The Josh @thejosh1980 - Tumblr Blog

You don't even know why, and you can't seem to cry.

When I first began working in suicide prevention, I attended 'Voices Of In-Sight', training facilitated by Roses in the Ocean. The workshop gave me an opportunity as a peer worker to reflect on my lived experience and learn how to share my personal story safely and effectively.

95% of what is written below I wrote during the workshop, and at the end of day 2, I shared my story with my fellow classmates. This is not an exhaustive list of lessons learnt, or even a small percentage of my recovery story, but a moment in time along my recovery journey.

Today I celebrate 10 year sober, what better way than to share my speech with you:

“I don't want to write a song about being out of my depth,

but I can tell you now I'm so close, so close to the edge.

How many times have I been here in my life?

Do I have what it takes to fight, fight to survive?”

Hi, I'm Josh, and I am a musician and peer worker with living experience of suicide, self-harm, mental health, and alcohol misuse. What I just said are the lyrics to a song I wrote about some of my feelings on suicidal thoughts.

At the time I could rock out to 1000s of people in clubs, concert halls and arenas, however today, speaking to a small group of my peers, this is very challenging for me.

As a touring musician living in Europe far away from my home, family, and friends down under, I performed from Moscow to Las Vegas and many points in between. I was rockin' and rollin', drinking, being the life of the party, and focusing my energy on feeling good at the risk of damaging my relationships, my own mental health, and my well-being. I thought this is what everyone did. We drank to forget, we partied to forget, and we didn't talk about the deep, the meaningful, and the painful.

I didn't know I had a choice.

While on stage or around fans I kept it together for years, acting like it was all good and I was the rock star I was expected to be, with not a care in the world. Sometimes, the good times were fun and genuine, and I do appreciate those times.

However, deep down there were times my world was crumbling around me and I felt things I didn't know how to acknowledge, process, or express. I felt shame, pain, and often very overwhelmed. I didn't always know where these feelings and thoughts came from, and they were very real. On the odd occasion I knew what event elicited an emotional response from me, I'd criticise myself heavily for feeling, what I now know are, usual human responses.

Although I was in my early 30s, it truly feels like a life time ago. I recognized I had a choice, a choice to learn about myself, or, remain trapped in a downward spiral. It was at that moment, when I recognized the fork in the road, that I began my journey of self-discovery.

I learnt 3 things along the way that helped develop my growth and build awareness of myself:

1 - It's OK to ask for help, in fact, it is necessary.

2- When I share my story, it’s an opportunity for me to learn too.

3 - There's strength in sharing my vulnerabilities. Asking For Help:

“I can't tell you what I don't know

I just came here to steal the show and,

You don't know what it's like, to be so alone”

When I was at one of my low points, feeling completely alone in the world, I wrote the above lyrics. At the time, I wasn't sure how to express my feelings of loneliness to those close to me. So I did was I was good at, what was expected of me, I carried on with the show.

For a very very long time I struggled, as I continued to deny myself help.

Over the years, some people offered, suggested or told me that they had received help, in various ways, and I declined them all as possibilities. I did my best to maintain my fool-proof tough guy exterior.

I was scared help would change me. I was scared that by reaching out I'd no longer be who I was. I identified as weak, scared and sensitive. Ironically, I was unhappy, uncomfortable and unloving to myself.

During my 20s and into my 30s, my mind was polarised between 'I can take on the world' and 'I am not worthy of this world'. I was “on holiday” for the foreseeable future, enjoying what Europe had to offer without a care for my future. At the same time, I felt that my life was slipping away. I rolled with the punches, except I wasn't really rolling, I was actually getting KO'd round after round.

So, there I was, at a part time job I had between gigs, after a family relationship breakdown. My grandparents had disowned me, I'd just finalised my divorce, and didn't quite know what the future had in store for me. At the time I had a partner, and I felt alone in a foreign land and questioning, was this holiday about to end?

One morning, I broke down at work, I couldn't stop crying. It was all too much, and I just couldn't go on anymore. It all got too much: too much weight on my shoulders, too much pain in my heart and no way out. I was at my wit's end with myself and my situation. Then, a way out came to mind. I knew this feeling, I had these thoughts before, but this time it was even stronger, more real. This was another deep deep hole I was falling into.

