Vale and thank you Frank Moorhouse

Frank Moorhouse was on the periphery of my life.

In 1988 I moved to Nowra, Frank’s hometown when I married his nephew, Steven Moorhouse, and joined the Moorhouse clan. Arthur Moorhouse, Frank’s brother is Steven’s father.

I was a young woman entering the Moorhouse family, not yet a mother nor a psychologist but I was busy becoming both. Birthdays and Christmas included Frank and Arthur’s parents, Purthanry and Frank senior who warmly welcomed me into the family. I did not pay much attention to the fact that Frank and the oldest brother Owen were not at family events.  Indeed I did not meet Steven’s cousins, Owen’s children, until much later in my life.

Slowly Frank became this mysterious person to me. He was part of the family but rarely spoken about or seen. I knew that he was a renowned author and as an avid reader, it was not long before I was drawn to his books, starting with the Electrical Experience. My mind exploded because surely I was reading about our family! T. George McDowell, the central character in the Electrical Experience had to be based on Frank senior, who was also an electrician, business owner, pillar of the community, avid Rotarian, and living on the South Coast.  Was the conflict T George McDowell experienced with his daughter reflective of his relationship with Frank?

How were these weird, wonderful, sexually explicit, utterly compelling stories born of this conservative and traditional family in this small country town? I never heard Frank’s parents speak about his books, and I do not know if they read any of his work. Oh, how I wished I’d asked them.

Arthur tells me Frank senior would describe the books as “earthy” and that Purthanry never spoke of them however she kept a stash of newspaper clippings from whenever Frank was featured.

Steven recalls his parents had a copy of the American’s Baby, bound in brown paper in his home. It seems like shame and pride lived side by side in the family’s relationship with Frank, a difficult space for all to navigate.

We moved far from Nowra and we saw very little of Frank, though we have a signed copy of Loose Living from 1995 which I vaguely recollect him giving to us when we were visiting one Christmas.

Steven gifted me The Inspector General of Misconception when I obtained my Australian Citizenship in 2002 – writing “what better way to start your Aussie life”.  There was Frank again, of my life, but not in my life.

Connecting with Frank Moorhouse

Our connection to Frank strengthened when I wrote Not Forgotten: They called me Number 10 at Neerkol Orphanage. Arthur insisted that I send Frank the manuscript for review. I was reluctant to impose on this literary great and elusive uncle, and also fearful of the feedback I would receive. Arthur rang Frank in my presence and told Frank that the manuscript was on its way. I couldn’t back out. I doubt that I would have sent it without this push, and am so grateful to Arthur.

Frank’s generosity both humbled and emboldened me. He read the manuscript quickly, taking time to point out errors and discrepancies. Frank rightly questioned my futile need to create a rosy ending. He supported and encouraged me and then he referred me to his agent!

Dear Jo, as you know I am very careful about who I recommend to the Agency.

I rarely read manuscripts that are sent to me or when I am asked to read them — even by friends, especially friends.

But my niece-in-law Anne Moorhouse who is a therapist psychologist asked me to read this rather unusual non-fiction book Number 10 from Neerkol and I agreed to do so.

I have now read it and think that this could be a very important book.

It tells the story of Samilya, an orphaned and abused child, and her attempts throughout her life to find stability and peace with herself, to raise a family, and to gain compensations for her abuse. It is told partly by Anne and partly by documents, diaries, blogs, letters, and the words of Samilya herself and those around her.

I feel that it is powerful, well-constructed, affecting, but at times, gruelling, and, it is, of course, timely.

Would you be prepared to read it and consider it for publication? If so would you like the entire ms or the usual three chapters?

Very best, Frank

Frank warned me that his name would both open and close doors for me. Sadly, despite being recommended by the great Frank Moorhouse, and some initial interest I did not find a traditional publisher. I self-published, entering a literary world unknown to Frank. Frank’s recommendation kept me going and I repeatedly read his email, and others he sent when I lost hope. I told myself if Frank thought it was worth publishing, then I should do it. In 2021 I proudly sent Frank a copy of my book.

