My name is Andrew Frawley. I'm a mental health advocate and I've been dedicated to mental health for my entire career.
I grew up in suburban Virginia — a place where the American dream is supposedly still alive. My father is a blue-collar painter who worked his way up to own a small business. My mother is a PTA mom still famous for her cookies. We were a "purple household" — one parent Republican, one parent Democratic. We were raised to see the good in others.
My early years contained many of the traditional symbols of happiness in America — a sort of green lawn, Happy Meals, and a garage we couldn't use. On paper, life was good.
The difficult truth, though, is that beneath the façade of material security was often pain. Unfortunately, I've come to see this pain as a feature, not a bug, of an American culture that profits off our anxiety.