John
John
Asking for help is the hardest step
Most people know someone who would help them—if only they’d ask
That’s the advice John offers now. But it took him decades, and more than one life-altering struggle with depression, to learn it for himself.
John’s story begins like many others: A young man with big ambitions, a new wife, and a sense of duty. After graduating from college and completing the Army ROTC program, he earned a deferment from active service to pursue an MBA. While in grad school, he and his wife welcomed their first child. Soon after, he was deployed to Vietnam.
Leaving my wife and very young children for a year was terrifying. I didn’t know when—or if—I’d come back.
When he returned home, John launched a demanding career in commercial banking. He thrived professionally, working long hours and climbing the ranks. On the surface, everything looked stable. But under the surface, he was managing something invisible—something that had followed him since childhood.
As a kid, I had obsessive thoughts all the time. I was a devout Catholic, and the pressure to confess my sins perfectly left me in a state of constant fear. I’d lose perspective. Everything felt catastrophic.
As a teenager, a compassionate young priest helped John begin to untangle his anxiety. But it didn’t disappear. It faded into the background, showing up only now and then—until his 40s, when work stress and long-standing perfectionism triggered something much darker.
I couldn’t sleep. I was losing weight without trying. I couldn’t stop thinking about worst-case scenarios. It felt like I was unraveling.
John’s battle with depression was now undeniable. But even then, asking for help wasn’t easy.
I was afraid: Afraid that people would think less of me and that I’d lose opportunities. But when I finally reached out to a psychiatrist—someone I trusted through a friend—I knew right away I’d made the right call.
With support from his doctor, his family, and close friends, John got back on his feet and maintained his career until retirement at 62. But stepping away from work triggered something unexpected.
I had poured so much of my identity into my career. When it was over, I kept asking myself, ‘What now?’
John filled his time with community work, nonprofit boards, and a new business venture. But the depression returned—this time worse. Medication wasn’t working. Therapy wasn’t enough. Then his mother died, and his world tilted again.
Eventually, he was hospitalized. That’s when his care team recommended electroconvulsive therapy (ECT)—a treatment that John initially resisted.
I fought it. I came up with every excuse. But my psychiatrist never pressured me. He just explained—patiently. And finally, I said yes.
After his first session of ECT, something shifted.
It was like hitting reset. I hadn’t felt hungry in months. That day, I was ravenous. It was the first sign that something inside me was coming back to life.
Years later, during another major life transition, depression knocked again. And John did what had once seemed impossible: He picked up the phone.
I called the first psychiatrist I’d seen—convinced he’d be retired. But he answered. He helped me get back on track.
Today, John is active, grounded, and doing well. He runs, plays tennis, bikes, and enjoys time with his wife and children. Mental health is still a part of his story—but now, it’s a part he understands how to care for.
If you’re struggling, find the person in your life who you think might understand. It could be a friend, a teacher, a doctor—just someone who’ll listen.
And then ask for help. That’s the hardest step—but it’s also the beginning of everything.
