Mental health wasn’t something families talked about when Andy was growing up. “There was a time where you didn’t talk about this at all,” he recalls. Born in 1964, Andy began experiencing something unusual when he was just six years old. At night, as he was getting ready to fall asleep, he would hear voices. Confused, he would get out of bed and knock on his family’s doors, asking what they wanted.
“I can’t remember exactly what I’d hear, but I knew someone was talking to me,” he says. His parents, unsure of what to make of it, told him it was his imagination or that he was just tired. Eventually, they sat him down and said, “This is something you’re going through, and everything is okay. Just don’t tell anyone about it—not even your siblings.”
From that moment on, Andy kept his struggles to himself.
By the time he reached his teenage years, the voices became louder and harder to ignore. They were no longer just whispers but intrusive commands urging him toward dangerous actions. “I’d be riding my bike, and the voices would tell me to steer in front of a car or off a cliff,” he recalls. The voices didn’t just give commands—they were cruel and unrelenting. “One voice started verbally assaulting me, pointing out every little thing I was doing wrong and telling me I was a failure.”
At school, Andy was labeled the “weird kid,” his temper and unpredictable behavior further isolating him. At home, fear and paranoia took hold. “I kept a baseball bat near the door when I was home alone. I’d grab it and walk through the house, looking for someone I thought was there,” he remembers.
Andy carried these struggles silently into adulthood. He stayed busy, working multiple jobs and pouring himself into his cleaning business. By his late 20s, though, the pace was unsustainable. “I would stay awake three to four days a week working,” he recalls. The lack of sleep and mounting pressure finally culminated in a nervous breakdown. “Uncontrollably crying is an understatement. Whatever is five levels above that—that’s where I was.”
Andy’s sister took him to the ER, where he was placed in a room for patients in crisis. Though help was available, Andy wasn’t ready to receive it. “I made up stuff to convince them to let me go,” he admits. “I said I lost my job, my wife wanted a divorce—whatever I needed to say to get out of there.” At that time, he didn’t yet see the ER as the right place for him to begin his journey.
But the breakdown marked a turning point. Andy realized he couldn’t keep going like this. Within six months, he opened up to his family doctor, who prescribed a mild antidepressant and referred him to a psychiatrist. At the age of 30, Andy finally received a formal diagnosis: bipolar disorder. While the psychiatrist considered schizoaffective disorder due to the voices, it was never part of Andy’s official diagnoses.
“For the first time, I felt a sense of relief,” Andy says. “It confirmed what I had always known.”
His diagnosis opened the door to healing, but his journey wasn’t linear. “The medications I tried at first were a nightmare,” he remembers. “They didn’t stop the voices, and I was exhausted all the time.” Frustrated but determined, Andy kept searching for answers. Along the way, he found purpose in an unexpected place: the gym where he worked late-night shifts.
“I’d bring my guitar and play for the handful of people who were there,” Andy explains. As he played, he began sharing parts of his own story—his struggles with hearing voices, his childhood paranoia, and how he had worked to manage his mental health. “It wasn’t easy to talk about, but being open drew people in,” he says. Others started to approach him, not just to talk about their own challenges, but to ask for advice about loved ones.
“Before I knew it, people were bringing their friends and family members to talk to me.”
What began as casual chats soon turned into a regular group. “We’d meet at 5 a.m., just talking like we are now,” Andy says. “I was sharing what I’d learned about mental health and therapy, and people were sharing their stories, too.”
A psychiatrist who frequented the gym noticed Andy’s natural ability to connect with others. “He told me, ‘You’re doing peer support—you just don’t know it yet.’” That conversation changed everything. Andy became a certified peer specialist, turning his lived experience into a career helping others navigate their own mental health journeys.
Today, Andy works as both a certified peer specialist and a manager of peer specialists. He balances meeting with individuals one-on-one while also training and guiding others in the field. “Part of my job is to help new peer specialists understand how to relate to others, especially when people feel misunderstood,” he says. Andy emphasizes the importance of seeing the person behind the diagnosis. “It’s not just about symptoms—it’s about the impact on someone’s life and how to help them move forward.” Whether he’s sitting with someone to process their experiences or supporting staff in their roles, Andy’s work is about empowerment, understanding, and building trust.
Looking back, Andy sees how different things might have been if his parents had access to the right tools and resources. His advice is simple but powerful: ask questions instead of assuming, let your child know there’s no judgment, and don’t be afraid to seek outside help when needed. “The best thing my parents could have done was sit down with me and learn alongside me,” he reflects.
Andy’s journey from silence to advocacy underscores the transformative power of sharing one’s story. By breaking the silence, he not only found healing for himself but also became a beacon of hope for others. His experiences remind us that open dialogue, understanding, and support are key to navigating mental health challenges—not just for children, but for families as a whole.
As we close out Andy’s story, we want to take a moment to express our gratitude—not just for his time, but for the incredible mental health advocacy work he does every day. February is Parent Leadership Month, and we couldn’t think of a better story to highlight. Andy is a dad who is showing not only his sons, but every peer and young person he interacts with, that they matter, that nothing they’re going through is too big to talk about, and that he is there for them.
The world needs more people who shine a light on mental health challenges the way Andy does, day in and day out.
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