We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Steven Zilberg. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Steven below.

Steven, appreciate you joining us today. If you had a defining moment that you feel really changed the trajectory of your career, we’d love to hear the story and details.

**Breaking the Silence: A Defining Moment in My Career**

The walls of my office in Seward, Alaska, held countless stories of struggle, resilience, and redemption. But on this particular day, one conversation would change the course of my career forever.

Across from me sat a man, his hands clasped together, knuckles white from the pressure. He was an addict in recovery, battling his demons daily. Alcohol had nearly stolen everything from him—his marriage, his future, his sense of self. And now, he was standing on the edge of relapse, staring into the abyss, unsure if he could pull himself back.

His wife knew he had struggled, but she didn’t know how close he was to slipping. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. That was the heart of our session—the barrier that stood between him and the truth. I leaned forward and asked him the question that had been weighing on my mind.

*”What do you think is holding you back from being honest with your wife? Why are you afraid of being vulnerable, telling her that you’re struggling, that you’re close to relapsing?”*

His response shook me.

*”I’m not afraid to tell her I’m an alcoholic. I’m not even afraid to tell her I might relapse. What I’m afraid of is putting that burden on her. That weight. As men, we are taught to be strong. To never cry. We are taught to put on a brave face, to persevere alone so that we don’t worry the people close to us.”*

The weight of his words settled deep in my chest. I had always known that society placed unrealistic expectations on men—to be stoic, unbreakable, unwavering. But hearing it from a man in the trenches of his battle, a man who was terrified not of his addiction, but of admitting his pain—that was a revelation.

This was the crisis that no one wanted to talk about. We had husbands, fathers, sons who were mentally breaking, struggling, contemplating suicide. But they suffered in silence, afraid of disappointing their families, afraid of appearing weak. So they put on the mask. They smiled. They pretended. And in the darkest moments, some of them never made it back.

That conversation changed me. It became my mission, my calling. I was no longer just a therapist—I was an advocate. For men who had been told vulnerability was shameful. For those who carried their burdens alone. For the ones who felt like a burden themselves.

Because I knew that feeling too. I was an addict. I was schizophrenic. I had lived with the fear of being “too much” for the people I loved. And I knew how much it hurt.

But I also knew the truth: silence was the real killer. And if I could help even one man break that silence, to speak up, to reach out, then my fight was worth it.

That day, in that office, I found my purpose. And I haven’t looked back since.

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Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.

**Steven Zilberg – Mental Health Advocate & Faith-Based Counselor**

Born and raised in Minneapolis, Minnesota, I have walked a path filled with trials, pain, and ultimately, redemption. My journey has shaped me into the advocate, speaker, and counselor I am today.

My early life was marked by profound hardship. My mother, who battled schizophrenia, passed away when I was five due to a combination of drugs and self-harm. My father, an abusive alcoholic, subjected me to years of trauma before his passing when I was nine. Placed in foster care and later adopted by a loving couple in Saint Paul, I faced another battle—one that raged within my own mind.

By high school, schizophrenia symptoms took hold. I heard voices, hallucinated, and struggled with paranoia and delusions. Addiction soon followed—alcohol and cocaine became my escape. My mental health spiraled in college, leading to two suicide attempts, extended psychotic episodes, and dangerous self-destructive behaviors. I sought relief in substances, sex, and recklessness, trying desperately to numb the pain.

But my story did not end there. Everything changed when I surrendered my life to Christ. Through faith, I found healing. Through scripture, I found purpose. Through prayer, I found peace. No longer reliant on medication or therapy, I place my trust in God’s hands, and He has led me to a new mission—helping others who are struggling, just as I once was.

Today, I provide mental health services and faith-based interventions for those battling addiction, schizophrenia, psychosis, bipolar disorder, suicidal thoughts, and deep emotional wounds. My goal is to remind every person I encounter that they are **loved, important, and precious in the eyes of the Lord**.

If you are struggling, know this—you are not alone. There is hope. There is healing. And there is a purpose for your life.

Email: [email protected]
Facebook: Steven Zilberg
YouTube Channel: The Saved Schizophrenic Podcast

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We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

**From Darkness to Light**

College was supposed to be a fresh start. A chance to build something new, to escape the weight of my past. But instead, it became the deepest pit I had ever fallen into.

The voices were constant. Whispering, screaming, laughing. Faces that weren’t real flickered in my vision. Shadows moved where there were none. I couldn’t trust my own mind. I was losing myself. And I didn’t know how to stop it.

So I ran.

Not physically, but in every other way possible. I ran to the bottle, drowning out the voices with whiskey, tequila, whatever I could get my hands on. I ran to drugs, cocaine cutting through the fog just long enough to make me believe I was in control. And I ran to people—anyone who would touch me, hold me, use me, because for those brief moments, I felt something other than fear.

