I cage fight to relax and was a Royal Marine Commando – but this is my biggest fear

I hiked 30 miles over Dartmoor in full fighting gear to win my green beret. Yet I’m scared of stepping out in front of a bunch of 15-year-olds, writes Christopher Hayes

I visualise the end of a long road and place my fear right at the end of it, getting further and further away (Getty Images)

“Come on, mate. You’re a 6ft 2in, 95kg Welshman built like a brick proverbial,” I tell myself. “You cage fight to relax. You were a Royal Marine Commando for seven years. You hiked 30 miles over Dartmoor in full fighting gear to win your green beret. And now you’re scared of 15-year-olds? Get some perspective!”

Exhaling anxiety, inhaling calm, I visualise the end of a long road and place my fear right at the end of it, getting further and further away. My shoulders soften. I’m alright now. Out I go to the classroom, to tell my story.

I’m here because I’m a British veteran, brought in to British schools to talk to schoolchildren about the importance of resilience in mental health to overcome adversity, build an unbreakable mindset and break taboos.

My CV speaks for itself: in 2017, I was medically discharged with myriad mental health issues, including OCD and complex PTSD. Like so many other veterans, I struggled on “civvy street”. Despondent, ravaged by a deep depression, I detached from therapy, my brothers, and at times, reality itself. I was alone. I’d pushed everyone away.

I stopped taking my meds – antidepressants, antipsychotics, uppers, downers, sleeping pills, tranquillisers. Evenings were crates of lager, microwave meals, tearful breakdowns, then off to bed, before doing it all again tomorrow. It was like Groundhog Day, culminating after nine months in suicide attempts and hospital.

My mental health story is a rollercoaster. I don’t dress it up. The kids hear about the moments of darkness, of substance abuse, of self-harm. I speak to a deafening silence. There’s safety in asking for help, I say. Taboos still encourage silence.

The children (who I underestimated) listen, then repay my openness with deep questions of their own. They talk openly in front of their peers, seek clarification, think about it, contextualise it. Progress.

How did this come to be? Months earlier, I’d shared a week in Tel Aviv’s 30-degree heat with dozens of injured British and Israeli veterans for the Veteran Games, where I had been a mentor, but where everyone in fact mentored me, not least in humility and resilience. Their stories were of struggles overcome, of victory of the human spirit, told by virtuous warriors and masters of discipline.

A self-funded philanthropic initiative organised by the UK branch of Israeli charity Beit Halochem (“House of Warriors”), the Games give injured veterans and their families the chance to meet, share experiences, build friendships and confidence through competing in sport such as swimming, shooting and cross-fit.

They reinforced what I’d learned about recovery and reminded me that I wasn’t alone, and that I’m lucky to be here. Surrounded by friends and family, it gave me an energy that I hold onto.

Its founders are now expanding its impact with the revolutionary idea of talking to British children in the classroom. Am I in, they ask? Of course, I am.

I know it’s urgent. There is an epidemic of mental ill health among our young people today and a literal need for this venture, which is unique, as far as I know. The old saying of “kids have it easy” no longer holds weight.

There is the bombardment of unrealistic standards in advertising, “grind culture” (pushing them to burnout) and “immediacy culture” (demanding they be accessible 24/7), to name but three. And that’s before we get to social media and the normal growing pains as they move into adulthood.

Me and a few other veterans have done several of these secondary school visits now and the pilot scheme is being expanded. While teachers and experts have their place, I hope someone like me may be able to help these children in a way that others couldn’t. And while I go to help the kids, the irony is: they help and heal me. “Teach once, learn twice,” as they say.

At a prestigious school in Oxford, a young man helped me build a “bulletproof mindset”. His timetable would put a professional athlete to shame: up at 5am for rowing, then breakfast, a full day’s learning, gym, extra-curricular activities, cocoa, then bed. In turn, I was able to advise him on stoicism, self-love, and compassion.

At another school, a girl no older than 15 came to see me at the end. Eyes older than her years, her “tics” were similar to my own. She was alone, she said. She ate lunch alone. She cut herself. “Is it ever going to change?” Yes.

I talked about my own experience, signposted help, encouraged her to talk to her parents and teachers, but the point she hooked onto was that this pain is temporary. It won’t last forever. The storm will pass.

And when it does, the strength of your resilience will repay you in dividends. It’ll be your greatest strength. For how could you ever be truly broken if you have survived your lowest moments?

There is a way through. It isn’t exciting – exercise, healthy eating, taking a moment, having the courage to ask for help – but there is a way. If a veteran’s hard-won wisdom can help a young person find their way, then I’d be thrilled.

Christopher Hayes is an ambassador for the Veteran Games, which is being held this week In Israel and will see 62 wounded British veterans compete in swimming , cross-fit and shooting

If you’re struggling with your mental health, call Mind on 0300 123 3393or visit them online.