There's a moment Dr. Scott Richmond doesn't talk about to

impress anyone. He talks about it because it's the moment

everything changed — and because chances are, you've had a

version of it too.

It was a couple of days after his birthday and being

released from the hospital. He was lying on a bathroom floor in

Atlanta, far from home, on the phone with his mother. Not

celebrating. Surviving.

He had spent weeks in hospitals across the country — passed

from specialist to specialist, institution to institution, like a

problem nobody wanted to solve. He couldn't hold food down. He

could barely walk. He was medicated heavily just to manage

panic attacks that arose without warning, with no apparent

cause, and no end in sight. 

At one of the most prestigious medical centers in the country, he

was told plainly: you don't have what we treat here. He

remembers begging to stay. He was asked to leave.

His mother's voice came through the phone steady and quiet:

"Scott. You need to come home. We don't have money left to keep

doing this."

Lying there on that cold tile floor, in one of the darkest moments

of his life, one thing kept him anchored. His daughter. Five years

old. Waiting for her dad to come home.

"I knew I was going to find something — for myself, and for her."