Franks Memorial

Frank’s life was remembered and celebrated by his family and friends at the State Library of New South Wales on 13/7/2022. I wonder what Frank would have thought of this coming together in his death of the many people who had loved him. In his life, he had kept family and friends separated.

As I listened to his friends speak I realised how little I knew of this complex man, and wished I had enjoyed more time with him. His friends spoke of his generosity to writers which I had experienced. They spoke of his boldness, curiosity, humour, and dedication to his craft which is evident in his work. They highlighted his advocacy for copyright laws to ensure that Australian creators receive royalties for the copying and sharing of their work.

Family and friends spoke of Frank’s love for the bush and his habit of taking himself off, often alone, for extended periods of time. I remember Arthur worrying about Frank during the sojourns to the bush. He was always relieved to know Frank had returned. Frank’s ashes will be scattered in his beloved Budawang Range.

The memorial speeches were bookended by two great men. Firstly Arthur Moorhouse, grieving and loving older brother, reflected on the lives of three boys together in Nowra and the early days of Frank’s career. Tom Keneally, Australian novelist, playwright, essayist and actor paid homage to Frank’s literary legacy and noted that Frank’s courage had changed not just the literary landscape of Australia but that he had also been a trailblazer for LBGTIQ+ understanding and acceptance in Australia.

All spoke of Frank’s love of long lunches and martinis. A few years ago we’d joined Frank for a long lunch at his beloved Automobile Club.

The Moorhouse Martini

So I’ll finish now and let you wander off to make a Moorhouse Martini. The recipe was sent to me by Frank’s niece, Karin Moorhouse. Karin also experienced Frank’s generosity to writers when she wrote No One Can Stop the Rain.

Here it is! …the recipe for Frank’s famed “Moorhouse Martini 🍸 “.

It once appeared on the bar menu at Bayswater Brasserie in Kings Cross, once a favourite lunch venue of Frank’s.

The Moorhouse Martini:

2 parts gin (London Dry Gin, or Bombay Sapphire) 

0.5 parts dry vermouth (Noilly Prat)

Green olive on a toothpick

The trick is to make sure the glasses are kept in the freezer until the moment of pouring. Use ice in the cocktail shaker. As cold as possible.

Sometimes he liked a “dirty martini.”  Just add one or two teaspoons of olive juice to the glass after pouring.

Vale Frank Moorhouse and thank you.

Post retirement purging plus 30 hours of audiobooks

Post Retirement Purging

I have no post-retirement plans. I am delightfully diary free, and thankful that the relentless ring of alarm clocks and scheduling of appointments is no longer part of my life. There is now space to respond to whatever turns up.  What I didn’t expect to turn up was a frantic desire to engage in a frenzy of cleaning and purging.

During the last month, I have cleaned under every bed, emptied every wardrobe, and decluttered the house. It took me endless hours, and our home was basically clean and tidy before I started. The hardest part of retirement has been letting my weekly cleaner go!

Housework does not excite me, It’s boring and tedious but I became obsessed with having the purge completed. It’s like I needed to create a transition between working and not working. So I plugged myself into audiobooks and four wise women authors kept me company as I culled and scrubbed.  Thirty hours later the purging was done and my mind is richer for the listening.

30 Hours of Audiobooks

How great are libraries! I downloaded all the books from the Brisbane Library for free via the Libby app.  No adding more books to my clutter-free home!

The Year the Maps Changed, Danielle Blinks– 6 hours

I didn’t even know this was a “younger readers” book. I fell in love with Fred as she explored what makes a family.  Her insight empathy, and capacity to love left me hopeful for the world.

Sorrento, Victoria, 1999. Fred’s family is a mess. Her mother died when she was six and she’s been raised by her Pop and adoptive father, Luca, ever since. But now Pop’s had to go away, and Luca’s girlfriend Anika and her son have moved in. More and more it feels like a land grab for family and Fred is the one being left off the map.