Night after night, I made choices that should have killed me. I barely remembered half of them. I woke up in strangers’ beds, my body sore, my mind blank. Sometimes I was tied down, completely at their mercy. Sometimes I let them do whatever they wanted, because what did it matter? I was already broken. What was one more scar?

There were moments I would come back to reality, just for a second. Lying in bed, staring at a ceiling I didn’t recognize, covered in bruises I didn’t remember getting. I would hear the voices again, but now they weren’t the ones in my head.

*”You’re worthless.”*
*”You’ll never be anything but this.”*
*”No one would love you if they knew.”*

And I believed them.

I didn’t pray. I didn’t even think God cared. How could He? How could He watch me destroy myself, night after night, and still want anything to do with me?

But then, one night, everything changed.

I was alone in my dorm, coming down from another high. The world was spinning, the demons in my head clawing at me, laughing. I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted it to stop. I was ready to make it stop.

Then, in the chaos, in the darkness of that room, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years. A warmth. A presence. And a voice—not the ones that tormented me, not the ones that wanted me dead.

*”Come to Me.”*

I broke.

I fell to my knees, sobbing, shaking, choking on my own breath. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know if God even wanted me. But I begged Him to take me back. To save me. To pull me out of the darkness I had buried myself in.

And He did.

It wasn’t instant. It wasn’t easy. But step by step, I walked away from the life that had nearly destroyed me. I put down the bottle. I left the drugs behind. I stopped giving my body away like it was worthless—because I wasn’t worthless.

I started reading the Bible, started praying, started listening for His voice instead of the ones that had haunted me for so long. And the more I sought Him, the more I realized—He had never abandoned me. Even in the worst moments, even when I had given up on myself, He had been there, waiting.

Now, I walk in the light. Not because I’m perfect. Not because I have it all figured out. But because I know I am loved. I am redeemed. And I will never go back to the darkness that once tried to consume me.

**Because I am His. And He is mine.**

—

Putting training and knowledge aside, what else do you think really matters in terms of succeeding in your field?

**The Counselor’s Calling: Trusting in God to Guide the Broken**

The small office was quiet except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Across from me sat a man whose face bore the weight of years spent battling demons no one else could see. His hands trembled as he spoke, his voice cracking under the pressure of words he had never dared to say aloud.

*”I don’t know if I can do this,”* he admitted. *”I don’t know if I can keep fighting.”*

I knew that feeling. The emptiness. The exhaustion. The hopelessness that settles into the bones and makes every breath feel like a burden. I had been there before, sitting in that same despair, drowning in my own pain, believing there was no way out.

If I had only relied on my own strength, I wouldn’t be here. If I had trusted in my own wisdom, my own willpower, I would have been lost long ago.

But I wasn’t alone then, and I wasn’t alone now.

I leaned forward, meeting his tired eyes. *”You don’t have to do this alone.”*

There was a time in my life when I believed success as a counselor meant having all the right answers. That I had to be the one to fix things, to guide people out of their darkness through sheer effort and expertise. But I learned, through my own suffering and through the stories of countless others, that human wisdom is limited. That logic alone cannot mend a broken spirit. That healing, true healing, only comes from One place.

Trusting in God isn’t just an afterthought in my work—it’s the foundation. It’s the reason I can sit with someone drowning in their pain and not be overwhelmed myself. It’s the reason I can listen to stories of addiction, trauma, and suffering without losing hope. Because I know there is a power greater than me at work. A love that reaches deeper than any wound.

*”You don’t have to carry this by yourself,”* I told him. *”God sees you. He knows your pain. And He has never abandoned you.”*

Tears welled up in his eyes. He wasn’t ready to believe it yet. But the seed had been planted.

As a counselor, I don’t measure success by how many clients I “fix.” Because the truth is, I can’t fix anyone. But I can lead them to the One who can. I can remind them that they are not beyond redemption, that no matter how far they have fallen, Christ’s love reaches further.

Being a servant of Christ means knowing that I am merely a vessel. It means surrendering my own pride, my own need for control, and allowing God to work through me. It means praying before sessions, seeking His wisdom rather than relying on my own. It means seeing every person who walks through my door not as a case to be solved, but as a soul deeply loved by the Creator.

The world says success is about achievements, status, and recognition. But true success—eternal success—is about obedience. About being faithful to the calling God has placed on my life. About pointing people to Christ, even when they don’t realize they need Him yet.

The man in front of me wasn’t ready to trust in God that day. But he came back. And over time, I watched the walls around his heart begin to crack. Not because of anything I had done, but because God was moving.

That’s why I do what I do. That’s why I trust in Him. Because healing doesn’t come from me—it comes from the One who called me to serve. And as long as I am walking in that calling, I know I am exactly where I am meant to be.

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Contact Info:

• Website: https://1on1mentalhealthpoetry.wordpress.com/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/stevenallenpoe
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@thesavedschizophrenic