Honestly, I can't remember exactly how it all happened, or how my thoughts got to the point, but there was a moment of clarity. That morning, I recognized I had to make a choice; fall deeper into the hole on my own, or ask someone to help me out of it. It was at this moment I first asked for help. It was the breakthrough I needed to begin my journey.

My then partner helped me through the next few days, and the German healthcare system, bit by bit, revived me back to life. Acknowledging my feelings, worries and strengths. I was immediately offered weekly therapy, which I continued with various doctors for the next 8 years.

Over time, I started feeling confident enough to express my feelings and ask for help from my close friends, and they gladly stepped up to the plate. I started to develop deeper, closer, and more meaningful relationships with myself, and my friends. Our conversations stopped being superficial drunk party favours and became discussions about mental health over a cup of coffee. Very few back then knew about my suicidal thoughts, and just knowing I had their support, someone who listened, helped me through those dark times.

Asking for help was a pivotal moment in my life. It changed everything, and opened up a world of choices beyond my expectations. I began to learn more about myself, that “faking it” only could get you so far, and that I needed the helping hand of others to help me grow.

The path to recovery can't be walked alone.

Sharing my story:

“Sometimes I wish that an accident would happen to you or me,

Then I might not have to live with this daily hostility.

Sometimes I wish that I was just a make believe,

Then I might stop to live in this fantasy.

Don't you see? Don't you see?”

I didn't want to talk to anyone, until I started talking.

I met a therapist a few days after my breakdown, who listened with compassion, warmth, and care. The day I started therapy, there was just a trickle coming out of me, but eventually I felt the flood gates open.

As time passed, and I started talking more and more with my therapist, I began to learn that there's strength, learning, and growth in talking about those “things”, I used to hide. These things ranged from the mundane to the deep, dark, and scary. Over time I was encouraged to look at myself in the mirror and realised I was able to reflect, make choices, and change for the better. The fear of change I had in the past, began to disappear.

It wasn't always easy then, in fact it can be downright painful, and it isn't always easy now, but I learnt more about my true self, my thoughts, my feelings, and my behaviour. I learnt that I could choose how to interpret events, become aware of my thoughts, feelings and behaviour, and choose how I respond. I started to find control, and with that control came freedom.

A whole new world of choices opened up.

Over the years I slowly opened up to sharing my story to more folks. At first in song, hiding behind lyrics, melody, and bravado, but over time I started to share my deepest fears directly with people close to me. The response was heart-warming and encouraging, I was often reminded how far I'd come, the inner strength I was building and many folks shared similar experiences with me. Sometimes we cried together. Sometimes we held each other. Sometimes we sat in silence together.

I learnt that I wanted to connect with others, and learn from deep and meaningful communication.

From talking and writing lyrics, I began to journal which became a blog I would post from time to time. It all started during the COVID lockdowns in 2020, when my, newlywed, wife and I were trying to move from Germany back to Australia and we became stranded in Germany for a couple of months. The confusion, frustration and challenges we faced were too great for me. Once again, I went back into the hole with only one way out.

I had lost sight that I had a choice.

To keep friends and family informed of the situation, I started writing about the events of the day, the phone calls to airlines and immigration, and I would share these on social media. The support we received started to help me out of the hole, and I began to see I had options.

Over time my blogging became a place to share my life with those who are now far off in Europe, and also with strangers who may connect with my experiences. It became a place where I could process my thoughts and feelings, constantly questioning myself, as I typed, to support my personal growth. I could copy, paste and edit until I found a flow, a resolution or maybe an open question. Often times I wasn't sure where the blog would take me or when it was finished, but at some point, I knew I had acknowledged, I had processed, and eventually shared what was on my mind. I found that once I posted online, I was releasing myself from the weight, the pain, the frustration within me.

I found strength in being accountable, open, and true to myself through sharing my story.

Vulnerability:

“I wasn't the brightest child in town

I wasn't the highest climber around

I did what I had to do

To get through the day, just like you”

When vulnerability becomes a strength.

I was rarely given examples in my younger years that it was OK for a man to show emotion, to cry, or to express his worries.

Before our wedding, my wife and I spoke about our mental health and some of our experiences, but I personally didn't go into detail regarding my suicidal thoughts. I mean, I was in love and, at the time, a lot of that dark stuff felt far away, off in the distance. She knew I was damaged goods, and yet she still proposed to me.