Even as things feel like they’re spinning out of control for Fred, a crisis from the other side of the world comes crashing in. When a group of Kosovar-Albanian refugees are brought to a government ‘safe haven’ not far from Sorrento, their fate becomes intertwined with the lives of Fred and her family in ways that no one could have expected.

 

The Book Woman’s Daughter, Kim Michelle Richardson – 10 hours

I was thrilled to discover there was a sequel to The Bookwoman of Troublesome Creek. I love libraries and stories about the power of books and The Bookwoman of Troublesome Creek combines both. Imagine a woman delivering library books by packhorse through the rugged, remote, and dangerous Kentucky hills in 1953. I loved the Book Woman’s Daughters and its exploration of racism (did you know there was a blue race?), feminism, power, injustice, friendship, family, and courage. The Bookwoman of Troublesome Creek and The Book Woman’s Daughter are must-reads.

The Book Woman's Daughter : A Novel - Kim Michele Richardson

Honey Mary Angeline Lovett, the daughter of the beloved Troublesome book woman, fights for her own independence with the help of the women who guide her and the books that set her free.

In the ruggedness of the beautiful Kentucky mountains, Honey Lovett has always known that the old ways can make a hard life harder. As the daughter of the famed blue-skinned, Troublesome Creek packhorse librarian, Honey and her family have been hiding from the law all her life. But when her mother and father are imprisoned, Honey realizes she must fight to stay free, or risk being sent away for good.

Picking up her mother’s old packhorse library route, Honey begins to deliver books to the remote hollers of Appalachia. Honey is looking to prove that she doesn’t need anyone telling her how to survive. But the route can be treacherous, and some folks aren’t as keen to let a woman pave her own way.

If Honey wants to bring the freedom books provide to the families who need it most, she’s going to have to fight for her place, and along the way, learn that the extraordinary women who run the hills and hollers can make all the difference in the world.

Grace’s Table, Sally Piper – 8 hours

I was drawn to this book because it’s about a 70-year-old Australian woman, presumably retired. It’s a tender, slow book tapping into the vulnerability, conflict, secrets and love of families.  The build-up of tension was captivating and the twist unexpected.

Grace’s Table by Sally PiperGrace has not had twelve people at her table for a long time. Hers isn’t the kind of family who share regular Sunday meals. But it isn’t every day you turn seventy.

As Grace prepares the feast, she reflects on her life, her marriage and her friendships. When the three generations come together, simmering tensions from the past threaten to boil over. The one thing that no one can talk about is the one thing that no one can forget.

Grace’s Table is a moving and often funny novel about the power of memory and the family rituals that define us.

 

 

Scrappy Little Nobody – 6 hours

I wanted something funny and light.  I had no idea who Anna Kendrick was until I googled her part way through listening to the book. The book is more wry than laugh-out-loud funny.  Anna invites you into her world as child actor, awkward teenager ambitious young woman.  Interesting enough but not compelling.  

Scrappy Little Nobody by Anna KendrickA collection of humorous autobiographical essays by actress and star of Up in the Air and Pitch Perfect.

Even before she made a name for herself on the silver screen starring in films like Pitch PerfectUp in the AirTwilight, and Into the Woods, Anna Kendrick was unusually small, weird, and “10 percent defiant.”

At the ripe age of thirteen, she had already resolved to “keep the crazy inside my head where it belonged. Forever. But here’s the thing about crazy: It. Wants. Out.” In Scrappy Little Nobody, she invites readers inside her brain, sharing extraordinary and charmingly ordinary stories with candor and winningly wry observations.

With her razor-sharp wit, Anna recounts the absurdities she’s experienced on her way to and from the heart of pop culture as only she can—from her unusual path to the performing arts (Vanilla Ice and baggy neon pants may have played a role) to her double life as a middle-school student who also starred on Broadway to her initial “dating experiments” (including only liking boys who didn’t like her back) to reviewing a binder full of butt doubles to her struggle to live like an adult woman instead of a perpetual “man-child.”

