I was 16 in 1989. It was my final year of secondary school and my first as a season ticket holder at Liverpool Football Club. On 15 April I went with my schoolteacher and his brother to my first-ever away match – at Hillsborough Stadium in Sheffield.

It’s incredible how a physical object, song, scent or even a simple noise has the power to flip a switch in the brain and take us back in time. Sometimes it can bring up lovely feelings – I’m amazed at how random smells or sounds can take me down memory lane. But sometimes it’s not always a trip you want. Sometimes, in the case of PTSD, that single sound can lock you into a bad memory before you’ve even realised it’s happening. In my case it was to memories of Pen 4 of the Leppings Lane terrace. 

I survived. But 97 people didn’t. I could never bring myself to talk about it. Not even to my parents. They never asked. I didn’t have counselling at the time. It was a different era. Living in North Wales, not Liverpool, I felt lost, like an outsider for years. I always thought there were people in a worse place than me. For decades I couldn’t tell friends. There just wasn’t a support network nearby and I bottled everything up. Songs and smells would transport me back to that day, and the constant anger for justice for more than 30 years meant that what happened that day was never far from my mind. 

Just the word ‘Hillsborough’ would make me clam up. I couldn’t say the word or read anything about it for years without this happening. And with each passing year as the anniversary date drew nearer, I would catch myself in a pain so deep I would cry silently as I relived the events over and over in my mind each time I read anything about it. 

I lived like this for 30 years.

Then in 2019 everything changed. I discovered a charity by chance on social media while keeping track of the Hillsborough trials at Preston Crown Court: the Hillsborough Survivors Support Alliance (HSA). To my surprise it offered group support specifically for those affected by Hillsborough, run entirely by survivors. It was the first time I’d even met other survivors, let alone spoken with them. I’d only ever heard of family support groups before and was shocked to realise there was even a network of support for survivors out there. 

They held monthly meetings in Liverpool. It took me three months to pluck up the courage to go. I was full of nerves, like starting the first day of a new job. But that soon passed. 

The first thing the group helped me understand was that I deserved – we all deserved – not to have to live like this. I deserved a better quality of life. I stopped feeling so alone and felt understood by others who got it. 

Beyond group support, HSA also offered bespoke therapy, designed in collaboration with psychotherapists. I was sceptical at first, but so many survivors in my groups and meetings spoke well of their experiences, and this was the first step in helping me feel safe to try. 

I plucked up the courage to ask HSA if I could make use of it. But the real challenge was telling my wife. She had no idea of the experiences I’d been through in Hillsborough beyond the fact I was there on the day. She knew little about the events at all so had never really asked me. Once I opened up to her, I needn’t have worried. She was supportive and agreed I should talk to someone. 

I cautiously turned up for my therapy session in January 2020, nearly 31 years after the disaster. All my trepidation about meeting my therapist disappeared within minutes of walking into that room. It’s no exaggeration to say she remains one of the greatest influences of my life. 

A weight lifted from my shoulders almost instantly. It was the first time voicing what I’d experienced, and it was a huge release. Finally I’d made a step towards getting some control and discovering a new version of me. Bit by bit my life became better, worth living. 

I can actually control my emotions now. After years of feeling haunted I’m no longer trapped. I’m in control of my thoughts around Hillsborough, and Hillsborough does not call the shots. These days even a Hillsborough-related report or news item can pop up and I can read and watch it without flashbacks. 

But most of all I can finally talk about what happened to me at Hillsborough and no longer feel survivor’s guilt.