Hey, Sara here.
This one’s personal.
For most of my life, I’ve been someone people turn to when things fall apart. Maybe because I’ve been there more times than I care to count, the kind of endings that shake your sense of safety, identity, even reality. The kind of heartbreak that doesn’t just break your heart, it unanchors you from yourself.
I’ve watched people I love, men and women, try to leave relationships that weren’t just painful, but destabilizing. I’ve seen them cycle through panic, guilt, grief, shame, and silence. And I’ve seen what happens when the silence wins.
There’s this quiet, dangerous space that exists after you leave something that broke you, or you broke, intentionally or not — that space between heartbreak and healing. It’s where the world tells you to “move on,” but your body is still remembering what happened. It’s where you reach out for help and realize the people you love are scared, exhausted, or don’t know what to say. It’s where loneliness becomes a habit because connection feels like a risk.
That’s the space I built Stumble for.
Because I lived there.
Because I almost didn’t make it out.
When I think about what I needed in those moments, and what so many people still need, it’s not another app trying to fix them. It’s something that could hold them. Something that could understand that safety isn’t just physical; it’s emotional, it’s digital, it’s the ability to breathe without judgment.
That’s where the SOS Button was born.
It’s not a gimmick or a panic alarm. It’s the bridge between reaching out and being reached. Because sometimes you don’t have words for what’s happening, you just know you’re not okay.
There are three layers to it because there are layers to pain.
Gentle Support is for the moments that don’t look like crisis from the outside, when you’re anxious, dissociating, spiraling, or just need grounding. It opens calm prompts, connects you to your community, or gives you space to breathe.
Critical Support is for when you can’t hold it alone anymore. It links you to trusted people inside Stumble, peers, chatbots, mentors, so you’re not left in the echo chamber of your thoughts.
And Emergency Support is for when you’re truly unsafe, when you need immediate resources or to block contact that keeps pulling you back into harm.
This wasn’t about replacing professional help. It was about meeting people in the cracks, the moments before the call, the text, the decision. The moments that decide what happens next.
Because that’s where prevention lives. That’s where lives are saved.
Every “I need support” tap is someone choosing not to disappear.
Every blocked number is someone choosing to reclaim their peace.
Every connection made inside Stumble is proof that silence doesn’t have to win.
When I started creating this, I kept thinking about how many people are walking around carrying invisible emergencies. The quiet kind, the ones that don’t show up on the surface until it’s too late. The heartbreaks that turn into shame. The isolation that becomes dangerous. The exhaustion that looks like apathy but is really survival.
We live in a world that still stigmatizes emotional need. We reward strength but punish vulnerability. And it’s killing people. Not always in ways you can see, but in the slow, invisible ways that happen when someone stops reaching out because they’re afraid of being “too much.”
That’s why Stumble isn’t just an app. It’s a promise. That you can be seen without performing. That you can be held without having to explain yourself. That you can show up messy, scared, angry, and still belong.
I want people to know they’re not crazy for hurting. They’re human. I want people to feel safe enough to stop pretending they’re fine and start healing for real.
This isn’t about technology. It’s about timing. About giving someone a moment of pause before they do something irreversible. About building tools that let people connect in ways that prevent harm, to themselves, to others, to the communities they love.
When I say Stumble can save lives, I mean it. Because I’ve seen what happens when people finally feel safe enough to say “I need help.” I’ve seen it change everything.
And maybe that’s the point of all this, to make sure no one ever has to go through that quiet kind of hell alone again.
If you’ve been there, you know. If you haven’t, I hope you never will. But if you ever do, I want Stumble to be the place that catches you.
Because sometimes healing doesn’t start with therapy or a plan or a checklist. Sometimes it starts with one moment of safety. One breath. One button. One reminder that you’re still here.
With love,
Sara
Creator and Co-Founder of Stumble