Vaginal dryness: nonhormonal options and how to evaluate benefits

I didn’t set out to write a safety plan. I stumbled into the idea after a rough week when my thoughts felt like weather—stormy one hour, oddly calm the next. Willpower kept letting me down, and I kept assuming “future me” would be stronger. That wasn’t fair to future me. So I decided to build something steadier: a simple, portable plan I could reach for when my mind was noisy and my memory unreliable. The surprising part was how human it felt—less like a rulebook and more like a note from a kinder version of myself that said, “Here, do this first.”

What follows is the exact way I put that plan together and how I organized essential contacts so they’re never more than a tap or a wallet card away. It’s practical, it’s honest, and it doesn’t promise miracles. It just gives the next right step when that’s all I can handle. If you’re reading this for yourself or for someone you love, I hope it offers a little structure and a lot of compassion.

The moment I realized a plan beats willpower

The shift happened when I admitted that crisis thinking is different from calm thinking. In the calm zone, I know my values, the people who care about me, and the tools that work. In the crisis zone, those same truths can feel far away. A safety plan is basically a bridge between those two zones—written in my clear moments, designed to be followed in my cloudy ones.

• High-value takeaway: Write the plan when you’re steady, so it’s there when you’re not.
• Keep it short, specific, and action-led—no pep talks, just steps.
• Expect to revise it. My first draft was wordy; later versions became more like a recipe card.

When I started, I skimmed a few credible overviews to learn what clinicians actually mean by “safety planning.” One plain-English message stood out: most plans follow a simple sequence that moves from internal coping to people to professionals to environmental safety. If you like a starter map, you can glance at resources like the CDC’s suicide prevention pages, the NIMH overview on warning signs and supports, the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (dial or text 988 in the U.S.), and practical handouts from clinician groups.

A six-part map that stays with me

I built my plan around six parts. I keep each part to two or three bullets because in tough moments I don’t want options; I want the next breadcrumb.

• 1) My warning signs — I write the earliest signals I tend to ignore: “scrolling in bed all morning,” “canceling plans without rescheduling,” “brittle sarcasm,” “thinking in all-or-nothing.” When I see two or more, I move to step 2.
• 2) Internal coping strategies — Things I can do without telling anyone. I list three only:
  • Five-minute sensory reset: cold water on wrists, open a window, feel the air.
  • Set a 10-minute timer and walk outside, no phone.
  • “Name 5–4–3–2–1”: five things I see, four I feel, three I hear, two I smell, one I taste.
• 3) Social distractions — People and places that are low-stakes. Examples:
  • Text J. “Are you free for a quick coffee?”
  • Public place with people around: bookstore, grocery store, church foyer.
• 4) Supportive contacts — A short list of people I trust with the truth, not just a distraction. My list includes a sibling, a friend who “gets it,” and one person who can help make calls if needed. I include exact words to send: “I’m having a hard time and could use company or a check-in call.”
• 5) Professional help — I write the names and numbers I am most likely to use:
  • Therapist or primary care clinician
  • Local urgent care or ER
  • U.S. option: 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (call/text 988; chat available)
• 6) Making my space safer — I choose one or two immediate actions that reduce risk:
  • Have a trusted person hold onto items I shouldn’t access when distressed.
  • Lock up or limit quantities of medications; use a timed pill organizer.
  • Remove reminders or notes that fuel rumination; replace with my plan card.

That’s the skeleton. I keep the full plan on a single printed page and a mirrored note on my phone. When I update it, I write the date in the corner so I know it’s current.

Turning names into a lifeline directory

Knowing whom to call matters, but finding the number fast matters more. I turned my contacts into three tiers and made each tier absurdly easy to reach.

• Tier A: Always-call list — 2–3 people who have said “call me, no questions.” I add them as favorites in my phone and star their texts. I also write their numbers on my wallet card in ink.
• Tier B: Good-enough supports — 3–5 people I can text for company or a distraction. Their numbers live in a dedicated “Support Circle” group chat so I don’t have to choose when my brain is tired.
• Tier C: Professional safety net — clinician(s), local urgent care/ER, and the 24/7 U.S. lifeline at 988. I also keep links to reputable organizations for education and sober second thoughts, like the CDC and NIMH.

For each person or service, I include:

• Best method — call, text, or both
• Availability — “nights are best,” “weekdays only,” “anytime”
• What to say — a one-sentence script, so I don’t overthink it

Practical touches that helped:

• ICE and Medical ID — On iPhone, I set up Medical ID so emergency contacts are visible from the lock screen. On Android, I added “Emergency information” with contacts that can be viewed without unlocking. That way responders can find help even if I can’t speak.
• Speed dial — I placed 988 and my top person on the first row of my phone’s home screen.
• Wallet card — A simple index card with warning signs, top 3 coping steps, and Tier A numbers. I taped a duplicate inside a kitchen cabinet.