Enter Anna’s world and follow her rise from “scrappy little nobody” to somebody who dazzles on the stage, the screen, and now the page—with an electric, singular voice, at once familiar and surprising, sharp and sweet, funny and serious (well, not that serious).

What’s next?

An op-shop trip is planned for this week to ensure the clutter leaves the house.

Recommendations for books, please.

 

 

The superb gift of a book cover

We needed a book cover!

I’d finished the manuscript, but we still didn’t have a book cover that we loved. I needed to hold the cover lovingly in my hands. I wanted to feel the warmth of it when I hugged it to my chest but most of all I wanted Samilya and I to experience a burst of pride when we said, “this is our book”.  How could we get one photo to represent the trauma and complexity of Samilya’s life?

We weren’t without ideas and had two photoshoots where beautiful photos were taken. In my head I had this ethereal image of Samilya walking into the distance, holding the hand of her younger self. Both photographers captured the image as I’d described it. I loved the photos, and one of them appears in the book… but they didn’t call to Samilya or myself in the way that we needed for a cover.

We had a couple of old photos of Samilya as a child, but they were poor quality and not compelling.  We also had some photos of St Joseph’s Orphanage, Neerkol, but I didn’t want that ugly, horrible place on our cover.

I hate this book cover!

Then the publisher came up with a concept, which quite frankly I hated. They had another go, kept the concept but tweaked it, I hated it more. Friends I showed it to also disliked it. How do you diplomatically tell someone you hate their work? Aagh…. it wasn’t meant to be like this. They were meant to come up with a wonderful concept, I didn’t even see myself as a writer and I certainly wasn’t a cover designer. I was exhausted and burdened by the book, I so wanted to hand this part of the process over.  The publisher had finished with the manuscript, the pressure was on, only the cover was stopping publication.

Peyton Blake to the rescue!

In despair, I sat on the couch late on a Saturday night scrolling through stock photos “I’ll just buy something” I thought. Disappointed that although Samilya and I had both put our hearts into the book, the cover would be impersonal, disconnected from us. That Saturday night I found a picture of a sad girl sitting on a step, “maybe this will do”.

Then I turned to my friend who was staying with me, Peyton Blake. “You take photos of fashion models: do you think you could recreate this photo for me if I get a model tomorrow”. “I can do better than that photo” she responded.

First thing in the morning, I called the young model’s mum with inspiration brewing… “Can I borrow your daughter for a couple of hours, now?” I begged. Thankfully our model was available, and I could see Peyton eyes dancing with creativity and relishing the challenge of bringing our inspiration to life.

Then Peyton realised she was missing the specific memory card she needed to store images on her camera. That tiny memory card was held up in storage due to Covid, as Peyton was only passing through on her travels north. Peyton rang camera stores trying to locate a card but none were available close by. My heart plummeted, more lost time, more delays, did this mean no cover?

Peyton had seen billboard images advertised as being shot by a phone, so she convinced me that she could take the photos on her phone and get the quality we needed for the cover. We arrived at our location, a professional photographer and an apprehensive author, ready to ‘shoot’ using a mobile phone.

A professional photographer, an apprehensive author and a mobile phone on a shoot.

Peyton used her skills and experience to style the model, keeping my concept in mind, and we ventured around the neighbourhood, searching out steps and spaces to capture photos of a sad girl destined for a book cover.

As Peyton captured multiple images, she showed me the photos. She knew I wanted a specific look, but she also knew that it was about an elusive feeling, something that would convey the trauma, isolation and despair of Samilya’s life. The images were beautiful, but nothing quite captivated me…..yet.  The model’s mum suggested another location, by this point I was disheartened. I’d almost had enough but reluctantly agreed to one last stop.

The perfect photo for our book cover

This time Peyton took the model a short distance away, and mum and I stood back chatting distractedly in the distance. Peyton believed the model would relax with fewer eyes on her.  I believe it was in this quiet, intimate moment that Peyton and the model formed a bond and created the storyline. Then there it was, the perfect photo, of a sad, lonely, traumatised little girl captured empathetically and brilliantly by Peyton. There was no doubt in my mind that Peyton had captured exactly the photo I needed. Thankfully, Samilya wholeheartedly agreed.

