*A Note to My Readers
As I share my blog series “Reflections & Revelations,” reflecting on the pivotal moments that have shaped my life, I want to take a moment to acknowledge a few important things.
This series will delve into personal and sometimes difficult themes, including bullying, self-harm, depression, anxiety, promiscuity, drug and alcohol use, and other sensitive topics. These stories are shared with honesty and vulnerability, so I encourage you to proceed with care. If at any point you feel triggered or overwhelmed, please prioritize your well-being and step away. Your mental health is and always should be more important.
It’s also important for me to clarify that while my stories may at times sound like I am blaming or accusing others, that is not my intent. With age, reflection, and growth, I’ve come to realise that the people involved in these moments were navigating their own challenges and doing the best they could with what they knew at the time.
I don’t harbor anger, hate, or resentment toward anyone mentioned in these stories. Many of these relationships—though not all—have been healed through conversation, understanding, and time. Everyone was on their own journey, and I have found peace with that truth. To protect the identity of some of the people in my stories I have omitted their names.
This series is not about pointing fingers; it’s about exploring the events and experiences that have shaped the person I am today as I approach my 40th birthday. My hope is that by sharing these stories, others may feel seen, understood, and inspired to reflect on their own journeys and see that there is light at the end of the tunnel, and silver linings along the way.

My Early Years
I was born on April 24, 1985, in Gladstone Base Hospital, Queensland, Australia. The first of two daughters, my mum had originally wanted to name me Megan, but, when her friend gave her baby the same name, she changed mine to Linda. Three years later, my little sister arrived. As a child, I was shy and quiet, always hiding behind my mum whenever someone new spoke to me. But at home, I came alive—I loved dancing, singing, and anything creative.

My mum’s parents both passed away when I was about three years old, which meant I never had the chance to learn more about my German heritage. However, my dad’s parents lived in Gladstone, and we spent most weekends, school holidays, and sick days with them. Their home was filled with adventure and warmth—climbing the mandarin tree, running through the labyrinth of greenhouses, avoiding the spiky macadamia leaves, and cracking nuts for hours on the concrete with hammers. We snacked on fresh strawberries and carrots, admired their beautiful roses and orchids, and always left with a packet of chips and a chocolate.

With both of my parents working from the time I was young, I spent much of my early years with my grandparents, as well as my aunty and cousins. As I got older, my sister and I were placed with different babysitters. Unlike the warmth of my grandparents’ home, I often felt uncomfortable, out of place, and unwanted when I was with them. This sense of loneliness and longing for attention led me to a short-lived phase of telling small lies to capture my parents’ attention. But when one lie—about a teacher being mean to me—was exposed, I hated the feeling of being dishonest. I decided then that if my parents were going to prioritize work, I would withhold my affection in return. Where my sister would climb onto their laps, showering them with love and stories of her day, I withdrew, making them feel the guilt of their absence. Looking back, I can see why they gravitated toward her openness—it was easier than facing the resentment I carried.

In upper primary school, I took on the role of protector for my little sister, who was skinny, sensitive, and seemed so easy to break. If anyone hurt her, they had to answer to me. I remember one day her friends brought her to me in tears, covered in mud from a boy pushing her over on the playground. I stormed down, ready to confront him, but a teacher intercepted me, sending me back to my own area before I could act on my anger.

Every two years, we took family holidays, usually to the Gold Coast, Sunshine Coast, or Brisbane, where much of my mum’s family lived. These visits were a mix of excitement and boredom—we were raised to be seen and not heard, often confined to spare rooms while the adults talked. The real fun came when we visited the theme parks or spent time at the beach.

At school, I floated between different friends, never feeling like I truly belonged. By Year Seven, I had begun building a ‘tough’ exterior, speaking back to teachers—one of whom, despite my attitude, saw my love for reading and writing and encouraged me to embrace it. In the privacy of my bedroom I loved to read Paul Jennings and Goosebumps and I wrote stories of teenage runaways and lonely girls who eventually found their best friend. Then, in Year Seven, I found mine. We shared a sense of humor, had sleepovers, and for the first time, I felt like I had the friendship I had always dreamed of.

Toward the end of that year, a heated argument with one of my babysitter’s kids escalated into a full-blown confrontation with the babysitter herself. Furious, I grabbed my schoolbag and walked all the way home, sitting on the front porch until my mum arrived. When she finally did, she was angry, but I stood my ground—I was never going back to a babysitter again. Reluctantly, she agreed. From then on, I had a house key and got myself to and from school. Mornings, she would wake me before leaving for work, and I would get ready alone, riding my bike or walking to school. Some afternoons, the library van parked nearby, and I would browse books before heading home. For the first time, I felt independent and free.

But little did I know what high school had in store for me.

This is just the beginning of my story, a journey shaped by childhood experiences, quiet resilience, and the small but significant moments that made me who I am today. In this blog series, I’ll take you through the pivotal events that shaped my path—the struggles, the triumphs, and the lessons learned along the way.

Take care of yourself,
Linda x

Ask for Help
If you or someone you know is struggling, please seek support. Here are some Australian helplines that can help:

• Lifeline: 13 11 14 (24/7 crisis support and suicide prevention)
• Beyond Blue: 1300 22 4636 (Support for depression and anxiety)
• Kids Helpline: 1800 55 1800 (For young people aged 5–25)
• 1800RESPECT: 1800 737 732 (Support for domestic and family violence)
• Alcohol and Drug Foundation: 1300 858 584

You are not alone, and help is available.