When Your Past Won’t Stay in the Past: The Mental Health Toll of a 40‑Year‑Old Conviction

For most of my life, I’ve carried something I rarely talk about. I’m sharing this because I hope it helps other people who might be living through a similar situation — especially when it comes to conviction, stigma and trying to find work.

People often say I come across as positive. That’s not the whole story, but if you’re doing the same — holding things together on the outside while carrying a lot on the inside — then this article COULD HELP YOU, JUST BY KNOWING YOURE NOT ALONE. 

In 1985, I was convicted OF A CRIME under the law of joint enterprise when I had just turned 18. I have always maintained my innocence, but joint enterprise caught me anyway. The law has since been recognised as unfair and has changed, but for many people, the consequences last far longer than any sentence.

I’m not going to dwell on the details of the case. (IF YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW ITS DETAILED IN MY BOOK) What I want to talk about HERE is what comes after; what it’s like to carry an old conviction for decades, and to discover that, in some ways, the story never really ends — no matter how much society MAY think it does.

After I left custody, I changed my name, HOPING TO MAKE A NEW START, took an AAT accounts course and passed the qualification. From the early 1990s onwards, I worked continuously in accounts roles, paid my taxes, got a mortgage, and simply got on with life. None of that was a straight line. There were long periods of uncertainty, setbacks and doors that closed without explanation.

Then, in 2005, I was severely injured in the 7/7 bombings in London. I lost the lower part of my left leg (below the knee), sustained other serious injuries, and 26 people died around me. In the aftermath, I became involved in supporting other victims, speaking to the media and taking part in campaigns because of my positive outlook. For a while, the public story about me was: “7/7 survivor”, “campaigner”, “someone who turned trauma into purpose”.

Not long after, parts of the media published details of my 1985 conviction. Sensationalised. Almost overnight, the narrative shifted. i lost my job and my home amougst other things i worked hard for. I went from being described in some quarters as a “7/7 survivor” and “campaigner” to being labelled through the lens of that old case. For the first time since leaving custody, I began to find it genuinely difficult to get back into work.

My conviction is not “spent” in law, (THAT MEANS IT REMAINS ON MY RECORD) but even if it were, the online reality would be the same: old articles don’t expire, and a single Google search can drag a decades‑old case back to the top of the page, ahead of everything POSITIVE I’ve done since.

That creates a strange kind of limbo. In law, my conviction is still active. In life, it often feels as though I’m expected to have moved on — while at the same time being reminded, again and again, that I haven’t.

For anyone in this position, the stress is constant: the fear of rejection, the endless background checks, the feeling that one search can undo years of effort. That pressure doesn’t just affect job prospects. It wears on your mental health — your sleep, your confidence, your sense of hope.

If rehabilitation is real, it shouldn’t come with an invisible asterisk that says “unless someone Googles you”. And it shouldn’t come with a hidden mental health cost that nobody talks about.

I don’t expect every door to open to me. But I do believe that if we, as a society, want rehabilitation to mean something, it has to be more than legal jargon. It has to include the possibility of being seen beyond your worst day — and support for the stress that comes with trying to rebuild.

I’m still the same sensitive person who tries to think positive whenever I can. I just don’t want silence to be the price I have to pay for trying to get my life together and move forward.There are still days when I hesitate before applying for things, because I assume the answer will be no.

So I’m choosing to speak — quietly, carefully, but very clearly. And I’m choosing to believe that it’s never too late to rewrite your story — for myself, and for anyone else navigating the same system.

Who this article is for:

This piece is written with four groups in mind:

- Anyone living with an old conviction who feels stuck in the past or finds it hard to move forward in work and life.  

- Policy makers, media professionals and institutions (employers, regulators, charities, criminal‑justice bodies) who make decisions about “risk”, “reputation” and rehabilitation.  

- People who have been through similar experiences— caught up in cases as teenagers, shaped by joint enterprise or other laws, and now trying to rebuild without being defined by their worst day.  

- Mental health charities and support services who want to understand how long‑term stigma, job insecurity and constant disclosure affect stress, anxiety and wellbeing.

Four points of advice if you’re in a similar situation

If you find yourself in a similar nightmare — an old conviction that keeps resurfacing and making work harder — here are four things that have helped me:

- Separate your legal reality from your lived reality.

  The conviction exists on paper and online, but your work history, contributions and growth are equally real. Keep a clear record of your employment, training and references so you can show the full picture when opportunities arise.

- Control the narrative where you can.

  You may not be able to erase old articles, but you can add new ones. A personal website, a thoughtful LinkedIn profile, or a short article like this can sit alongside older search results and give people a more complete view of who you are now.

- Choose your moments to disclose, and how.

  You don’t have to lead with your conviction in every conversation. When disclosure is necessary, keep it brief, factual and forward‑looking: what happened, what you learned, and what you’ve done since. That shifts the focus from the past to the person you are today.

- Protect your mental health as part of the process.

  The stress of constant background checks and feared rejection is real. Where you can, build in support: a trusted friend, a counsellor, a support group, or a mental health charity that understands conviction and employment. Treat looking for work as something that needs emotional backup, not just a CV