Peyton later told me she felt great pride and satisfaction in being able to bring my image to life, knowing Samilya and I could now hold our book in our arms with the burst of pride I had hoped for.

And the model – that’s Samilya’s youngest granddaughter.

Our hearts are full of love, gratitude, delight and pride each time we pass our precious book over to a new owner.

Thank you, Peyton.

You can follow Peyton Blake on Instagram:

Peyton Blake Photography
emerge Models

 

Thanks for making me a better writer

I had no idea how to write!

Basket of the book Not Forgotten: they called me Number 10 at Neerkol Orphanage When I started talking with Samilya and playing with the idea of writing her story I envisaged a historical novel. My fantasy included crafting turbulently romantic scenes and bold acts of heroism. I soon realised that this was not the pathway for recounting the abuse and neglect that had been foisted on Samilya. I needed to place Samilya’s story in a historical context and provide a psychological overview of the impact of trauma on her life. The reality became hours of library and internet research and ploughing my way through tombs of government documents.

I had no idea how to write a novel and even less idea of how to write a biography. Yet still, I persisted. I needed to become a better writer.

I asked for feedback on my writing

Anne Moorhouse providing reader, who made Anne a better writer, with copy of Not Forgotten: They called me number 10 at Neerkol OrphanageI am blessed to be surrounded by a group of intelligent, educated, thoughtful readers in my life and so I reached out for help – I asked for feedback on my writing. Handing over my draft manuscript was terrifying. Here was my best – what if it wasn’t enough? I was tentatively stepping into the arena and asking for criticism. I could no longer see what needed work in the manuscript, I was drowning in it.

And so started a process where I would edit the manuscript, hand it to a carefully selected reviewer, listen to their feedback and make more changes – or not. Then I would repeat the process with the next reviewer. It was often hard to hear what my readers had to say. Sometimes it was excruciatingly painful. Always it was useful and they made me a better writer. The manuscript is far richer for their input.

I asked for a lot of feedback. By the time I finished 15 people had read and provided feedback on my writing – psychologists, social workers, academics, a well-known author, those with legal backgrounds, some who saw the bigger picture, some who were detail-focused, a few who loved me and one who didn’t know me.

During the feedback process, I became better at asking for what I needed my reviewers to look for.  I learnt to listen without becoming defensive. I became adept at choosing which feedback was useful and which wasn’t. I was full of gratitude for the time and consideration they took to share their thoughts with me. I have since given feedback on another writers manuscript and it’s a tough job.

 And then I engaged a professional editor.

This weekend we celebrated

Samilya Bjelic and Anne Moorhouse at celebration of readers who made Anne a better writerWith great joy this weekend Samilya and I presented our reviewers with a signed copy of our book Not Forgotten: They called me Number 10 at Neerkol Orphanage. It was wonderful to fill the room with friends who had read a draft version of the book and who understood how important Samilya’s story, and that of all Forgotten Australians, is.

 

Finding joy at a book launch

Somewhere to be and something to do

With both trepidation and excitement, Samilya and I launched our book Not Forgotten: They called me number 10 at Neerkol orphanage at Logan East Community Neighbourhood Centre (LECNA).

Samilya has volunteered at LECNA for over 10 years. LECNA is a special place for Samilya, inspiring a chapter in the book – Somewhere to be and Something to do.  As Samilya writes:

The Centre has been a lifesaver for me, they’ve helped me more than any Royal Commission or Forde Foundation. I did the Knowledge, Networking, Intervention and Training  Program with them, they call it the KNIT program, it’s a positive behaviour management program. That was good. For a while, I went to the Centre just about every day.  They gave me somewhere to be and something to do.

They clamoured for signed copies

While we always envisaged launching the book at LECNA, nothing prepared us for the love and support shown to Samilya on the day, and the days following.

