Let's talk about Mental Health...

So… here we are.

I never thought I’d write something like this, let alone share it publicly.

Most of what I post online is pretty superficial; physio tips, ACL nerdiness, rehab rants, the usual Mick-Hughes-being-a-physio content.

But November traditionally has a big light shining on Men's Health (including mental health), and over the past 12–18 months, I’ve learned a lot about myself and my own mental health.

Enough, at least, to finally feel comfortable opening up a bit.

So this is my story. Not a dramatic one, not a tragic one… just an honest one.

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Looking back, I was probably like most teenagers. I had that simmering anxiety, but for me it was specifically around performance and acceptance.

Exams, sports, and - ironically, considering what I do now - public speaking. I lived in that "flight response" zone, but I never really had a strategy to handle it. I just white-knuckled my way through.

Through my 20s and 30s, that anxiety would roll in and out like a tide.

I managed it the way a lot of us do: a mix of exercise, eating well, or conversely, partying a bit too hard with friends.

It was very much a case of "what goes up must come down." But last year, the simmer turned into a boil.

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Now this is where things changed.

Between parenting, work, running a business, and adulting (which, let’s be honest, is a trap), life got busy.

Last year especially, I travelled 10 times, ran workshops (including 4 back to back in NZ in late August), and tried to be everywhere at once.

And then there was this one conference in October.

I was invited to deliver a keynote address on ACLs, and sitting in the audience were several world-class ACL researchers - the people I read, cite, admire… the actual big dogs.

My imposter syndrome clocked in early, grabbed a coffee, and worked full-time that whole week.

To top it off, I was meeting a “business rival” for the first time on stage.

Nothing dramatic, but I had no idea how it would go.

Uncertainty + anxiety = great combo… if you enjoy sweating through a shirt.

That period genuinely hit me harder than anything before. I wasn’t coping well. I felt “off” more days than not. And eventually, I realised I needed help - the real kind, not just “go for a jog and hope it fixes everything” help.

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So, I did something I probably should have done years ago: I went to my GP.

I started a course of antidepressants, which I’m still taking.

And honestly? It’s done a remarkable job of turning down the volume on that negative self-talk. The background noise that used to simmer constantly has faded, and I can just sit comfortably with myself.

I also stopped treating psychotherapy like an emergency room.

Previously, I’d only see a psychologist when the house was already on fire - reactive, panic-mode stuff.

Now? I have started to treat it like we treat our physical health. You go to the dentist for check-ups; you see a physio for maintenance. Why shouldn't I do the same for my brain?

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Here is the kicker, and the main reason I wanted to share this.

On paper, I thought I was doing everything right to look after my well-being.

I haven’t had a drink in three years.

I stopped gambling a decade ago.

I lift weights, I do my cardio, I eat pretty good (definitely not great - hello korean fried chicken and burgers), and I am obsessive about getting 8 hours of sleep.

But I was still struggling.

I think there is a misconception that if you just "live healthy," your mental health will magically fix itself.

For me, lifestyle was a huge piece of the puzzle, but it wasn't the whole puzzle.

Sometimes, you can do all the right things and still need medication or professional guidance to get to the root cause. And that is okay.

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So Why Am I Sharing This?

Because I know I’m not the only one.

And because I know a lot of people - especially men - push this stuff down for years.

My version of mental health challenges isn’t the most dramatic, and I’m lucky I haven’t experienced trauma or major crises.

But anxiety, depression, stress and self-worth issues don’t need to be catastrophic to be real.

They affect how you see yourself, how you show up as a parent, partner, clinician, and human.

And if talking openly about it helps even one person feel less alone — then this was worth sharing.

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So if you're still here reading this, know this..

You don’t need to wait for a catastrophe to admit things are tough.

If you are feeling uneasy with yourself, or if worry is eating away at your energy, it’s okay to put your hand up.

Surround yourself with good people. Reach out when you need to. See your GP. Talk to a psychologist. Build a little team around you - the same way we do for our physical health.

There is always light at the end of the tunnel.

Sometimes you just need someone to help you find the switch.

Thanks for reading. And if you’re going through it too - honestly, I feel you

You’re not alone. Please go easy on yourself.