When the Helmet Comes Off: Robert Gallery’s Journey from the NFL to Psychedelic Advocacy

By: Brad Burge, founder of Integration Communications

And what did “all in” look like at that point?

Everything. Hyperbaric chamber every day, blood work, hormone therapy, trying to fix sleep, IV treatments, light therapy, talk therapy—anything they recommended, I did.
I even got on an antidepressant. It was everything they could throw at me. And I did that for about a year and a half. There was some improvement, but not enough.

So what changed? What led you to ibogaine?

I heard Marcus Capone (the co-founder of Veterans Exploring Treatment Solutions) on a podcast. And I remember thinking immediately, “This is me.” Everything he described—the rage, the suicidal thoughts—that was exactly what I was going through.
And because of who he was—a Navy SEAL, someone I could relate to—I trusted him. That’s what made me look into it.

How quickly did you decide to act on that?

Three weeks. That’s how long it took from hearing it to going. I talked to Marcus and Amber, talked to other veterans, talked to doctors—but once I decided, I was going.
Even when my doctor told me I couldn’t get off my SSRI’s that quickly to be cleared to go, I asked one question: “Will it kill me?” And when she said no, I said, “Then I’m doing it.”

What was that experience like for you?

It was something I’d never experienced before. I had no background with psychedelics, so even getting into it was scary. You feel your heart rate go up, vibrations, sounds—it’s intense. I remember thinking, “Am I going to die? What am I doing here?”

But once I let go, it shifted. It became like watching a reel of my life—memories passing by. And I could interact with them. Some I kept, some I let go.

It felt like a weightlifting—like I was getting lighter as I went through it.

And when you came out of it, what changed?

At first, I felt terrible physically. But after the 5-MeO-DMT, everything changed. The noise in my head was gone. The ringing in my ears was gone. And suddenly everything felt incredibly clear.

I remember thinking, “I’m supposed to be worrying about something… but I’m not.” That had never been my life before. There was just no anxiety. I was just happy to be alive.

What did that shift look like when you got back home?

Well, my wife noticed it instantly. She said my eyes looked alive again—like there was something there that hadn’t been there for years.

And my behavior changed. I was playing with my kids, bringing energy into the house. Before, she had spent years trying to keep things calm so I wouldn’t get set off. Now I was the one creating that energy, and enjoying it.

How has that change held up over time?

Oh, it’s ongoing. Integration doesn’t stop. I kept doing the work—meditation, routines, breath work. And over time, little things came back—like anxiety—but now I had tools to deal with them.

I also had to learn what’s normal. Like snapping at my kid when he ran into the road—that’s a normal reaction, not the old version of me.

I ended up doing ibogaine again two years later, and that helped even more. Now it’s about continuing to improve and stay grounded.

How did that journey lead you to starting Athletes for Care?

Once I started talking about my experience, other athletes opened up to me. And I realized, I’m not alone. Helping someone else find healing gave me purpose. That feeling—of helping someone the way Marcus helped me—that’s powerful.

That’s why I started Athletes for Care. I want to help people find those resources and know they’re not alone.

Have you started to view the damages caused by playing football more critically?

Absolutely. When you’re playing in the NFL, you never want to give anyone a reason to take you off the field. That toughness and competitiveness is part of what I’ve always loved about football and a big reason so many guys achieve incredible things.

But looking back, after dealing with the effects of thousands of impacts, I can see the cost of that more clearly. A lot of us were carrying injuries we couldn’t see or understand, and we were taught to push through no matter what. When the game ends, so many former athletes are struggling with anger, depression, addiction, memory problems, and they don’t even know why. I don’t think I fully appreciated what was going on with me until I heard Marcus Capone share his story. 

That hard-hitting culture is a big part of what makes football what it is. What we’re trying to change is how athletes deal with it afterward. More honesty between players, more openness around mental and brain health, and better treatment options for guys who are suffering. Everyone deserves a real path to healing with the best tools available.

What would you want to say to athletes (or anyone) who might be struggling the way you were?

Mainly, don’t sit in silence. I did that for a long time. There are options out there. It might not be ibogaine—but there is something that can help. And you have to be brave enough to reach out. That’s the first step.