My practice: The person behind the player
Therapy Today, October 2026

There can be assumptions about what a therapist looks or sounds like. I don’t fit some of those stereotypes. I’m a Black man with tattoos, dreadlocks and a gold tooth. I come from an inner-city community and speak in a way that reflects where I have come from.

I’m simply myself.

I have had to face challenges and knockbacks in my journey to get here but I’m thriving in this profession now. As Player Care Manager at Swansea City AFC I made my two worlds of football and therapy align.

The kick-off

I have always loved football. But it was never just about the game. It gave me structure, friendships, confidence and belonging.

I was around 10 when I remember kicking a ball against the wall of our driveway. My neighbour saw me and asked whether I would like to join his son’s team. I had never played organised football before. I had watched it on TV and always wanted to get involved, so I went along to play for the local team, Basford United.

I loved it.

Soon I was scoring goals and being offered trials with Notts County and Nottingham Forest. At 12 I moved on to Notts County, and football became a huge part of my life.

I had tried different sports growing up but nothing really stuck like football did. I was good at it, and at a time when education could leave me feeling that I wasn’t quite measuring up, football gave me somewhere I could experience success.

My parents did everything they could within their means to support me, whether that meant helping me join teams or buying football boots.

I was quiet and shy but always willing to try something new. I was very much my dad’s shadow and would go wherever he went whenever I could. I also made friendships that have lasted to this day.

School, however, was a different story.

Digging in

I always felt that something wasn’t quite right when it came to schoolwork. I struggled academically and often needed extra work and support. There had even been conversations about the possibility of dyslexia before I went to secondary school, but I was never formally assessed.

Football remained my outlet. I believed it might even become my career. I had trials up to age 18 and continued playing at semi-professional level.

Eventually though I had to accept that becoming a professional player was probably not going to happen. There were things I could have done differently: I probably thought I was better than I was, and I didn’t always have the attitude, fitness or consistency required to progress. When I tried to push myself further, injuries often followed. I had to change direction.

I started working on the production line at the Boots factory and later worked in nightclubs, initially collecting glasses and eventually becoming bar staff. I enjoyed earning money but those jobs didn’t feel like where I wanted my life to go. For a period of time I became focused on earning money and maintaining a lifestyle rather than thinking about my future. I made choices during that period that I am not proud of. I don’t want to hide that part of my story because it is part of my journey.

But in time I found a path. I became drawn towards youth work. Volunteering with Unity – a charity empowering youth through hip-hop arts – gave me opportunities to work with young people and develop my mentoring skills while continuing to play football. And then my dad’s friend suggested I apply for a role as a care worker supporting young people.

Tipping point

That experience changed me.

Suddenly I was working with young people who had experienced things far beyond anything I had encountered personally. Nneoma,^* who I supported, had experienced significant trauma and exploitation and presented with complex needs and challenging behaviour.

This taught me something that no textbook could have taught me: you can read about trauma, behaviour and vulnerability but sitting alongside a young person who is living through those experiences is entirely another matter.

There were difficult moments. I experienced aggression while lone working, and situations that tested me personally and professionally. But I started to reflect on an important question that has remained central to my therapy practice: what has happened to this person?

Rather than simply asking what was wrong with someone’s behaviour I became interested in what might sit underneath it.

I was made redundant a year later and moved into providing alternative support for young people who had been excluded from mainstream education. I stayed there for seven years, beginning as a mentor and eventually becoming Deputy Manager.

Those years were an extraordinary education in themselves. There were highs, including being promoted and developing professionally, but also extremely challenging situations involving verbal and physical altercations and times when the building itself became a place of high conflict. As a team we had to learn how to stay together and support each other.

Then I was made redundant again. And despite my extensive experience in mentoring, teaching and management, when I applied for other roles I kept encountering the same barrier: qualifications. Experience alone wasn’t going to take me where I wanted to go.

Game changing

After hours with a careers adviser counselling and psychotherapy seemed an obvious next step: bringing together my skills of listening, understanding behaviour, supporting people and helping them navigate difficult circumstances.

