I want to address an issue that has been making waves in our community in recent years. This is my personal experience and perspective, and while I recognize that mental health is deeply individual, I believe my journey sheds light on an aspect of this conversation that is often overlooked.
Mental health is a serious issue affecting our community, and it deserves open and honest discussion. Let me introduce myself: I’m a Lakewood-born and -raised 24-year-old, brought up in a system that, for better or worse, didn’t fully prepare me for the mental health challenges I would face. My life followed the typical trajectory until 10th grade, when I left the mainstream yeshiva system—a step that, thankfully, has become more accepted with the growth of yeshivos catering to bochurim who don’t fit the standard mold. I found myself in a ‘working’ yeshiva, balancing a part-time job with a manageable daily learning schedule.
Like many others, I experienced ups and downs. There were times of joy, moments of struggle, and periods of questioning my Yiddishkeit. None of this was unusual, nor was the fact that I occasionally battled anxiety and depression. Three years ago, I hit another rough patch, not unlike many before it. I did what had worked for me in the past—I stuck to my routine, kept busy, and started seeing a therapist. This therapist introduced an idea I had never considered: he suggested I go to rehab. Not just any rehab, but a Jewish facility designed for people from frum backgrounds.
I consulted my rosh yeshiva, who was hesitant to disagree with a professional. Others echoed the same sentiment—if a therapist recommended it, it must be the right thing to do. Trusting their guidance, I packed my bags, expecting a short stay that would help me better navigate life’s challenges.
The moment I arrived, the clinical team wasted no time. They explained that I was fundamentally different from “normal” people. Their proof? “No one comes here because life is going well,” they said. According to them, I had deep-rooted trauma that, if left unaddressed, would incapacitate me for life. The only path to healing, they assured me, was to embrace a new way of life—one centered around “recovery.”
They systematically deconstructed everything I had ever known. They told me that my previous beliefs, values, and even my community were obstacles to my healing. They insisted that the yeshiva system itself was inherently traumatic—a source of “religious trauma.” My parents, too, were painted as contributors to my pain, simply because they weren’t perfect. I was skeptical at first, but their conviction was powerful. Surrounded by this message 24/7, I began to question everything I had once held dear.
Being a Jewish program, they had Shabbos meals built into the schedule. My first Friday night there was nothing short of shocking. After making kiddush and hamotzi, we went around the room for “emotional check-ins.” What followed was what they called “Zemiros Karaoke”—a full-blown karaoke session, complete with microphones and instruments, during the Shabbos meal. I had a panic attack on the spot. The next week, my reaction was cited as further evidence of my “religious trauma.”
A short stay turned into three months, then six, then nearly a year. During that time, they methodically dismantled my identity. Frum society was their favorite target, and they chipped away at my beliefs until nothing remained. The life I had known—the life I had loved—was over. I had to let go of it, they said, if I ever wanted a chance at healing.
When I finally left the program, I didn’t return to my community. Instead, I moved in with a new friend from rehab, watching my frum life fade into the background. For two years, I tried to build a life in my so-called “safe space” of non-Jews and non-religious Jews in recovery. But I quickly learned a hard truth: no community is a true utopia. People are people. Wherever you go, there are those who like you and those who don’t. It doesn’t matter if they’re frum or not, open-minded or not. The human condition is universal.
Despite immersing myself in therapy, mental health discussions, and self-improvement, my life failed to gain traction. My social world crumbled, and I blamed myself, convinced I wasn’t trying hard enough. I threw myself deeper into therapy, spending hours dissecting so-called “traumatic memories.” One example? The time I smoked a cigarette on Shabbos at 17 and felt guilty about it. My therapists labeled my guilt as trauma. I never did get to the bottom of that one.
Eventually, my life hit rock bottom—far worse than when I had first entered rehab. Only then did I start to question everything. Had I been running down the wrong path for the past three years? Had I abandoned my people, my family, my community—for nothing? I realized something that should have been obvious from the start: my struggles were real, but the people who claimed to be helping me didn’t know me. They hadn’t lived my life. They had created the very problems they said they were solving.
Let me be clear: I am not saying that mental health struggles should be ignored. Therapy has its place, and I have seen firsthand how treatment can save lives. But I have also seen countless stories like mine—where someone walks in with struggles and walks out with far bigger ones. Where issues that once felt manageable are magnified and dissected to the point of destruction. Where people abandon everything they once knew, only to find themselves more lost than ever before.
Tearing apart someone’s entire life and identity is not healing. Being forced to zoom in on minor difficulties and turn them into lifelong traumas is not therapy. Being told I had disorders I had never heard of—only to end up believing them—was not a solution.
