When it comes to Howie Mandel, the first thing that comes to mind is positivism and laughter.
According to IMDb, he started his career in showbiz by pure chance. A producer noticed him during an amateur night at the Comedy Store on the L.A. Sunset Strip during a vacation after his friends convinced him to try it out.
Today, Mandel is one of the most famous names in the world of entertainment. A TV celebrity, screenwriter, actor, producer, director, entrepreneur, and popular game show panelist/host, you name it, Mandel has tried it all and proved that he’s great in all of it.
Recently, however, he decided to open up about his mental state and confessed he’s been battling anxiety, ADHD, and OCD most of his life. The truth is that no one can really assume that someone as fun as Mandel could be going through such a thing.
“I’m living in a nightmare,” he declared. ” I work to ground myself. I love what I do and have a lovely family. However, I can also experience severe sadness from which I can never recover.”
This turned even worse during the COVID-19 pandemic when we were forced into lockdown. Mandel revealed to People magazine that there was no day the thought “we would die” didn’t cross his mind. But the fact that no one from his closest surrounding was affected gave him comfort.
Although he was diagnosed in his thirties, Mandal knows he had OCD and ADHD since forever. He, however, didn’t speak of his mental state openly because he believed it would affect his career. “My first reaction was that I’ve embarrassed my family,” he admitted. “Then I realized that nobody would hire someone who wasn’t stable. Those were my concerns.”
It was comedy that helped him during the toughest times in his life.
“My coping mechanism is finding the humorous,” he declared. “If I’m not smiling, I’m probably sobbing. And I’ve still held back on how horrible and dark it actually gets. In a way, comedy saved me. I feel very much at ease on stage. And when I have nothing to do, I retreat, which is not healthy
Mandel’s goal is to help raise awareness about mental illness and break the stigma.
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I Incurred a $500 Fine When My Neighbor Falsely Accused My Son of Her Toddler’s Hallway Scribbles — I Couldn’t Let It Go
Caitlin often found herself informally supervising her neighbor Stacy’s young son, Nate, providing him some stability while his mom sought time for herself. However, when Nate decorated the hallway walls with doodles during Caitlin’s absence, she was unjustly slapped with a $500 fine. Determined to set things right, Caitlin devised a plan for retribution.
Stacy had become accustomed to letting her young son, Nate, roam the hallway as a play area.
“It’s safe, Caitlin,” she’d assure me. “Plus, it’s their version of outdoor play.”
She would then retreat behind her door, leaving Nate to his devices, often while she entertained guests.
“I just need some downtime,” she confessed to me once in the laundry room. “I’m a grown woman with needs, you know. Being a single mom, you must get it.”
I understood her need for personal space, but I could never imagine letting my own son, Jackson, wander the hallways alone. Despite our general familiarity with the neighbors, the corridors didn’t feel completely secure.
Jackson, slightly older than Nate, seemed concerned about the younger boy, who often loitered alone, clutching his tattered teddy bear.
“Mom,” Jackson would say during his playtime, “maybe we should invite him over.”
Grateful for my son’s compassion, I agreed. It was better to keep both children within sight, ensuring their safety.
Thus, we began having Nate over for snacks, toys, and movies—a simple arrangement that brought him noticeable joy.
“He mentioned he likes playing with others,” Jackson noted one day. “I don’t think his mom spends much time with him.”
And interestingly, Stacy hardly acknowledged this setup. Once she realized Nate was safe with us, she seemed to extend her leisure time even more.
Eventually, it became routine for Nate to knock on our door whenever his mother let him out.
“Hello,” he’d say, teddy in hand. “I’m here to play.”
However, one day, we were away at my parents’ house for my mom’s birthday.
“I hope Nate will be okay,” Jackson expressed concern as we drove.
“Oh, honey,” I responded. “His mom is there. She’s responsible for his safety too.”
Upon our return, we were greeted by hallway walls covered in childish drawings—a colorful chaos of stick figures and squiggles.
“Nate must have had fun,” I remarked, searching for my keys.
“Isn’t he going to be in trouble?” Jackson asked, eyeing the artwork.
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