A few years back, I was driving to work, and I kept having these same racing thoughts over and over again that had been on my mind constantly for a few months. What's tonight going to be like? Am I going to be talking to people off a ledge? Is it going to be one of those violent incidents where you feel lucky to be alive? Am I just going to be pretending that everything's okay, laughing and joking, but inside I feel the complete opposite?

And I wasn't fine at all, and hadn’t been for quite a long time.

It was on the drive that I started going to that dark place that I'd been to far too many times before, for a long, long time, from a young age of 12. And I started to figure, what if I just yanked this wheel right across the road, right into something? What would happen then? How much better would things be? Because I wouldn't have all this pain. I wouldn't be stuck thinking over and over again about how miserable things can get, dealing with everything I was carrying, feeling like I was just living for the sake of living, but not enjoying it. Just existing. Just being.

And what stopped me wasn't some divine intervention or self-love, it was this thought of my kids. And a video I'd seen a while back of a wee girl being told her dad wasn't coming home. That always hit pretty hard when I thought about it, because as much as I felt like I was failing, I knew that leaving them like that would completely destroy them in ways I could never take back.

Understanding that, despite feeling like everyone’s better off without you, the reality is they’re not. Because the pain you think people might be going through right now, because you're not being the best you can be, will be a million times worse if you're gone. That pain you leave behind… that’s what stuck with me. And that was kind of one of the turning points.

I’ve always prided myself on being mentally tough, being the fixer, the strong one, the jokey guy who uses dark humour to deflect from what’s really going on inside. And I’ve worn every mask you can imagine, because those masks made me feel safe. And feeling safe was massively important.

At various stages, I had to wear different masks just to avoid feeling vulnerable, like when I was a small child, people-pleasing because I was scared of how others would react. And sometimes I’d use anger to keep people at a distance, because if people were kept away, they wouldn't see the sadness, and sadness felt weak. I could hide that for later. But all of those masks weren’t fitting anymore. They were killing me from the inside out.

I felt numb. Hollow.

I had this life that looked good on the outside, career, family, responsibility, doing pretty well for myself. But inside, I felt completely lost. Like I wasn’t who I was meant to be, or who I could be. And the worst part was, I carried this shame for a long, long time. Like I had no right to be struggling. Why are you depressed? You’ve got everything. But it didn’t feel that way inside.

One of the things I learned that changed everything was this: you can be strong and still need help. You can be resilient and still be crumbling inside. You can have what looks like a good life, but still feel like it’s not yours.

And I’d rebuilt myself many times over the years, adapting to what I thought I should be. But this time, it wasn’t about becoming someone new, it was about finding out who I actually was. Under the masks. Under the pressure. Under the pain. Under the dark humour. Who was I really?

That’s when I realised I needed help.

I’d held onto this pride, that men don’t seek help. That we’re supposed to be tough. That we don’t talk about problems, we just knuckle down and get on with it. That’s what you’re taught, those phrases that run through your head on loop.

So I sought out self-help. I got into personal development. Read the books. Got coaching. Went to therapy. And it was brutal. It’s not easy unpacking all that mess, but as I started doing it, the fog started to lift. And I started feeling more like myself again.

I learned to set boundaries. To stop people-pleasing so much. I cut off a lot of family a long time ago, people who weren’t good for me, who were only keeping their foot on my neck. I stopped chasing validation. I started finding a sense of peace inside myself.

I started tackling the shame, guilt, and anger that had built up for decades, and I let myself feel without judgment. No more labelling emotions as good or bad.

And what really stuck with me was this truth: I can’t control what happens to me. I can’t control what other people do. But I can control how I respond, how I process it, and what I choose next.

That shift, from controlling others to owning myself, was huge. Because I used to expect people to live up to a set of standards that weren’t realistic. I expected the world to behave in a certain way. But that’s not how it works, and it weighed on me for far too long.

Now, I work with people who feel like they’ve done everything right, but still feel like something’s missing.

People who are stuck, exhausted, lost. Not because they’re broken, but because they’ve built a life around who they had to be, instead of who they really are.

They’ve built their lives around “shoulds”, you should have this job, this house, this family, rather than what they genuinely want.

This isn’t about fixing you. You’re not broken.

This is about stripping away the noise. Rewriting your story. Building a life you actually want, not the one the world handed you.

Maybe you’re someone who feels like you’re failing your family, your kids, your friends. Maybe you’re exhausted from holding it all in. Maybe you’ve been the strong one, the funny one, the achiever, the support for everyone else, and now you just feel empty.

I see that. And I promise you:

You are not alone. You are not stuck. You are not beyond help.

There is a way out. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. And I’ll walk with you until you see it for yourself.

Ready to rebuild your life, your real life?

Let’s talk.