The first time I cried in front of my wife, I felt like an open wound, barring my soul, my fears and my pain. I broke down that I had felt worthless, hopeless, and suicidal. I was in the hole, deep in the dark hole.

Honestly, in that moment I expected to be cut down to size, told to man up, stop crying, get over yourself.

She responded with love, care and compassion. She understood my vulnerability and acknowledged how much strength it took to speak those words. She held me, and continues to hold me today.

I have consistently been overwhelmed with the compassion and caring people have shown in response to sharing a vulnerability. It has help me build strength and confidence within myself, and it has fostered a deeper connection with myself and others.

Over time, my vulnerability has given me so much strength, I can now choose to sit with someone, and help them when they’re in their own hole, their vulnerability, and their pain.

Vulnerability has given me strength to know I don't have all the answers, and be OK with that. It showed me that it takes great strength to share what's really going on. It allowed me to feel hope, and therefore provide hope for others.

Vulnerability has provided me with validation.

Many of my friends, fans and family still don't know about my living experience. Today, when I share my story, once again I am vulnerable. When they hear me speak, I hope they will feel my courage, see my strength and understand my words.

In conclusion:

Now, here we are at the point where I give my conclusion, my big call to action. I book-end my story. You'd think I'd have written lyrics for this too, right? I'm sorry to say, I haven't written any.

There is no closure to my story. There isn't an epilogue, this isn't an encore...

I'm still here... I'm still owning my choices... I'm still growing... I’m still learning... I'm still doing the best I can... I'm still asking for help... I'm still sharing my story... I'm still finding strength in my vulnerabilities...

My journey continues, and my story isn't over.

Many times, I could only see one way out. I was blocked in, trapped, barricaded. For many this becomes a protective factor, for others it's a constant threat, and for some it sneaks up on us when we least expect it.

Our own personal journeys are like the roads that cover this vast country, with many exits, alternative routes and traffic lights. When we choose to grow, we can learn to navigate those roads as best we can, and direct our lives.

We are all driving down the road, and we all have a choice how to drive down that road. Some folks are over-taking others, some changing a tire on the hard shoulder, some are on their horn, and some are still learning to use their indicators. There are those who don't have a map, and others who are tech savvy, using google maps on their fancy phones. Some may decide to pull over to ask for directions.

And some of us just took a turn off because there’s a detour ahead.

For a long time, I was driving around lost. On the outside I was all confidence, cruising around, but on the inside, I had no idea where, or who, I was, just following the traffic, hoping no one would notice my insecurities. I didn’t want to ask for directions, because admitting I was lost meant shattering the fragile exterior I had built up over the years.

I felt there just wasn’t any choice available, suitable, or attainable. Worst of all, I thought I knew it all and in my despair, I wanted it all to be over. Looking back, I just didn’t know better, because I didn’t ask the hard questions, and because I was scared of the honest answers. Life is harder, when I’m ignorant, unaware, and lost.

Over time I found growth, freedom, and strength in learning about the choices available to me and then making, sometimes hard, yet healthy decisions. It isn’t always easy, and each situation can be as confronting as the last, but it's sure been one hell of a road trip, that I now know has endless sunsets and sunrises for me to enjoy.

There are roadmaps all around if we look and reach out for them, we don’t have to feel lost or alone on our journey.

Thank you for listening,

Josh

#mental health #recovery story #suicide prevention #mental health matters #mental health support #roses in the ocean #voices of insight

Cause I've got one hand in my pocket...

I've been thinking about this blog of late. You know, this place here where I write down my thoughts, process them a little (or sometimes a lot), share, and then, once uploaded to Tumblr, have a kind of weight lifted from my shoulders.

This blog started as a place to share our experiences with being stranded in Germany during COVID, and became a therapeutic support for me during hard times.

By writing it down (well typing actually), asking the question 'Why?' over and over again, I was often able to dig deep, find clarity, and come to realisations I hadn't previously, no matter how much therapy, chats or support I had received with those around me in the past.

Not that the therapy, chats and support haven't been beneficial. In fact, the thought of journaling or writing things down 15 years ago would have sounded crazy, pointless, and silly, if it hadn't been for the therapy, chats and support.

