By the time December rolls around, most of us can rattle off the year’s highs and lows like a quick SITREP. New job. Relationship shifts. A mate’s wedding. A rough patch of sleep. A spell where the gym went quiet and the drinking got louder. A week where everything felt fine, followed by a month where it didn’t.
For veterans, the end of the year can be a strange mix - pride and exhaustion, belonging and distance, laughter and that nagging sense that something isn’t quite squared away. The calendar tells you to celebrate. Your body tells you it’s running on fumes.
So this is a different kind of end-of-year reflection. Not cheesy. Not preachy. Just a straight, practical look at mental health—what it can look like when it’s slipping, why asking for support is a skill rather than a weakness, and where you can turn in the UK if you need someone in your corner.
Most veterans don’t struggle because they’re fragile. They struggle because they’re competent. You’ve been trained to function under pressure, to keep moving, to sort it, to put your own needs in the kitbag and deal with them later. That mindset gets you through a lot—until later turns into years.
Mental health rarely announces itself with a dramatic bang. It tends to creep in quietly and then present itself in everyday ways. You might notice you’re snapping at the people you care about, or withdrawing and cancelling plans, or sleeping badly in a way that makes you feel permanently switched on. You might find your patience is thinning, your focus is shot, your humour is sharper than it needs to be. Sometimes it’s the opposite; a flatness, a numbness, a sense that nothing really matters. Sometimes it’s the slow increase in drinking “just to take the edge off”, until you realise the edge is there every day.
None of that makes you weak. It makes you human. And it makes you someone who deserves back-up.
A useful reframe is this - asking for support isn’t “talking about feelings”. It’s risk management. It’s a practical intervention. If your knees were hanging and your shoulder was shot, you wouldn’t refuse physio because it looks soft. You’d get it seen to before it becomes long-term damage. Mental health is no different—except the injury is harder to point at, and easier to hide.
Support isn’t about becoming a different person. It’s about getting back to being yourself.
The hardest part, usually, is starting the conversation. Most people don’t avoid help because they don’t want it. They avoid it because they don’t know how to begin without making it a big dramatic thing. The good news is you don’t need speeches. You don’t need perfect words. You just need a small, honest opening.
“I’m not doing great. Can I talk something through?” works. “I’m struggling more than I’m letting on” works. “Can you help me get some support? I don’t want to wing this” works. That’s it. A door opened. No overexplaining required.
If you’re the type who would rather carry it alone than “burden” someone, it’s worth remembering this; most people who care about you would be gutted to find out you were drowning quietly. They’d rather be asked early than told late.
That said, it’s also completely normal not to want to go straight to family or friends. Sometimes the safest place to start is with a neutral person—someone who won’t panic, won’t judge, and won’t make it about them. That’s where veteran-specific support can be invaluable. You don’t have to translate your life for them. They understand the culture, the humour, the stubbornness, and the tendency to minimise what’s going on.
In the UK, there are clear routes into support. If you’re in England, the NHS provides a dedicated veterans’ mental health and wellbeing service called Op COURAGE. In Scotland, Veterans First Point offers a supportive entry point and can connect you into clinical services where needed. In Wales, Veterans NHS Wales provides assessment and therapy support. In Northern Ireland, your GP is the starting point for NHS pathways, and veteran charities can also help you navigate local provision without feeling like you’re being passed around.
If you’re unsure what fits, you don’t need to figure it out alone. Your GP can refer you. Charities can guide you through what’s available and help you find the right door to knock on.
There are also veteran charities in the UK that support mental health directly, or help with the “life stuff” that piles pressure on your head until something gives. Combat Stress is well known for specialist support for veterans dealing with trauma, anxiety, depression and PTSD-type symptoms. SSAFA provides practical and emotional support and often helps stabilise the wider issues—housing, money worries, family pressures—that can make mental health deteriorate quickly. The Royal British Legion can offer guidance and support routes, including wellbeing. Help for Heroes supports recovery and welfare, which can include mental health depending on needs and circumstances. Walking With The Wounded often supports with employment and wellbeing, particularly helpful if work, identity and purpose are part of what’s grinding you down. PTSD Resolution provides counselling support in many areas for veterans, reservists and families, with eligibility that can vary depending on location.
Support should also reflect who you are and what you need. Female veterans sometimes prefer women-focused spaces where their experiences aren’t treated as an afterthought. Salute Her is a female veteran community network worth knowing about. For families who are carrying the strain alongside you, The Ripple Pond offers peer support for adult family members of physically or psychologically injured service personnel and veterans.
You don’t have to choose the perfect organisation on the first attempt. The best first step is simply one conversation with one credible service. Most of the time, that single call becomes the bridge to everything else.
If things feel urgent, it’s important to be clear about what “urgent” means. If you are in immediate danger, or you feel you might act on thoughts of harming yourself, call 999 or go to A&E. If you need urgent advice but it’s not life-threatening, NHS 111 can help. If you need someone to talk to, day or night, Samaritans can be reached on 116 123. If speaking out loud feels like too much, Shout provides crisis text support in the UK; you can text 85258.
That isn’t being dramatic. That is what those services are for.
If you want an end-of-year reflection that genuinely helps, keep it simple and honest, and give yourself ten minutes when you won’t be interrupted. Ask yourself what you carried this year that you didn’t talk about. Ask yourself what coping habits helped and which ones quietly harmed. Ask yourself who noticed you weren’t yourself. Then ask yourself what one support step you can take in January—one appointment booked, one call made, one message sent, one group joined. Not a grand resolution. Just a single action that shifts your direction.
A word on pride, because it cuts both ways. Pride can keep you going. It can also keep you quiet. The military teaches you to be the person others rely on. But you’re allowed to be the person who needs support too. In fact, the veterans who tend to do best long-term are often the ones who develop a new version of strength; not silence, but early action.
If you want something simple you can copy into a message to someone, keep it plain. “Can we grab a brew? I’m not doing brilliant and I could use a chat.” Or: “I’ve been carrying a lot in my head. I don’t need you to fix it—just be with me while I get support.” Or: “I’m a veteran and I’m struggling. I’m not sure what I need yet, but I’d like to talk about support options.”
No performance. No drama. Just honesty and movement.
If you set one non-negotiable going into the new year, make it this - don’t do it alone. You don’t need to wait until you’re at breaking point. You don’t need to have the perfect words. You don’t need to earn support through suffering. You just need to take the first step and let someone meet you halfway.
Help exists. It’s UK-based. It’s veteran-aware. And it starts with a simple sentence: I’m not alright—and I’m ready to talk.
