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By: Malik J., 32, Former College Athlete & Gym Owner

 

I used to be unstoppable. On the field, in the gym, at parties—I was that guy. The loud one. The strong one. The one who didn’t show weakness. That’s what being a man meant, right? Until one day, my body said otherwise.

 

Knee surgery at 28. Recovery took longer than expected. Then came the weight gain. The exhaustion. The anxiety that gnawed at me in the quiet moments. I started dodging calls, avoiding my gym, making excuses. Depression wasn’t something I believed in—it was just for people who “couldn’t handle life.” But here I was, a former college running back, paralyzed by my own mind.

 

The real wake-up call came when my younger brother asked, “Are you okay?” The way he looked at me—it wasn’t pity. It was concern. It hit different.

 

That night, I did something I never thought I would. I looked up “male depression” online. The symptoms read like my biography. That was step one. Step two was telling my best friend. He just nodded and said, “Me too, man.” We sat in silence for a bit, then he said, “Wanna go for a run?”

 

That run almost killed me—my endurance was shot—but I went back the next day. And the day after that. The more I moved, the clearer my head became. I started sleeping better. I started feeling again.

 

Now, I talk about it with the guys at my gym. Not in some after-school-special way, but real talk. Some laugh it off, but others lean in. And for those ones? I make sure they know—they’re not alone.