Player Op-Ed
Cillin Gilmour: Why counselling is the best thing I’ve ever done for myself
About the author
Cillin Gilmour, 27, retired from football last year after nearly 10 years playing in the Northern Irish league. Now running two businesses – Sneaker Cleaner and fashion label STRT TLK – Gilmour reflects on how counselling helped him confront years of hidden struggles and why he wants other footballers to know that asking for help is a strength, not a defeat.
By Cillin Gilmour
When I was feeling at my worst, I was probably the loudest and happiest person in the changing room.
I was a massive voice in there, especially towards the end of my playing career. Nobody would have met me in the street, had a conversation with me and thought: Cillin isn’t feeling himself today.
On the inside, it felt like my life was falling apart. On the outside, I was projecting the complete opposite.
I experienced childhood trauma and was a victim of abuse, something nobody knew about. From a young age, I became brilliant at putting on a brave face and hiding how I was feeling.
But as I got older, the things I had spent years blocking out started coming to the surface. I didn’t want to speak to anyone. I didn’t want to go to training. Doubt started creeping into everything.
At one point, a lot changed at once. I got injured, my business was extremely busy – probably too busy for me to keep up with – and relationships started breaking down. I shut myself off from family and close friends and looked for ways to escape how I was feeling.
Football had always given me that escape. For an hour or two, I could get out of my head and pretend everything was okay. But there’s a difference between something giving you a release and using it to run away from your thoughts and feelings. Eventually, I realised that’s what I was doing.
My mum and dad started asking if I was okay. People had asked me that question my entire life, and I’d always been able to smile and say: “Yeah, I'm brilliant.”
This time, they were starting to realise maybe I wasn’t. I remember thinking: I’m about to have a proper breakdown and I need to do something about it now before it affects my life majorly.
I knew Paul Mooney at PFA Northern Ireland and had heard about the mental health support available to players. Subconsciously, I think I’d known for a long time that getting help was something I needed to do.
So, I lifted the phone.
Within 15 minutes, I received a call back to arrange my first counselling session. Nobody questioned whether I really needed help. Nobody made me feel like I was making a big deal out of anything. The PFA simply helped me.
You will learn more about yourself in two hours in a counselling session than you will in 200 hours on a football pitch.
I remember going to that first session absolutely shitting myself. What are you doing? Are you sure you want to do this?
At first, I thought I’d made a mistake. Then, after 10 or 15 minutes, I felt a relief I’d never experienced before. I was with someone who understood where I was coming from without me even having to say an awful lot.
Counselling is the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. For most of my life, my emotions had been flat-lined. I just wanted to be numb. Counselling opened those emotions back up – both good and bad.
I don’t even really believe there is such a thing as a bad emotion anymore. When you’ve spent so long numbing everything, being sad can actually feel like a relief. Now, I’m allowed to be sad. And it’s okay to be sad.
Football had been part of my identity for as long as I could remember. When you’re young, you think: I'm going to be a footballer. That’s what I am and that’s what I do.
Counselling helped me understand who I actually was, what I wanted from life and what I liked and disliked. That changed the way I looked at football.
Playing in the Irish League requires a huge commitment, but another career has to follow it. I’d seen players reach their thirties, retire and suddenly have to work out what they wanted to do with their lives. I remember thinking I didn’t want that uncertainty.
As I started getting help, football also began to feel like a chore rather than something I enjoyed. It’s a game. It should be enjoyable. When I realised it wasn’t anymore, I knew it was time to step away.
People often ask me: “Do you miss football?”
For a long time, the answer was no. Now, I suppose I do – but I’m not sure whether I miss football or the release it used to give me.
I do miss the changing room. I miss the craic and the relationships with players and managers. But do I miss showing up to training and matches? No.
Do I think I’ll ever go back to playing football? No. But I’m okay with that.
My life looks different now. I started Sneaker Cleaner when I was 18 and it grew from a side hobby into a business. Later, I started my streetwear brand, STRT TLK.
The motto is: dress up, talk up.
I wanted it to be more than another clothing brand. The idea was about getting dressed up, meeting your friends, going for food or coffee and actually talking about your problems – something I feel men don’t do enough.
There’s an irony to that because when I started STRT TLK and was promoting the importance of talking about mental health, I was feeling at my worst. I was encouraging other people to talk while hiding a huge part of my own life.
Maybe subconsciously my brain was pushing me towards getting help.
I still go to counselling. Sometimes that’s once every month or two. At the moment, I'm going once a week because I’m struggling a bit. I don’t think I’ll ever stop completely.
The difference now is that I ask myself: How are you feeling? Are you okay? If the answer is no, I ask: What can I do to help myself?
Before counselling, I would never have asked those questions. I’d carry on until I either blew up or wanted to run away from everything. I’ve accepted that I’m not going to be okay all of the time. But when I’m not okay, I know there is help available.
I think that’s particularly important where I’m from. We can put on this mask where everything is fine: I’ll be okay next week. I’ll get over it.
We’re still a society where the attitude can be: pull your socks up and get on with it. But it doesn’t have to be like that.
STRT TLK
A year ago, I couldn’t have spoken this openly about my experiences. That tells me how far I’ve come.
If you’re a footballer struggling but haven’t told anyone, I understand why taking that first step feels frightening. Part of you can feel like you’re accepting defeat because we’re competitive people.
We’re also conditioned to help the person next to us. If your winger is struggling, you help them. If your full-back is struggling, you help them. But when you’re on your own and trying to help yourself, sometimes you don’t know how.
So, lift the phone. You don’t need to wait until you’re at breaking point. Even if you’re unsure whether you need help, there’s no harm in asking to speak to somebody.
It might feel like the scariest thing you can do. For me, it was the best thing I ever did.
You will learn more about yourself in two hours in a counselling session than you will in 200 hours on a football pitch.
Research shows that up to 38 percent of footballers suffer from mental health symptoms during their career.
FIFPRO, with the help of various mental health experts, created a toolkit for its member unions to help educate players about symptoms, stressors, stereotypes and how to empathise.