My Story

WWarning: The following contains references to trauma, abuse, mental health and suicide.

I was born in 1972, two months premature. Early on, life already felt like a fight — I was born with no hearing and no eyesight at first, later growing up partially deaf and carrying physical scars from a childhood accident involving boiling water.

My early years were unsettled. My parents separated when I was very young, and my mum later entered an abusive relationship. I witnessed violence, fear and chaos that no child should ever have to see. Constant moving meant changing schools multiple times and never really feeling settled.

As a child, I was caring by nature and always tried to help others. Sadly, that trust was abused by someone in my village who caused trauma that would affect me for years. I carried it silently, like many men of my generation were taught to do.

That pain showed itself through anger, disruption and pushing people away. School became a struggle and I left believing I had little future ahead of me.

At 19, I moved alone to London for security work. The 1990s were rough and violent at times. I experienced assaults, knife violence, football-related disorder and even survived a flat fire where I narrowly escaped with my life.

Relationships later brought both love and heartbreak. I became a father, experienced separation, loss of contact with children and the emotional toll that comes with broken relationships. I also lost my stepfather to Alzheimer’s — a man I eventually realised had loved and supported me like his own son.

Life continued to test me. My wife later battled both bowel and kidney cancer during and after the pandemic, something that deeply affected our whole family, especially our daughter.

Professionally, despite struggling in education, I built a successful career managing teams on high-profile government and Ministry of Defence contracts. Proof that poor school results do not define your future.

But a few years ago, after losing a job I loved and facing financial pressure, everything caught up with me. I became suicidal and had planned to end my life.

Instead, one small suggestion from a friend changed everything — buy a lawn mower and start cutting grass.

That mower became movement.
Movement became purpose.
Purpose became recovery.

I later became a Mental Health First Aider and nearly two years ago started a local Talk Club men’s talking group with the support of others who shared the same passion for helping people feel heard. What started as an idea has grown into a strong support network with regular attendance and a team of captains helping support local men.

That support has now expanded even further with the creation of a local men’s walking group — giving men another safe space to talk, connect, move forward together and realise they are never alone.

What I’ve learned is this:

No matter what someone is carrying, nobody should have to carry it alone.

Mental health is not a competition. Pain is pain. What breaks one person may not break another — but everyone deserves support, understanding and someone willing to listen.

I’m not sharing my story for sympathy.
I’m sharing it because survival is possible.

If you’re struggling right now, keep taking small steps forward. Drink some water. Walk to the end of the road. Speak to someone. Ask for help. Small steps still count.

Forward is forward.

And sometimes surviving long enough to help someone else survive too… becomes the reason you made it through yourself.

Oh… and yes, I’m still bald. 

RNING - The following may contain triggers of various subject