Taking Off The Helmet
I’ve worn a helmet most of my life, middle school, high school, Duke and through eight seasons in the NFL.
It’s designed to protect you, but over time, it becomes more than gear. It becomes part of who you are.
Football gave me structure, purpose and the meaning of real teamwork. It gave me a reason to stay locked in, grind and lead. I took pride being the guy everyone could count on during the toughest moments.
But the helmet doesn’t just shield you from hits. It starts to shape your identity. You wear it long enough, you forget who you are without it.
And when it’s not on, you still feel it.
It’s a strange feeling how something invisible can feel heavy.
During the 2020 football season, any time I made a mistake in practice or a game, I shoved the frustration and doubt further down instead of facing it.
Instead of using my mistakes to learn, I became extremely self-critical, thinking it would only motivate me. It actually made the weight heavier. Suppressing and ignoring worked as a short-term fix, but over time, the frustration and anxiety only grew.
Then finally came my panic attack, as I was standing in the huddle.
No one else knew. I doubt they could tell. But inside, I couldn’t breathe. My chest was tight, my mind was racing in a thousand directions and I had no idea how to stop it.
I could bench, squat and move hundreds of pounds, but I couldn’t lift the weight of shame and anxiety off my chest.
I had suppressed every fear, every doubt, every failure. I told myself, “You’re fine. I can fix it. I don’t need help.”
But when you bury something long enough, it doesn’t disappear, it will find its way to erupt. And mine went off right there on the field.
What pulled me out was the clap in the huddle after the play call. It grounded me just enough to fake normal. Thankfully, it was a walk-through. My body was present, but my mind was shaky and unfocused.
After that day, I couldn’t pretend anymore. I had to face what was happening. I had to learn how to take the helmet off.
That started with telling the truth, first to myself, then to people I trusted. I had to admit I wasn’t okay.
I stopped trying to power through everything and started listening to my body, my mind, my wife and leaned on my faith.
Therapy helped. So did journaling. And finally realizing that protecting my ego was no longer worth the cost. Isolation, both physically and emotionally, made everything worse and blinded me from seeing the help people were trying to give me.
What I found is that taking the helmet off doesn’t make you weak or incapable. It makes you human. And it made me a better leader, father, husband and man.
Strength isn’t about pretending to be unshakable, it’s about knowing how to address an issue head-on, when to say, “I’m not okay,” and creating space for others to say it too.
June is Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month. If you’ve ever felt like you had to carry more than you could handle, you’re not alone, I’ve been there too. Let’s normalize these conversations and lift each other up.
Because the helmet doesn’t come off until we choose to take it off.
See you next week,
—Matt