 A song woven from Ari’s thoughts and the quiet tension of the THREAD phase.

[Closing Song – Unravelling Quietly]