“Mom, are you pursuing your passion?” 

We were in the car when Charles surprised me with that question.

He had just started high school around 2010, and I had just started a digital marketing firm with my business partner. I hesitated too long before answering, and he said matter-of-factly,

“If you’re taking that long to answer, maybe you aren’t. You should always follow your heart,” said the child with the world’s biggest heart.

I would remember that question years later, after Charles’s 2015 death by suicide

In the aftermath, I struggled with grief—and eventually with finding a way forward. I needed to make meaning of what had happened. The career I had built in digital marketing no longer filled me up.

I kept thinking my mojo would come back, but it leaked from me like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. It showed in the morale around our workplace. And the harder I pushed myself, the farther away that career choice felt.

Eventually, in 2017, when our firm merged with another company, I sold my partnership.

For some time afterward, I searched for purpose.

Desperation drove me to figure it out, but it wouldn’t come, stubbornly staying out of sight and out of reach, likely because I was still processing the rawness of the loss. I coaxed myself to be patient, told myself it would come to me.

Maybe I just needed to try things on. Perhaps even the wrong turns would eventually lead me where I needed to go. (They did, by the way.)

When I finally felt the universe nudging me in a direction that was right for me and filled a need, it made me angry.

The price of purpose had been too high

I felt manipulated and cheated.

• Was I leaving my son in the rearview mirror?
• Was I leveraging my tragedy to bring too much attention to myself?
• Was I making him the poster child of heroin addiction, depression, or suicide?

I had to work through every one of those questions.

I reminded myself of something I knew deep down: “Charles would want you to be happy. He’d want you to follow your heart.”

It didn’t make me happy that I was doing this work because he died by suicide. But his death—and how he died—were things I could not change. I couldn’t reverse time or the outcome.

What I could do was help others recognize the signs, use my story to help people listen, and perhaps prevent another family from suffering the same loss.

And if someone had already experienced that loss, maybe I could help them find their own purpose—one that honored their loved one while allowing them to move forward.

Purpose Doesn’t Always Arrive When You Want It To

My path there wasn’t straight or always pleasant. I took wrong turns. I failed at some things and discovered I didn’t like others.

For a while, I tried being the executive director of a nonprofit. I loved creating programs and building community relationships, but the taxes, board meetings, and constant fundraising were not for me.

I also spent two years implementing an innovative youth drug prevention program in partnership with VCU’s Institute of Drug and Alcohol Studies. But at the point of implementation, a conflict between the program’s founder and the university brought the whole thing to a halt. Two years of work—gone in a puff of smoke.

Before all that, a friend had asked if I would speak at a small suicide prevention event. I said yes. Was it too soon? Maybe. But I felt ready.

And when I stood on that stage and shared my story, I felt Charles with me. That moment changed everything. I was hooked to the stage. Charles had loved being on stage. I had spent my entire childhood on stage. We could meet there.

Of course, speaking didn’t catapult me to fame and fortune. It took years to build that business model—figuring out who would pay, how to get booked, and how to grow it into a career. And practice, of course.

Then another roadblock appeared

One of my vocal cords became paralyzed due to radiation treatments for a brain tumor. A speaker with a barely audible voice is not in high demand.

For a year, I waited for surgery to restore my voice. They have to make sure the tumor is gone before doing repair surgeries. During that time, I wrote my first book and continued doing some smaller events where I was well-miked, but I could only speak for about 30 minutes.

Around that same time, I had been asked to give a TEDx talk. The organizers were nervous that no one would be able to hear me, even with the best microphone.

Two days before the event, I received a Botox injection in my vocal cords. It worked. Eventually, after surgery, I got my voice back and began gaining traction again. National keynote events were finally being booked.

And then the pandemic hit. Every event was canceled. Once again, I wondered: Was the universe trying to tell me something?

I considered taking a traditional job

But every time I thought about it, I kept coming back to the same thing: speaking, educating, and building a community around these topics.

When the pandemic subsided, something had shifted. Workplaces had begun to realize that mental health directly affected productivity, retention, and culture. Employees were asking for these conversations. Suicide prevention was becoming less taboo. And those mental health and suicide prevention conferences were reaching out to me.

Schools were especially eager to address it.

But I had to rebuild the speaking business all over again—for the third time. Did I have it in me? Eventually, the bookings returned, and the momentum was rebuilt.

And then I hit another roadblock: compassion fatigue. My feet were planted in quicksand. My passion had dimmed to a pilot light. I had to decide whether to change something—or walk away.

That’s when Charles’ question came back to me again.

“Mom, are you pursuing your passion?”

So I made adjustments. I set boundaries. I changed how I worked, added new approaches, and allowed myself time to rest and regroup.

The journey has, at times, been an agonizing battle I would never want to repeat. But it has also been filled with moments so meaningful and beautiful that every hardship has been worth it.

Today, I was hired as a keynote speaker because of my stubborn persistence, determination, and refusal to give up. And even now, the journey continues to evolve—because the world and our circumstances are always changing.

What do I want you to know?

It was worth it, and it helped me process all the difficult feelings that go with grief. You can do this.

There is something out there for you. You do have a purpose. No matter how your loved one died, you can carry their legacy forward in ways both large and small. It doesn’t have to be international.

Some people build on what they were already doing and discover their purpose quickly. Others take longer because they need more time to process their grief. And some dive in too fast and later realize they need to step back because carrying others’ pain alongside their own can be overwhelming.

There is no single timeline.

All I ask is this:

• Honor yourself.
• Honor your loved one.
• Find a way forward that aligns with your values, protects your mental health, and meets a need in this world.

Much love. ❤️ My soul is rooting for you.

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Find Your Purpose Now!

AnneMoss Rogers

AnneMoss Rogers is a leading wellness and suicide education expert and one of the top mental health speakers and suicide prevention speakers. Known for her powerful, motivational keynotes, AnneMoss combines her personal story of loss with proven strategies to help organizations build a wellness culture that drives results and saves lives.  She speaks at conferences, workplaces, K-12 schools, and universities, delivering impactful presentations that inspire change and promote mental health awareness.
AnneMoss does this work in memory of her son, Charles, who struggled with anxiety, depression, and addiction, and died by suicide at age 20 in 2015.