“I am too kind! I still have that s—!”
No, this is not about that video, the one of the edited highlights de Wall hitting every shot in a casual basketball game and playing in a busy gym alongside his new Los Angeles Clippers teammate Paul George. This week’s video of Wall bragging after every bucket, the paragon of machismo, yelling and swearing, possibly at the hapless defender, but more likely for the benefit of the crowd and, of course, the cameras.
Rather, it is about that other video. In which Wall sits in front of a Salvation Army backdrop and talks about his mental health. He is having a personal interview and talks about his art collection, supporting the black community and mothers. In particular, the one Wall calls his “Superwoman,” the latest Frances Pulley.
Then the conversation takes an unexpectedly profound turn. Wall casually mentions the dark days he experienced in recent years. And as he listens to a follow-up question about that moment, Wall narrows his eyes and shakes his head.
“The darkest place I have ever been. I mean, at one point, I thought about killing myself,” Wall said. “There was a time when I had to go find a therapist. A lot of people think: ‘I don’t need help. I can get over it at any time. But you have to be true to yourself and figure out what’s best for you, and I did.”
Those particular words crash like cinder blocks thrown from a skyscraper. Even as the admission rushes out in Wall’s usual cadence, it makes the interviewer, Donal Ware, sit up and utter a single word that speaks for all of us: “Wow.”
Wall, a billionaire NBA player, a five-time All-Star, the Washington Wizards’ all-time assists leader, but also a grieving son, a 30-something black man trying to find his way, broke the stigma. .
There is a meaning in this confession. He is not the first public figure to speak openly about his mental health. The issue has become paramount in the mainstream, as celebrities and athletes alike have prioritized their integrity. Last season, Atlanta Falcons wide receiver Calvin Ridley announced on Twitter that he was stepping away from football to focus on his career. Mental Wellness. Also recently, Terry McLaurin, the leading wide receiver for the Washington Commanders, spoke about the benefits he found in seeking therapy.
Still, Wall’s admission is surprising. She sat there facing the camera, his voice steady, no tremors of embarrassment. He didn’t just speak in vague terms about “hard times” or “needing a break.” He called out how he once contemplated suicide.
That’s a taboo word in a certain tradition-steeped branch of black culture. Especially among men, some who grew up broken black kids and were taught, by other broken role models, that only a punk would cry. They may have learned to express themselves through displays of physical force. And that a real man is defined by the status he has earned and the respect he receives.
In his honest moment, Wall broke through his tough facade and admitted he needed help. Such a change from a young black man who has projected just the opposite.
As an NBA star, Wall carried himself like a man who knew his worth and wanted everyone else to know, also. There was no problem rose bar couldn’t resolve. It exuded the confidence, and lack of self-awareness, of someone who refused to believe he would be anything other than number 1.
John Wall’s peak occurred during a moment at an August 2017 press conference announcing his five-year maximum contract with the Wizards. NBC Sports Washington reporter Chase Hughes asked what turned out to be the most relevant question of the day, asking if Wall had thought about how his high-octane game might develop as he ages. Wall slowly shook his head and simply uttered, “Nah.”
The whole room laughed. Majority owner Ted Leonsis and then-general manager Ernie Grunfeld also laughed. Fast-forward six months later, and Wall was recovering from a knee injury that would be the prelude to the 2019 Achilles surgery that changed the trajectory of his career, and was asked what he had learned during the past eight weeks away from the game. Undeterred by the pain, he responded nonchalantly.
“What did I learn? Nothing,” Wall said. “Nothing. Just chilling out’.”
But things were never the same for Wall. His body failed him. The game left him behind. His precious Superwoman got cancer.
On November 20, 2020, he was texting with someone close to Wall. It happened just after rumors began to circulate that Wall wanted out of Washington. By this time, the Wizards had begun looking for a business partner. His days as one of the District’s most beloved and conceited athletes seemed to be drawing to a close.
Wall had that silly incident in New York City with the birthday video, where he was captured on camera, shirtless and glassy-eyed, making elaborate hand gestures that were interpreted as gang signs and then showing a red scarf. He was depressed, but there seemed to be something else. More than the fragile ego of a superstar fractured by commercial rumors. More than a 30-year-old chilling out and acting drunk on his birthday. So I sent a strong message to the individual close to Wall.
“Is John… okay? I really mean that as a question. Looks like he’s been down for a while.”
None of us outside Wall’s circle could have known the depth of what he was dealing with at the time. He was not okay.
In her recent interview, Wall ticked off a trauma checklist, shedding some light on what’s happened in the past two years.
“Tearing my Achilles tendon.” My mom being sick. My mom passing. My grandmother passing away a year later, all this in the middle of covid at the same time. Me going to chemo and sitting there. Me watching my mom give her last breath. Wearing the same clothes for three days, lying on the couch next to her,” Wall said.
All of this led him to a dark place. But Wall, a young black man from Raleigh, North Carolina, fortifying himself as one of the “strongest soldiers” — sought therapy.
This is not the part where we applaud Wall, shower him with sympathy, and stamp his story with and lived happily ever after. An ellipsis belongs here, not an empathic period, because Wall is at the starting line on his journey to wholeness.
Wall, and others like him who have struggled with depression, are not magically cured of their pain by seeking help once. Therapy is a commitment that requires time and a lot of personal work. But we can celebrate Wall for opening him up. And yes, for being a strong black man who had suicidal thoughts but then recognized that he needed to talk to someone.
So let’s always remember that viral video of John Wall.
He is at home in Raleigh, NC, where he has always been most comfortable. He looks good. Healthy. Happy, even. Perhaps the happiest we’ve seen him in about two years. In the clip, he’s being so honest, so open, and he gets our full attention.
