Andrew Goldberg, PsyD

School felt like a prison. Gray walls, gray food, gray faces. Gray handcuffs shackling me to a desk.

​

I couldn't do it! 

​

The phrases I heard most were “sit still” and “be quiet.” Because I couldn’t do either, they were followed by “get out.”

​

I didn’t really mind.

​

I was way more interested in what was going on inside my head than anything happening around me. My thoughts felt alive. I could disappear into them for hours

So getting in trouble didn’t mean much to me. If anything, it gave me space to go back inside.

​

Then puberty hit, and everything changed. The place I used to escape to didn’t feel safe anymore. It turned on me. What used to feel exciting started to feel dark, loud, and overwhelming.

​

I couldn’t sit still. But I also couldn’t retreat. That’s when I found drugs. At first, they felt like a way back. A way to quiet things down, or at least make them bearable. But it never lasted.

​

So I kept going. Trying more. Pushing further. All it led to was trouble. Legal trouble. And eventually, heroin.

​

Not long after, some friends died. Others went to prison. By the time I was twenty, my body was shutting down.

​

After 17 days, I got out of rehab. Not because I was ready, but because my insurance ran out.

​

I wasn’t okay. I was just out.

Thankfully, I wasn’t alone.

​

I had a friend who had gotten sober before me, and he helped me start building a community. My family helped me find a therapist.

​

At the beginning, therapy and community were my lifelines. I leaned on them hard.

​

Over time, they became my life force.

​

I started to get my life back. I showed up for things I used to care about. I played in bands. I worked an honest job. I learned yoga.

Eventually, I went back to school—and this time, I stayed.

​

I earned two master’s degrees and a doctorate in clinical psychology.

Today, I’ve dedicated my career to creating tools that make mental and emotional wellness accessible and affordable for everyone.