I found a 10-week introductory counselling course and gave it a try.

I loved it.

This time, psychotherapy training gave me another way of understanding people, including myself.

At the end of the course I was able to interview for the degree programme. I remember meeting my course co-ordinator who became hugely influential. She told me that she believed I could make a significant difference to the counselling profession and to the Black community.

It felt like a lot of pressure. I couldn’t see what she saw in me.

The training itself was difficult. I struggled financially and lost jobs while studying. Academically I found things challenging and eventually I was challenged over plagiarism. I was so overwhelmed that I considered quitting.

I didn’t believe I had the academic ability to become a psychotherapist.

Then I was formally diagnosed with dyslexia.

Suddenly some of the difficulties I had experienced throughout education began to make more sense. I still faced challenges, particularly with dense academic reading and written work, but understanding how I learned helped me find ways around them. I used audiobooks extensively because listening often allowed me to understand material without becoming so focused on individual words that I lost the meaning.

Most importantly I had people around me who refused to let me give up. My tutors, classmates and family supported me. It became clear that although training to become a therapist is an individual journey we don’t get there alone.

Keeping on

During my placement I began to realise that I was underestimating myself. My previous experiences had already given me skills that I hadn’t recognised as valuable. I was also patient and empathetic and had more capacity to support others than I had given myself credit for.

Working in different environments had taught me how to communicate with different types of people, adapt my approach and remain calm in difficult situations.

The humanistic integrative approach of my training also felt natural. It fitted in with my belief in relationships, authenticity and understanding the individual rather than trying to fit somebody into a predetermined idea of what they should be.

By my final year I knew this was where I belonged. Most importantly I had stopped quitting.

Building something

I quietly started developing a community interest company (CIC). I designed the logo, developed the ethos and thought carefully about what I wanted it to stand for. After experiencing redundancy several times I wanted to build something that belonged to me. I didn’t want my future to depend entirely on whether an organisation continued to employ me.

One of my proudest moments was having a DBS certificate in my own business name. It might sound small but for me it represented the transition from having an idea to building something real.

My first client came through a care home. I quickly discovered that I was one of the few people he felt he could sit down and have a meaningful conversation with.

That led to work in other care homes and schools.

Over time my company opened other doors. I was invited to publish articles, appear on podcasts and speak publicly about mental health, my experiences and being a Black male therapist. I became a co-host of The Mindful Men Podcast, took part in a monthly radio slot and began writing a book aimed at supporting young people with emotional awareness and regulation.

The more I put myself out there, the more I realised that my own story could potentially help somebody else.

Home goal

There were times when hearing what people had experienced made me want to become a vigilante. Having spent several years supporting survivors of sexual abuse, that work taught me a great deal about managing my own emotional responses. But I had to learn to put my own reactions to one side and become the person my clients needed me to be.

That is part of reflective practice for me. It isn’t about pretending that we don’t have our own responses. It’s about recognising them, taking them to supervision or personal therapy and ensuring that they don’t get in the way of supporting somebody else.

Around the same time I was dealing with an unexpected death that had deeply affected me. I found myself questioning where I wanted to go next. I took those feelings into supervision and my own therapy and reflected on what was happening for me.

The truth is I still wanted to work in football. I hadn’t let that part of me go.

I wanted to bring together my passion for psychotherapy and communication with the love of football that had been with me since I was 10 years old. I knew that evidence had increasingly shown the power that psychological support can bring to football.^1-3

Football can be an incredible environment but it can also be unforgiving. Young players experience rejection, injury, competition, selection and the possibility that the dream they’ve worked towards might not happen. They shouldn’t have to navigate those experiences alone, and psychological support makes a difference.

With my qualifications and experiences behind me I knew this was a space I could step into.

It was then that a friend introduced me to the concept of player care. There were several opportunities available and I applied for Swansea City AFC without expecting much.

But things started to move quickly. Within an hour of finishing the first interview I was offered a second. Eventually Swansea City AFC offered me the role of Player Care Manager for the academy.