Samilya signing bookThe launch took place after the volunteers monthly lunch.  Before we even had the books ready for sale we were besieged by Samilya’s colleagues and friends wanting a copy. Everyone clamoured for Samilya to sign their copy.

 

 

For a moment we felt like movie stars as we lined up for photos, with our own paparazzi.

People taking photos

Finding joy at a book launch

Book chat

Gillian Marshall, Executive Community Manager interviewed us and we did our first ever book chat to a wonderfully supportive audience. We finished with the painful, and seemingly endless silence that happens when you ask “Any questions from the audience?”  Then the real magic happened – one by one audience members stood up.

Samilya and three friends

They did not ask questions but instead, they made heartfelt addresses to Samilya. Recognising the importance of her story, the courage she has taken to ensure all Forgotten Australians are remembered, the contribution she has made to the centre and the work she had done in the community. There were promises to promote the book.  There were tears of sorrow and joy.

We never expected to find such joy at a book launch.

Thank you LECNA.

Buy Paperback – Click here 

Buy Ebook – Amazon Australia – Click here

Buy Ebook – Amazon US – Click here

 

Book Launch!! Not Forgotten: They called me Number 10 at Neerkol Orphanage

Just released

In 1954, two-year-old Samilya was abandoned by her migrant parents and placed in St Joseph’s Home, known as Neerkol Orphanage, outside of Rockhampton. After suffering years of insidious abuse at the hands of the Catholic nuns and priests, at age 10, Samilya is returned to her mother’s care where the trauma continued.

Not Forgotten: They called me Number 10 at Neerkol Orphanage, as told to Samilya’s friend, psychologist Anne Moorhouse, lays bare the lifelong effects of horrific childhood abuse and neglect. A psychological overview places Samilya’s trauma in developmental context, and explains Samilya’s mental health diagnosis, dissociative identity disorder.

Samilya is one of 500,000 so-called “Forgotten Australians” who were placed into childhood institutions from 1920–1970. Not Forgotten follows her marathon fight for elusive justice from the 1999 Forde Inquiry through to the 2013 Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse.

Each day Samilya fights to survive, to work, to have a home, to be a good partner and a loving mother. All Samilya has ever hoped for is an ordinary life.

Buy Paperback – Click here 

Buy Ebook – Amazon Australia – Click here

Buy Ebook – Amazon US – Click here

Stepping into the arena

The end is tantalisingly near. I can almost feel the weight of the book in my hand and smell the print on the page. This eight-year journey of narrating Ms Forgotten Australian’s biography has been much longer than I expected. We’re not quite there yet and I feel so impatient!  I’ve sat with frustration and a sense of injustice as we were delayed by legal matters. I’ve struggled to harness my patience while those who matter needed time to reflect on the impact the book would have on them. I’ve been exhausted and bored by the seemingly endless hours of work. Now, as we get much closer to having a book, alongside excitement I feel the bubbling cesspit of anxiety and fear.

Self-doubt makes an appearance

My mind wanders to thoughts like “What if people tell me the book is terrible?” “What if no one reads it” “Who am I to think I can write a book?” “What if my peers, or clients, think I’m an awful psychologist?” “What if there are mistakes I haven’t found?” “What if I’ve misrepresented Ms Forgotten Australian?”  “Self-publishing is not the same as being a real author!”

We all experience self-doubt but I refuse to allow self-doubt to ruin this time for me. I was musing over how to manage these thoughts and feelings when a client mentioned the Man in the Arena quote by Theodore Rosevelt and a talk on the topic by Brene Brown.

The woman in the arena

It is not the critic who counts; not the woman who points out how the strong woman stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the woman who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends herself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if she fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that her place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

Theodore Roosevelt (of course he wrote it about a man… but I like it better about a woman)

Invite your critics into the arena

 

The quote resonated with me.  I am about to step into the arena. I will be vulnerable and exposed as I present the best of me to the world in the form of a book. Why wouldn’t I feel some fear?  There will always be critics in the audience, both real and imagined. Brene urges us to reserve a seat for the four critics who will undoubtedly turn up.