Words to use when words are hard

I used to get stuck typing and deleting. Now I keep a few scripts that lower the barrier to asking for help. Copy, paste, and tune as needed:

• To a close friend: “I’m having a tough mental health moment and could use company by phone or text. No need to fix anything—could you stay with me for a bit?”
• To a support contact: “I’m practicing my safety plan. Can we talk for 10 minutes or swap messages while I do a short walk?”
• To a clinician or clinic: “I need an urgent check-in about suicidal thoughts. What’s the soonest appointment or the best place to go now?”
• To myself, on the card: “Do step 2 now. If that fails, call Tier A. If no answer, call 988.”

Little habits I’m testing in real life

I treat my plan like a living document. I try things, keep what helps, and retire what doesn’t. A few habits earned a permanent spot:

• Micro-routines for mornings — I stack a 2-minute stretch with opening the blinds and drinking water before touching my phone. It sounds small; it reduces early ruminating for me.
• Grounding kit by the door — headphones, a soothing playlist, a smooth stone, mint gum, and a spare printout of my plan.
• Check-in Fridays — I message my support circle: “Green, yellow, or red this week?” It normalizes updates when I’m okay, so asking for help later feels less awkward.
• Means safety as a routine — I refill meds weekly and store extras out of sight; the key to a lockbox lives with a trusted person. I review this setup after any tough week to keep it honest.

If you like evidence-informed guides, I found it useful to read summaries from national health organizations and clinician groups. They echo the same theme: make it specific, accessible, and practiced. Even the best plan loses power if it lives in a forgotten app folder, so I practice step 2 on calm days—literally walking through the first coping action for five minutes to make it muscle memory.

How I capture the plan on paper and phone

My rule: if I can’t find my plan in five seconds, I redesign where it lives.

• Paper — One page, large font. Top half is steps 1–3. Bottom half is contacts and safety changes. I print two copies and date them.
• Phone — A pinned note named “SAFETY PLAN” and a photo of my paper plan saved as a favorite. I also attach contact cards to the note so I can tap-to-call.
• Home screen — A folder called “Calm” with my plan, a timer app, a maps shortcut to the nearest open public place, and 988 dialer shortcut.

I also built a tiny checklist I can tick off in minutes:

• Notice two warning signs
• Do one internal strategy
• Text one person from Tier B
• Call one person from Tier A or 988 if needed
• Change one thing in my environment

Signals that tell me to slow down and ask for help

Plans are steadying, but they’re not magic. A few signs tell me to move quickly toward people and professionals:

• Thoughts feel specific and urgent — If I catch myself planning or collecting items, I stop and call 988 or a local emergency number. This is not a time to self-assess alone.
• Isolation increases — If I’m avoiding everyone for a day or more, I break the streak by going to a public place or calling my Tier A person.
• Substance use ramps up — I remove access and ask someone to be with me. If needed, I go to urgent care or an ER to get stabilized.

If you’re in the U.S., you can dial or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. If you may be in immediate danger, call 911 or go to the nearest emergency room. If you’re outside the U.S., your local health ministry or a World Health Organization page can point to country-specific supports.

What I’m keeping and what I’m letting go

What I keep:

• Specificity — “Walk outside for 10 minutes” beats “get fresh air.”
• Practice — I rehearse steps when I’m calm so they’re ready when I’m not.
• Redundancy — Paper + phone + friend who knows my plan.

What I’m letting go:

• Perfectionism — The plan doesn’t need perfect words; it needs to be findable.
• Shame — Asking for help is the skill. Every time I do it, I build that muscle.
• Going it alone — Crisis is not a test of character. It’s a health moment; I treat it like one.

Quick reference links to save

• 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (US)
• CDC Suicide Prevention
• NIMH Suicide Prevention
• WHO Suicide Prevention
• Suicide Prevention Resource Center

FAQ

1) Do I need to make this plan with a professional?
You can start on your own and refine it with a clinician if you have one. Professionals can help tailor steps, troubleshoot barriers, and coordinate care if risks rise.

2) How often should I update a safety plan?
I review mine after any challenging week and at least every three months. Update contact info, remove steps that you don’t use, and add what reliably helps.

3) What if I don’t want to worry my family?
Choose people who respond in the style you need. It’s okay if your Tier A contacts are friends or peers rather than relatives. You can also practice asking for help in calm times so the first ask isn’t during a crisis.

4) What if I’m supporting someone else?
Ask how they want to be helped in advance. Offer to hold a copy of their plan, store a lockbox key if that’s part of means safety, and agree on words that mean “I need help now.” Keep lifeline numbers handy and know the closest urgent care/ER.

5) How do I handle access to medications or other risky items?
Use the least complicated safe option that actually works in your life: locked storage, smaller fills, or temporarily transferring items to a trusted person. If you’re unsure, talk with a clinician about practical ways to reduce risk while keeping your routine workable.

Sources & References

• 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline
• CDC Suicide Prevention
• NIMH Suicide Prevention
• WHO Suicide Prevention
• Suicide Prevention Resource Center

This blog is a personal journal and for general information only. It is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment, and it does not create a doctor–patient relationship. Always seek the advice of a licensed clinician for questions about your health. If you may be experiencing an emergency, call your local emergency number immediately (e.g., 911 [US], 119).