This felt like more than a career opportunity. It felt like the beginning of a new chapter.

Person, not player

My first day at Swansea City AFC was memorable. I went to the training ground to collect my kit and almost immediately found myself travelling with the academy manager and staff members to watch the under-18s play Leeds United in the FA Youth Cup in York: a 10-hour round trip.

The game went beyond 90 minutes and eventually lasted 120. We watched the players dig in, experience the highs and lows of the match and ultimately win.

It was an incredible first day. I remember thinking: this is what I’ve wanted. This is where I want to be.

Integration

My role isn’t to provide psychotherapy or counselling to players. Player care is different. I am available to players throughout their academy journey, supporting the person around their football.

I spend time watching training, sitting with players who are rehabilitating from injuries, attending meetings and simply being around. Sometimes being available is enough.

A player may need help communicating something to a coach. They may be frustrated about not being selected. They may need support around an injury or simply need somebody outside the coaching structure to listen.

The needs of a nine-year-old are different from those of a 21-year-old. Younger players might be dealing with friendships, school, behaviour or difficulties at home. As they get older, conversations can become more focused on scholarships, contracts, playing opportunities, identity and their future.

Likewise injuries can have a significant emotional impact. A player can go from training every day and feeling part of the team to spending months in rehabilitation. The physical injury is visible but the psychological impact isn’t always as obvious.

It’s my hope that player care and psychological support become a normal part of football development. And if a young person doesn’t make it as a footballer I want them to understand that it doesn’t mean they haven’t made something of themselves.

Alongside individual support I deliver life-skills workshops, bring in external guest speakers to deliver sessions, and have developed an aftercare programme for players who leave the academy, providing tailored support around what comes next. Being released is a major transition and isn’t simply the end of a football contract. For some young people it can feel like losing an identity and a future they have imagined for years.

For me player care is about helping players develop as whole people, not simply preparing them to become better footballers. I want players to know that leaving the academy doesn’t mean losing access to support.

One of the things I value most is that I’m not a coach. I don’t select the starting 11, decide who is in the squad or determine playing time.

A player who isn’t being selected may feel frustrated, rejected or confused but might not feel comfortable saying everything to their coach because they fear it could affect their opportunities. Player care can provide that space.

For me the principle is simple: the better we understand the person, the better we can support the player.

Full time

As I said at the start I’m a Black man with tattoos, dreadlocks and a gold tooth. I come from an inner-city community. I speak and carry myself in a certain way. There aren’t many people like me in the profession.

When I began my psychotherapy journey I looked around and didn’t see many people who looked like me.

That has made me think about the importance of visibility.

If I don’t put myself forward and show people from the same background as me that they can achieve things they might not have imagined, then who will?

Maybe there is a young Black trainee reading this who thinks: I could do that. If that happens for even one person then I’ve helped.

In football when young Black players see Black members of staff, it can provide familiarity and comfort. That extends to the therapy profession.

Representation isn’t about assuming that sharing someone’s skin colour means you automatically understand their experience. Every player is an individual.

For me representation is about opening the door and showing young people that there are different ways to be a Black man.

You can be strong and vulnerable. You can play football and talk about your feelings. You can come from a community where emotional conversations aren’t always encouraged and decide that you want to change that.

Final whistle

I’ve learned that I have much more resolve than I ever gave myself credit for. I’m not a quitter.

I’ve also learned that life is to be lived rather than spent standing on the sidelines waiting.

There was a time when I would wait and hope that something might change. Now I want to be part of making things happen.

That doesn’t mean everything works. I’ve got things wrong. But trying matters. You’ve got to try.

I started football by kicking a ball against a wall. I never became the professional footballer I once imagined I would be. But football brought me somewhere I never expected: into a role where I can help young people navigate their own journeys.

Perhaps that is what my practice has taught me most: we are more than the roles we play. A footballer is more than a player, a therapist is more than their qualification, and a person is always more than the most difficult chapter of their story.

Our role is to see the person. And, where we can, help them see themselves too.

*Real name not used.