With each moment of personal growth that I had in the past, it prepped and helped me for the future. I definitely have become more open to the idea that anything is worth trying, and maybe even trying a few times, to reap the benefit. I have tried art therapy, I have tried laughing yoga, I have leaned into my vulnerabilities and come out swinging with strength and growth that many years ago, I'd have baulked at.

So yeah, I feel like I have come a long way... Although the journey is far from over...

We just had Christmas... The festive season... The time of year we share moments with our loved ones, give and receive presents, bring joy to our world, have a week off work and eat our own body weight in mince pies, turkey, ham, Christmas pudding and trifle.

It's also one of the hardest times of the year for many people.

Part of my work is to connect with folks who are rough sleeping, low income, struggling with their mental well being, and often times struggling to make sense of the world around them and their lives within that world. For various reasons some may not have close friends or family that they can spend Christmas with. Because of the social pressures, advertisements, consumerism and Christmas music at the local super market there's no chance to get away from it. I have struggled during the festive season continuously throughout my life. And once the eating, the presents, and family are all done, there's the pressure of a big party and resolutions for New Years, and then my birthday rears its ugly head.

For many years, as December comes creeping in, I would begin to feel the dark clouds rollin' in, and the storms would be there on and off until February.

Sure, for most of that time I could drink to help me through, and I think I hid it OK, but those close to me, particularly partners, would know something was up. If I had shows to play or DJ, I could cover it up OK, because I had a job to do. Distraction helped a lot... A good coping strategy, kind of, mostly, sometimes... It got me quite far, but you know the story about sweeping things under the carpet...

I know that my sadness around Christmas has connections to my childhood. My parents, sibling, and I had our last Christmas together when I was age 4 in Melbourne.

We have a family video from that time. I received a treasured Wombat stuffed toy from my Nan, who I named 'Fatso' (from the TV show “A Country Practice'). As a child I gave him a hard time and his nose and ears have mostly rubbed off, his hands disappeared at some point in the 80's and his mouth has been sewn back on several times and now I just use a marker pen to give him a smile. Fatso has travelled the world with me, sometimes he's been back stage at shows, sometimes he'd had to stay home because he was grounded, but he and I have been through thick and thin together. A reminder of happy nuclear family days.

Mum received an ironing board.

Less than 6 months later the family felt the pain and conflict of separation, and moving away to the Northern Rivers. It wasn't easy before, during and after for any of us.

And so, it was 40 years ago, that my conflict with Christmas began.

None of this was clear to me back then... I was just a child...

My sibling and I would sometimes have Christmas with Dad, sometimes with Mum...

I remember we took our first flights together, without a parent, when I was 5 years old. I am sure it was with ANSETT, at the gate, one parent would introduce us to an air hostess, who would take care of us until we reached the other parent, 2 hours later. One time, on the return flight to Gold Coast airport, we both were terrified as we banked over the ocean to come around to land, we thought we were going to crash. I can't remember any adult correcting us on our fear, and it wasn't until we were over land again that we calmed down.

There's my step family too, and both of those relationships with my parents ended and I often had to choose between visiting Mum, Dad, or step Dad... My options grew at various points in my life, but the choice never came easy. The feelings and emotions around this time of year were conflicting, if I chose one, I'd be hurting the other... If I enjoyed my time with one, I was hurting the other.

And so began my belief that I was not worthy of love or affection, and particularly on family holidays, because my family weren't together, I did not deserve joy. Part of the response to experiences I had as a child, was that I took on the responsibility of my parents' emotional well being, and because I couldn't make everyone happy... Well, I wasn't a good person.

When I moved to the UK at age 22, things didn't improve around Christmas time either. At the time I hadn't 'moved' to the UK, but there was no exit strategy either. I was enjoying my 'holiday', and if things got too much or I ran out of money, I could always go back home and start again. In the end, that mindset kept me in Europe for 18 rollercoaster years.

I remember my first Christmas in Nottinghamshire.

It was all new and exciting to be overseas, and the British weather was actually fun, it was so different to Australia! The winter days were short, but the Christmas lights were on, and my partner at the time spoilt me rotten with just about anything I asked, all the while making the house homely, warm and inviting. She is Swedish, IKEA was just down the road, you get the idea...

