When Justin joins the Teams call, his steadiness fills the space. He sits upright, measured, professional, the kind of person who seems at ease in himself and such puts you at ease. Beneath his composure you sense the kind of strength that comes from honesty rather than armour.
He talks straight with a deep Scottish accent, fully grounded without pretence.
“I grew up under my dad’s influence, and he was from that old-school generation of men, strong, stoic, never showing emotion. In his world, you worked hard, kept your head down, and didn’t talk about how you felt. Mental health, addiction, those weren’t things you discussed. You just ‘got on with it.’ That was drilled into me from a young age.
I carried that mindset into adulthood. I had the full picture, wife, kids, a successful career, a big home. On paper, it all looked perfect. Drinking was part of the culture at work, I worked away a lot, a few pints after hours, a few more at the weekend. It felt normal. But when I was made redundant, everything changed. I lost my sense of direction, and the drinking that once seemed harmless took over.”
He pauses when he talks about that time, not out of shame, but reflection. His story isn’t one of sudden collapse, but a slow, painful unravelling to crisis point and multiple hospitalisations.
“Over a few years, things spiralled. I was hospitalised multiple times. I tried to get help through community services, and they did their best, but the truth was, I needed more intensive support and fast. I needed intensive, structured support to hold me accountable and help me rebuild. I had given up lying in my hospital bed, my Care Manager fast-tracked into Phoenix Glasgow.
I’ll be honest, I was anxious when I arrived. I wasn’t used to being in groups or being vulnerable. I’d built my whole life on not showing weakness.
He talks about those first few weeks with honesty the fear, the initial resistance.
“At first, I kept to myself. I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to get through the days. But the thing about Phoenix is that people don’t give up on you. The staff were patient. The guys in the groups understood. Bit by bit, I started to open up.
The turning point was during a AA group realising that sharing doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. Once I let that sink in, everything started to change. I faced things I’d been running from for years. I worked through trauma, guilt, shame - all of it. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. When I finished the programme, I walked out a completely different man.”
Listening to him, you get the sense that recovery wasn’t about erasing the past but reshaping his relationship with it, turning his experiences into purpose.
“After graduating, I wanted to give something back. Phoenix had given me my life back, and I wanted to do the same for others. I started volunteering.
Then a position came up at Rae House as a Trainee Therapeutic worker in Aberdeenshire, and I got the job and supported the opening of the service. I met the First Minister, when he came to open the service. A full circle moment, I went home that night and watched myself on tele.
Now I have been promoted to therapeutic worker. I work full time supporting people through their own journeys. It’s tough work, emotionally and physically, but I love it. Seeing someone walk in where I once was, then leave with a future ahead… there’s nothing like it.”
Justin’s passion for connection extends beyond the walls of the service.
“I’ve always loved fishing, so I brought that into the work we do here. I started running small groups, taking people out into nature to fish. Sure, we catch a trout or two and sometimes cook them, but it’s more that that. It’s about being side by side on the water, letting conversations flow naturally, no pressure, no forcing it. Sometimes the healing happens in silence. Other times, it’s in the shared stories, the laughter, the quiet understanding. It’s a space where men can just be together, and the connection is what really matters.
He smiles as he says this, the kind of smile that carries both pride and peace.
When the call ends, I’m struck by how much of Justin’s story is about rediscovery. The boy who was taught that men must never ask for help became the man who shows others how. His journey reminds us that vulnerability isn’t a weakness, it’s the doorway to change, connection, and belonging.
Justin doesn’t talk about recovery like a destination. For him, it’s a way of life, one built on honesty, empathy, and the quiet courage to keep showing up, both for himself and for others.
