Why I set this up

When I finally found the courage to come out, after years of wrestling with self-acceptance, I thought freedom would follow.

Instead, I felt exposed. Raw. As though everyone around me suddenly had the power to accept or reject me — and that was terrifying.

So I did what I had always done: I built more armour. I edited parts of myself to fit in and carried on pretending everything was fine.

Then the anxiety began.

At first, I didn’t understand what was happening. I just knew something wasn’t right — but opening up didn’t feel like an option. Somewhere along the way, I had absorbed the message that vulnerability was weakness.

The more I hid — my truth, my emotions and my struggles with my mental health — the louder everything inside me became. The anxiety grew stronger, panic attacks followed and, eventually, I developed panic disorder.

I reached a point where I could no longer hide what I was going through.

When I finally reached out for support and began attending groups, something shifted. For the first time, I saw real, honest vulnerability being modelled by others — and I realised it wasn’t weakness at all.

It was courage in its purest form: a bridge that brings us home to ourselves and closer to one another.

But I still struggled to find a group where I felt I truly belonged. Some traditional men’s spaces felt built around a narrow idea of masculinity that didn’t include me. I remember sitting in one circle where the talking stick was a football and someone asked me about “my missus.” I smiled on the outside but left feeling even more alone than when I had arrived.

I knew I couldn’t be the only person who felt this way.

GBT+ men and non-binary people can face particular pressures around identity, belonging, masculinity and mental health, yet there are still too few welcoming spaces where we can talk openly about our experiences. Spaces where we don’t have to perform, explain ourselves or put on another mask simply to fit in.

That’s why I created The Vulnerability Club®.