*A Note to My Readers
As I share this blog series, ‘Reflections and Revelations,’ reflecting on the pivotal moments that have shaped my life, I want to acknowledge that these posts include sensitive themes such as bullying, self-harm, depression, anxiety, promiscuity, and substance use. These topics are deeply personal, and while I share them with honesty, I encourage you to proceed with care. If at any point you feel triggered or overwhelmed, please prioritize your well-being and step away.
I also want to clarify that while my stories may at times sound like I am blaming or accusing others, this is not my intent. With time, reflection, and growth, I’ve come to understand that everyone was navigating their own challenges and doing the best they could with what they knew at the time. I do not hold resentment toward anyone mentioned; in fact, many of these relationships have been healed through understanding and time. For this reason, I have changed or omitted some of the names in these stories. This series is about exploring how these moments shaped me, not about pointing fingers, and I hope it inspires others to reflect on their own journeys with compassion and courage.

Feeling Lost & Being Found
After my separation and losing my dogs, I felt incredibly lost. I had a job again, and a roof over my head, but none of it changed the emptiness inside me. I didn’t trust anyone. I shut down any emotions I had left and surrounded myself with people who, like me, were just trying to escape reality.

We had fun—weekends away, 4WDing, endless nights of partying. And for a while, that made it easier to ignore the mess inside me. But the deeper I got into that world, the more reckless I became. I put myself in situations that weren’t just harmful—they were dangerous. Looking back, I’m incredibly grateful nothing worse happened. But I won’t pretend I came out of it unscathed.

It wasn’t until years later, during training as a Youth Support Worker, that I realized I had been sexually assaulted more than once during that time. I had known, on some level, that what happened wasn’t okay. It made me feel sick, ashamed, and deeply uncomfortable. But I convinced myself it was “normal” because my friends had similar stories. I was told it was my fault—because I’d been drinking, because I was flirting. I wish someone had taught me about consent when I was younger. I wish I had known how to express my emotions instead of burying them and how to love myself instead of trying to find my self-worth through others.

I also learned once again, that females can’t be trusted. One night, I found out a so-called “friend” had been telling guys that if they bought her drinks and took her home, I’d sleep with them as payment. I had no idea until a guy screamed at me in the street, calling me a tease and a liar. I walked home alone that night, shaken by his words and the reminder that people could easily betray me.

But then, something unexpected happened.

One night, a friend pushed a random guy toward me in a club, telling him to dance with me. He did. We danced all night, and the next day, we exchanged numbers. I didn’t think much of it—he lived an hour away, and I figured that was the end of it.

But he, Tim, kept messaging. Then we started talking on the phone. And for the first time, I connected with a guy that wasn’t based on the physical. We would talk for hours about everything and nothing. It felt safe. It felt easy. And because he lived far away, he didn’t know anyone in my world—I could just be me.

For eight months, we stayed in touch, both dating other people but always circling back to each other. Every time we met in person, it felt a little awkward, but over the phone, our connection was always there. Then, on New Year’s Eve, something changed. He asked if he could stay at the motel I was staying at with friends, and we finally became something more than phone friends.

Long-distance wasn’t easy, but we made it work. We talked every day, took turns traveling to see each other, and built something that felt solid. Sure, we fought—especially when alcohol was involved—but something about Tim made me stay instead of running.

And then, one day, as he climbed into his car to leave after a visit, he said it. “I love you.”
My heart dropped. A lump formed in my throat. I panicked. I think I said something like, “Okay.” And then he drove away.
I stood there, stunned. My mum asked what was wrong, and I told her what happened. “Well,” she said, “do you love him?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I think I do.”
I felt awful for not saying it back in the moment, but as soon as he got home, I called and told him, “I love you too.”

A year later, Tim got a job transfer and moved to my town. We got a place together. Our relationship wasn’t perfect—Tim struggled to express himself, and I was triggered by things he said or did. But we stuck it out. We worked through it. And I think if we hadn’t built that deep friendship first, our relationship wouldn’t have survived.

Being with Tim was the beginning of mending my relationship with my parents. I wasn’t living under their roof anymore, and they could see that he was helping calm me down. We weren’t perfect, but who is?

Another year passed, and we moved into a house and got a dog—a Kelpie x Border Collie we named Bailey. She helped heal the ache left by losing Kirra and Rocky. Around that time, I also received a letter from Jennifer, the friend who had left that note on my car the night I left my ex. She told me she missed me, that she’d been overwhelmed with her own struggles, and that she wanted to reconnect.

Something in her words softened my heart. I sent her a message, and slowly, we rebuilt our friendship. It wasn’t easy—it took honest conversations, clear boundaries, and a lot of trust—but in the end, we found our way back to each other.

It felt like life was finally falling into place. And that terrified me.

If there was one thing my past had taught me, it was that when things seemed too good, disaster was just around the corner. So, I tested Tim. I pushed him away, trying to make him leave before he could hurt me. But he didn’t go. He didn’t always handle it perfectly, but he stayed.

He was the first person in my life who refused to give up on me.

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.