From Principal of the Year to Rewriting Success: Dr. Ricardo Anderson on Trauma, Mental Health, and Leaving It All Behind at 32

By every external measure, Dr. Ricardo Anderson was winning.

Six figures. Teacher of the Year. Principal of the Year. A PhD on the way. A church community he'd been part of for over a decade. A clear path to a superintendency.

And he was not okay.

"My mental health was not well. I was not doing well," Ricardo says of his life at 32, the moment he walked away from all of it. "If I wouldn't have left, I wouldn't have been able to rewrite my journey."

This week on Success, Rewritten, Ricardo and I talk about what it actually takes to dismantle a life that looks successful from the outside but feels untenable on the inside. We get into the trauma he stuffed down for 22 years, the cult he eventually walked out of, the hearing loss he hid for decades, and the wellness practices that keep him grounded today.

A Childhood That Forced Him Into Adulthood Early

Ricardo grew up in Milwaukee, the youngest of five. His mother passed away when he was 11. The instructions she left him were clear: go to school, find God, take care of your brothers and sisters, and go as far as you can.

What followed was a childhood most adults don't have the language to describe. First, living with his father, who was then incarcerated. Leaving five boys battling in a household with his father's girlfriend. Soon, he was walking down Milwaukee streets at age 13, in the winter, with a garbage bag and no idea where he was going. His aunt found him on the side of the road.

He stayed with his grandmother for a year. Then his sister. Then he forced himself out of high school at 16 and signed himself into Marquette University.

"I had to force myself to get out of that traumatic situation so I could move on," he says. "I was a young, young college student. Everything was brand new, so I didn't know anything about college life and being an adult. So I was adulting at 16."

The Educator Who Could See What His Students Were Carrying

Ricardo's first classroom was on 12th and Lloyd in Milwaukee. He was 23. He could spot a student who hadn't eaten or didn't have a place to sleep without anyone telling him.

"My experiences as a young child working with children that were in the same space, I could identify with and help them, 'cause I know exactly when a child comes to school, they don't have anything to eat or a house. I already know what's going on."

He hadn't analyzed his own trauma yet. He didn't have the language. He was simply showing up for kids the way he wished someone had shown up for him.

The Cost of Being a Black Male in Education With Untreated Mental Health Challenges

While Ricardo was rising through the school system, becoming a teacher leader, then a principal, then earning his PhD, the weight underneath was crushing.

"I had some built up anger from the adults that were around me that did not do what they were supposed to have done for me as a child. And so I isolated myself, but I was never addressed my trauma or my issues with mental health and recovery because as a Black male, you're told you cannot show that you had any issues or vulnerability at the time. So I stuffed it, stuffed it, stuffed it, stuffed it until like age thirty-four."

The professional cost was just as heavy. As a teacher and administrator, talking openly about mental health was not an option.

"As a teacher and administrator, I couldn't talk about my mental health challenges to my colleagues or any teachers because your teaching abilities will be questioned, your leadership skills will be questioned because you're having mental health challenges. So I had to stuff that down, like I may not dealing with it. I couldn't show it. I couldn't tell anybody. I couldn't share it. It was challenging because a lot of days I did not feel like being at work. I didn't wanna be there."

Walking Away at the Peak

At 32, Ricardo left. He walked away from the cult he'd been part of for 12 years. He got a divorce. He stepped out of his principalship. He moved to a new place entirely.

It was the same year he started addressing his mental health seriously. Anxiety. Depression. PTSD. Childhood traumatic events that surfaced in a dream after he left, something his mind had locked away for decades. A hearing loss in his right ear, 85%, that he'd hidden since age 9.

His partner Marisa Brown was the first person to validate what he was remembering. "You're not crazy. You're not off. You see what you see, and you know what you know," she told him. That validation became the doorway.

Why Ricardo Writes His Crisis Plan When He's Well

One of the most practical things Ricardo shared in this conversation is something every person navigating mental health, and every person supporting someone, should hear.

"I learned that when I'm doing well, I have to write my crisis plan, so I know exactly what I look like when I'm well, and you know exactly when I'm not doing well. You can't write a crisis plan when you're in a crisis 'cause you don't know what's going on sometimes."

He uses the Wellness Recovery Action Plan, or WRAP. He keeps photos of himself when he's well and photos of himself when he's not, so the people in his circle have a visual reference. When they see a certain look on his face, they know to check in.

It's a level of self-awareness most of us never build until something has already broken.

What He Wants Support People to Know

When I asked Ricardo what advice he has for people supporting someone going through a hard time, he didn't reach for the standard answers.

Know the person. Know what is actually helpful for them, not what feels helpful to you. Some people don't want to be told it's going to be okay. Some people don't want to be told to calm down. The work of being a good support person is the work of paying attention.

And if you mess it up, that's okay. Note it. Come back to it. Ask the person how you can help differently next time.

The Pivot Beneath the Pivot

Ricardo was on track to be a superintendent. He was supposed to climb. The path was paved.

Instead, he became a mental health recovery support specialist. He sits on the executive committee of WISE, an organization working to eliminate stigma one story at a time. He works with people who are starting to dig into their own trauma, often for the first time.

"I don't care what profession you are in. If you're not sound in your behavioral health and your mental health, you can't do anything else. It's impossible."

That's the line that stayed with me after we hung up. Not the success rewritten. The success undone first, so something honest could be built in its place.

Resources

To learn more about WISE and the work of eliminating stigma one story at a time, visit eliminatestigma.org.

If you or someone you love is navigating mental health challenges, the Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) is a free, evidence-based tool you can explore.