I recently commented on a post quoting an older text, suggesting that if an adult client with mental capacity is actively suicidal and refuses consent for information to be shared, the therapist is under a legal obligation to respect that refusal.
I responded to say that this doesn’t reflect current UK practice, where confidentiality is vital, but not absolute and where guidance and professional frameworks are clear that information can be shared without consent to protect life.
But afterwards, I reflected that my response, while technically accurate, was quite dry.
Because suicide risk in real life, and in clinical practice, is anything but theoretical.
Having worked for many years in NHS mental health services, I’m very aware that managing risk in multidisciplinary environments is complex and imperfect — but there is at least shared responsibility, collective thinking, and systems around you. There are colleagues to consult, crisis teams to escalate to, and structures that hold some of the risk.
Private practice is different.
When a client tells you they are actively suicidal, you may be the only professional involved. You may be reliant on a GP you’ve never met, an emergency service that doesn’t know the person, or next of kin who are suddenly pulled into a crisis. The emotional weight of those decisions sits heavily — and often alone — with the therapist.
And beyond professional experience, this topic is also deeply personal for me.
I have supported two close family members with long-term mental health difficulties, both of whom have been actively suicidal and have attempted suicide. One of the most striking things I’ve learned is this:
When someone is truly intent on ending their life, they may tell nobody.
But when someone says, “I don’t want anyone to know — don’t tell anyone — don’t get help”, there is often another part of them present too. A part that is communicating distress. A part that is reaching out. A part that is not as certain as the suicidal thinking makes it feel.
In suicidal states, thinking narrows. Hopelessness becomes absolute. The urge feels permanent ..even though, in many cases, it is not.
I remember having a conversation with someone very close to me who described being actively suicidal and adamant that they didn’t want anyone to intervene. At the time, they believed they were thinking clearly and rationally.
A few days later, they felt differently.
They were profoundly grateful that others had noticed cues, checked on them, and stepped in even though at the time they had insisted they didn’t want help.
This is something we see again and again in suicide prevention research and clinical work: suicidal crises are often temporary states. Intense. Real. But not fixed.
And that’s why the idea that capacity alone should mean “do nothing” is so risky.
Of course, autonomy matters. Of course, confidentiality matters. But when someone is in acute suicidal distress, we are not just dealing with a stable, fully reflective decision-making process. We are dealing with a mind under the influence of despair, tunnel vision, and cognitive constriction. Our Classic CBT theory helps us understand this.
As clinicians, whether in the NHS or private practice, our role is not to override people lightly. But it is also not to stand back when someone’s life is at serious risk.
Often, the most therapeutic stance is collaborative honesty:
• acknowledging the distress
• validating the wish for privacy and control
• while also being clear that safety sometimes requires involving others
Creating safety plans together. Exploring who could be contacted. Being transparent about the thresholds at which we would need to act. Holding both compassion and responsibility.
And yes, sometimes gently challenging the suicidal thinking itself by naming that this state may not last forever, even if it feels unbearable right now.
For me, this is why modern ethical frameworks emphasise proportionality, judgement, collaboration and the duty of care, rather than rigid rules.
Because suicide risk is not a tick-box capacity issue.
It’s a human crisis.
And while respecting autonomy is vital, preserving life and supporting people through the storm of suicidal despair is too.

