For all journalists these type of events will occur a number of times during a career. Some make their name from how they report or handle them. Most, like me, just do a job and move on. Hearing the stories of that day ten years ago reminds me that for many 'moving on' is not really an option.​

As we reflect, ten years on, on a dark day in London's history, we remember our city's proud history of dealing with whatever is thrown at it and look forward, together, to doing the same with the current challenges we face and those that are bound to confront us in the years ahead. For London is, at its very best, a place of optimism, of hope and of an age-old determination to build a future that is brighter than the past.

First there were some odd reports of a "power surge"; then came the slow understanding of the scale of events - and the news of the bus that was carrying Miriam. I was editing a magazine not far from Tavistock square, and I cycled out into the streets of Holborn. I remember the blankness on the faces of the crowds, people milling around - not sure whether to stay and work out what was happening, or whether to try to continue to get to work. Today we remember those London commuters, Miriam and rest of the 52 who died.

That evening, as I absorbed the news, I made a vow to travel by tube the next morning, because if I didn't, my thoughts were that I would not step foot on another underground train for fear of what it might bring. I remember my intense apprehension on the Northern Line platform at Waterloo as the tube doors opened to reveal an empty carriage.

Ten years later the memory has warped and weathered, but there are some odd things that stick in my mind. The man who told a woman next to me, as we ambled home in a daze, that she "wouldn't pull" that day because of the mascara running down her face. It was soot, and she'd been crying.

The role the internet plays in radicalisation is poorly understood. It is generally held that offline factors are at the heart of what turns young men and women to turn to violent extremism. Nevertheless, ten years after 7/7, digitally-driven radicalisation is a reality that must be at the centre of any attempts to counter terrorist narratives...

On 8 July 2005 I opened a copy of The Times and was disturbed to see a familiar face staring back at me from the front page. For a few minutes I struggled to work out why I knew this man. Then I realized it was a photograph taken on an assignment I had been on and I had interviewed the leader of Britain's first suicide bombers.

It will be little comfort to those people that SAN exists or that the London 7/7 commemoration is taking place, but over the months and years, those united by such terrible circumstances will start to help and support each other to cope and recover and to form a powerful force for social change.

This week, it is our duty to remember those who died in the 7/7 bombings and think of their families' loss. After that, we have to go to work finding ways to debate our world and the place of religion and race within it so that child - that universal, fearful child - can turn to us, rather than away from us. And that we as Londoners can feel safe in our lovely city. That is the real meaning of 'prevent'.

After a long agonizing 45 minutes of panic, anxiety and fright I heard a distant voice saying "it's police, we are coming to get you." I still remember the huge relief I felt that moment, it was the biggest sense of relief in the 22 years of my life. When I came out of 7/7 I believed I had been given a second chance.

The story of London on and after 7 July 2005, despite the pain and the anguish which will never abate, is a more optimistic story than that. People stopped to help. We mourned together. It changed us. The bombs brought fire and death; but I recall that one of the Olympic symbols is a torch. That was the fire which lit London three years ago, which London will carry forever, and in whose flickering light the names of those who died will live for evermore.

Whilst the London Bombings occurred 10 years ago this month, one only has to look at the cascade of news reports of traumatic events in the UK, and further afield, which affect people from all nations. For those who are affected by PTSD, or indeed by other mental health disorders related to traumatic exposure such as clinical depression, specific phobia or substance misuse, life after traumatic events can be very challenging.

It was a moment, and a morning of horror. I still don't understand it, still find it hard to go back there in my mind. It has changed me. There is still outrage, anger. Still a great sense of shock, of violation. But, to my surprise, a friend who was also there, spoke of seeing Jesus on the streets of Holborn that day. And there in the middle of the horror, He was.

Miriam Hyman was my little sister and only sibling. The Miriam Hyman Memorial Trust was established 2008 in response to Miriam's death in the Tavistock Square explosion on 7 July 2005. In 2008 her memorial: the Miriam Hyman Children's Eye Care Centre in Odisha, one of India's most deprived states.

I will never forget sitting there, with an oxygen mask on my face, watching a man being stretchered in to the hall, and I thought to myself, why is he only wearing one black sock? It took me a couple of seconds to realise he wasn't wearing a sock, his left foot was burnt to a crisp.

After several hours sitting in pubs and walking the streets we attempted a retreat back to the flat, only to be told that we wouldn't be let in 'for a few days'. Transport had re-started on a minimal scale by this time, but there was no way that we were getting south of the river tonight.