Let's be real. Whether it's playing in the driveway, on a cracked city court, or under the bright lights of a gym, almost every young baller dreams of one day making the NBA.
You'd think making it to the association means pure joy. For some, it does. For others, not so much—and when that happens, the consequences can be real.
Nate Robinson , who spent nearly a decade in the league, fits squarely in the latter category. Back in 2018, he admitted that "The NBA gave me my depression."
When Robinson was selected 21st overall in the 2005 Draft, he probably imagined nothing but big things ahead.
As the years rolled on in a New York Knicks uniform, those hopes, however, met a tougher reality — the league's quiet demand that some players, including him, fit a mold they were never built for.
For the former 5'6" point guard, that meant being serious, quiet and professional. That wasn't him, though. Robinson thrived on energy, jokes and raw personality, traits some coaches eventually tried to suppress.
The three-time NBA Slam Dunk Contest champion tried to do just that — in a way, he had to, or his career would almost certainly have suffered. Still, in the long run, it came with its own set of challenges. Even the respect Nate earned across the league or the more than $24 million in career earnings couldn't make up for it.
"The hardest thing in my whole life, of my 34 years in existence on earth, was dealing with 11 years in the NBA of trying to be somebody that [NBA coaches] want me to be," he recalled.
Robinson, a Seattle native, never saw himself as someone prone to depression. Still, that's exactly what eventually set in.
After a brief 2015–16 stint with the New Orleans Pelicans , his last in the NBA, he began to recognize where it came from: the toll of constantly having to suppress his personality to fit a mold he wasn't built for.
When discussing the pressure from coaches, Robinson singled out two names.
Tom Thibodeau, whose intensity often deepened his self-doubt, and Larry Brown, who, according to Robinson , called him "the little s—t" nearly every day — though Brown himself doesn't fully recall the interactions.
"I don't know what I called him, to be honest with you," the Hall of Famer said. "If I did that, shame on me. I'd feel terrible. That's not who I am, but I don't want to dispute Nate."
All of this makes Robinson's story a poignant reminder.
Life in the league? It's far more than glitz and glamour. These athletes are human first. And, yes, that means having fragile psyches just like anyone else.
In a way, that's part of why speaking up matters. Robinson has done exactly that — so did DeMar DeRozan and Kevin Love , who have all opened up about their mental health struggles. On top of that, Nate also sought therapy.
Taking real steps to work through it, these days, he lives by a different code.
Realizing there's nobody "youer" than you — a quote from Dr. Seuss — Robinson said it doesn't make sense to try to be anyone else. It's a philosophy he has wholeheartedly embraced in his post-NBA life.
Related: When an ex-NBA player admitted he cheated on his childhood sweetheart 341 times
This story was originally published by Basketball Network on Jan 21, 2026, where it first appeared in the Off The Court section. Add Basketball Network as a Preferred Source by clicking here.
