My rookie year in the NFL was rough. I was married with a newborn son who had colic. His constant crying was stressful, and we weren’t getting any sleep. Then, there was the pressure of being a second-round pick and performing well on the field. In the neighborhood where I grew up and on TV and in movies, we learned that as men, we’re “not supposed to” share our struggles. If you faced tough times, you needed to “man up” and deal with it. As the commercial said, never let ‘em see you sweat. The truth is that while there are things we can push through, you can’t rub dirt on traumatic experiences and think they’ll heal or disappear. I didn’t know how to improve my mental health.
So, at the Eagles facility, I put on a mask. I acted like everything was fine, hoping my face wouldn’t reveal the turmoil inside. Day after day, as I drove home, the stress I’d bottled up would come back to the surface—and eventually, it blew up. I was in an argument with my wife, and I don’t even remember what it was about. But my anger became so intense I rammed my head through a wall. My wife called my coach, Emmitt Thomas, and thankfully, with their urgent push, I finally got some help.