 

  • Shame – the universal feeling that we all experience.  As a critic, it tells you you are not good enough.
  • Scarcity – This critic tells you that what you are doing is not original, that there are better educated, trained and articulate people than you. That what you are doing does not matter.
  • Comparison – it’s the death of joy.  My comparison critic will undoubtedly tell me I should not even mention the name, Brene Brown alongside my own.
  • Yourself – the critical internal voice with its familiar messages, known only to you.

So come on in critics and take a seat up the front. You will not tell me anything I haven’t already thought of. You are so familiar. I will see you and I will hear you but I will continue.  I am ready.  I will dare greatly. I will step into the arena and if I falter, as I may…I can always watch Brene Brown again, pick myself up and continue.

When did you step into the arena?


 

Waiting outside the psychiatrist’s office

Getting there

My friend is terrified of lifts so we climbed up the dingy stairwell to the third floor, only to find our exit door locked. After pointlessly pulling at the securely locked door a few times, we turned and scurried back down the stairs, to find the door we’d entered through also locked. Anxiety slowly rose in my throat. What if we’re stuck in the stairwell for eternity?

Empty office corridoor

Frantically, we descended further flinging open the lower ground floor door to the street, bursting out into the bright sunshine. We re-entered the building, now no option remained but to brave the lift. My friend scooted into the back corner, her body firmly pressed against the walls, arms folded against her chest. Her eyes startled with fear and yet also relieved that we were the only ones locked in the confined, windowless space that she hates so much.

The long hallway to the inner city psychiatrist’s office was bland and soulless, terracotta tiled floor, cream walls and mission brown fixtures – a flashback to the ’70s.

Waiting outside the psychiatrist’s office

The psychiatrist, unknown to my friend or me, greeted her warmly, even though we were 10 minutes early.  The psychiatrist had received a myriad of documents and clearly knew that this appointment was going to be distressing for my friend. Despite the kindliness of the psychiatrist, my friend looked pleadingly at me as she slowly followed her to the psychiatrist’s office.  She Continue reading

Lucky Cardinal Pell – now not so lucky

Lucky Cardinal PellCardinal Pell Sentenced!

Today, 13/3/2018, Cardinal Pell received a maximum sentence of six years for the sexual abuse of two teenage boys, after Sunday mass at St Patrick’s Cathedral in 1966.  He will be eligible for parole in three years and eight months.

While handing down the sentence Chief Judge Peter Kidd said Pell been “breathtakingly arrogant” and “brazen and callous” in his offending.

That Australia’s most senior Catholic leader has been found guilty of child sexual assault astounds me.  No longer is the Catholic church successful at covering up its heinous deeds.

Pell will, of course, make an appeal.

Take care of Yourself and others

Australia media is inundated with this news of this case and undoubtedly survivors of child sexual abuse will be triggered. Some ideas for caring for yourself and others can be found here: Taking care of yourself (or a loved one) in the wake of George Pell’s conviction

Survivors and Solicitors 

Pell is now guilty and imprisoned. It’s likely that others who have been sexually abused as children, and who have remained silent, may now be considering legal action against their perpetrators.  Before you embark on a marathon legal journey, read Survivors and Solicitors, and make sure you have a strong team with you.

Original Post 8 May 2018.

Cardinal George Pell, Australia’s most senior Catholic leader, was committed to stand trial for Continue reading

Easing the burden by reaching out

Burden of elephant supported by balloonsClients often experience a wave of relief after their first counselling session.  Their burden is shared and they feel joined on their journey.  That old saying, a worry shared is a worry halved rings true.

Sometimes, you don’t recognise how burdened you’re feeling until the load eases, as I experienced recently.   I’d been working on Ms Forgotten Australian’s biography for over four years and had come to the end of my skills, capability, and motivation. I knew I had to do more but had no idea Continue reading