Today, I face a difficult road ahead, but I am committed to rediscovering the values and dreams that once guided me. I know that, in time, I will look back and see how this journey has helped me grow. I have gained insights and tools that will stay with me. But I can’t help but wish someone had warned me—had told me to think twice before jumping into something so extreme.
The rehab I attended has since shut down. And I can’t help but feel that this is for the best.
I am not here to discredit all rehabs, therapists, or counselors. I am here to tell my story in the hopes that others—whether for themselves or their loved ones—will approach these decisions with greater awareness. There are times when professional help is necessary, but not every challenge in life requires a drastic intervention simply because “the therapist said so.”
We often hear that mental health is a “taboo” subject in our community, that it is ignored or misunderstood. But my experience has been the opposite. The true taboo is questioning the professionals. If we don’t follow their every directive, we are labeled as close-minded extremists. But real open-mindedness means thinking critically, asking questions, and making informed choices.
I believe my perspective is valuable because the public often hears from professionals—but rarely from those who have lived through the experience. My hope is that this letter encourages people to stay informed, to recognize that every situation is unique, and to never follow a path blindly if it doesn’t make sense.
Wishing you all the best—and as we say in the recovery world, thanks for letting me share.
Signed,
A Local Young Man
The views expressed in this letter are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of Lakewood Alerts. Have an opinion you would like to share? Send it to us for review.
you are only 24 yrs old? you write like a person much older.
Wow! Thank you for sharing this perspective. How brave of you! It is so refreshing to hear someone open up about the other side of the story. I am a big believer in therapy, but have also found many loopholes in the therapy system and labeling system that seem to be doing more damage than helping and rebuilding the person. There are many self help modalities that are more helpful and life changing than we know of in our community. Instead of always looking at yourself as a victim you can learn to retrain your thoughts and get rid of your traumas and move fwd. Breathwork, the demartini method, and many others are becoming available and more known to the frum world. Hatzlocha to all!
Yup, always always get a second opinion on serious diagnosis and trust your gut!!!
Why are you keeping the names secret?
It is important for all of us to know which therapists and rehab facilities to keep away from.
If he would write names this article would never get published and the message would not be heard.
Before going to a therapist good research should be done to make sure the guy is reputable, a Yerei Shamayim and not full of himself.
Many therapists have used their own issues to build a career for themselves (recovering addicts becoming addiction therapists, divorcees becoming marriage counselors, etc) they mirror their own experiences on everyone who walks in the door with devastating consequences.
From my knowledge from friends that have gone to rehab for various addictions, this deliberate ripping out judaism is not a common phenomenon, what is true though is that they try to get to underlying issues like why did you turn to drugs in the first place, for many its shame and guilt, and also for many shame and guilt of is the only reason they are Jewish because unfortunately the community is wired this way. So if they succeed and rip apart shame and guilt there’s always the risk of one leaving the community behind.
Many rebbes have said that the first step is to be a human a man, the next step is to work on Judaism.
And maybe just maybe we can educate on the real values??? that are not tied to community values?
Kudos to the writer for writing this and for LA for posting it!
I had a similar experience not with a rehab but with a (so called frum) therapist proving I was an addict even though I barely and inconsistently “used” just because I felt guilt and shame due to my religious values.
He pushed a (frum) recovery group as my only solution. There too the message was that if you walked in here you obviously weren’t normal and therefore the normal Torah rules don’t apply to you, recovery comes first, second and last. I saw guys stopping putting on Tfillin, most guys stopped going to Shul and took on the recovery books as their new religion, all in the name of so called religious trauma, we were victims of the system while also being born with an incurable disease, we had to stay members for life or else we had no chance in life, the guys that left may act and look ok but they really have no life we were told! yes we can act normal in the community but secretly we went to meetings where “old timers” ran the show, we stopped taking guidance from Rabanim and instead started blindly following “sponsors” who had a period of sobriety for any issue that came up, if they didn’t have the answer the old timers did. Religion, marriage, business it didn’t matter. After all we weren’t normal so Rabanim couldn’t understand us!
Sound like a cult? That’s because it is!
BH I and many others got out but sadly many stay and while they may be technically sober never deal with their low self esteem which keeps them from leaving the group.
Oh and for the kicker this therapist is part of the “group” and sends everyone that comes through his door there (because they thought of using, once did years ago and still felt guilty about it, etc..)
PS while some guys there really are or were addicts, most just have issues that need to be addressed but don’t belong in “recovery”
amazing that there arent so many many more comments. WAKE UP!!!