I had no idea about my neurodivergence, and I was just a full on Aussie kid abroad, mostly ignoring social cues, drinking like a fish, and eating like a pig.

Eating and drinking my emotions. Distractions, and some pushing it under the carpet.

The most vivid memory I have during all the festivities on Christmas Day, was upstairs sitting in our bedroom weeping. The dark clouds had rolled in. Living in the UK sure was exciting! Downstairs there was a table full of food, 3 different types of meat, and 3 different types of potato!! Boxing Day we were going to the pub, and lighting fireworks was legal in this country!

What's not to enjoy?

In that moment, none of that mattered, I was feeling something I didn't understand, and I just needed to cry.

Crying can come with its own set of feelings too, guilt, shame, embarrassment... Not only was I feeling low (depressed is the word I'd use these days), but I was angry at myself for feeling low when all these amazing things were happening around me.

I am sure it happened previously, however it definitely happened that day, where I said to myself 'You shouldn't be feeling this way, stop it. You shouldn't be crying, what is wrong with you?'.

Then, my father in law just walked in the room!

A Swedish viking of a man, strong as an ox, great with his family and someone who I came to love very much. He sat and chatted with me, gave me a hug, which just made me cry even more. Surely I don't deserve any love right now, I am crying, snot everywhere and you're so strong, and I am weak.

He shared with me his experiences when he left Sweden to live in the UK. He and I had common ground. We both left our homeland in our early 20's for love, and both struggled during Christmas time. He said he cried at Christmas too, particularly in the early days. It was a beautiful moment, having someone who understood where I was coming from, even if I didn't quite understand it myself.

During that time, I felt some relief that I didn't have to choose between which parents to visit at Christmas, because I chose none. I was living too far away, and unless there were plans made in advance, I didn't have any one-on-one time. In the 18 Christmases I was away, I think I was home for 2, and I had family visit for 3.

Over the years in England, I continued to struggle during Christmas, New Year and my birthday, and didn't focus any energy into understanding what was happening within me. I mean, therapy? No way man...

I did change my drinking habits over the years, mostly increasing my intake. However, in England, after an intense 4 day session at my first Hemsby Rock and Roll Weekender in October 2002, I decided I wouldn't drink between the weekender until Christmas. I think I kept that up continuously while in England for 6 years.

2+ months without a drop.

Come Christmas Day, with my alcohol tolerance low and my anxiety, depression, hyperactivity and need to get through the day high, I was set for beer o'clock as early as socially tolerable. When I moved to Germany in 2008, I continued with the abstinence, usually for the month of January, including my birthday. Silvester (German for New Years Eve) was a big night. I'd have a show, and they were all-night affairs. I could drink from sundown to sun-up, all the while playing, entertaining, laughing with friends and giving my liver a good work out.

Then I'd wake up 1st January, and not touch a drop until 1st February.

Deciding not to drink on my birthday became a way to punish myself, because like Christmas Day, I should not be enjoying myself. I am miles away from family, Christmas continued to be a painful experience, and I do not deserve kindness, joy, or love at this time, from others or myself.

In fact, I felt I didn't deserve any love or joy, at any time of the year.

Over the years, the negative self talk crept in and it didn't leave, and so my feelings that I was not a good person increased. I believed I was a bad person, I was not a good friend, I was not a good partner. I knew I hurt people (some times repeatedly) and it was all my fault. I felt shame for who I was, and what I did to others. At the time I didn't consider the pain I was causing myself.

Don't get the wrong idea, there were many many fun times too. My life has been something like a hike from the coast along the length of the Great Dividing Range here in Australia, or maybe like hiking from the Bodensee to Matterhorn.

The highest of highs, and the lowest of lows.

It wasn't like every waking moment I wished I was dead, but those moments were there. And it wasn't like I could get the highs to plateau and I could maintain that euphoric feeling that allowed me to feel a little love for myself.

I treated myself like the toxic person I fully believed I was, and in doing so, treated others around me accordingly. I was a walking talking example of that old saying 'you can't love someone until you love yourself'.

My past romantic relationships were terrible. We often felt the highest of highs, but the lows were so low that I can barely go back to those days. I do not like how they played out; how I played them out. I was not a kind or loving person. How could I be? I was not kind or loving to myself.

Self loathing, and low self worth leading to projection, and then my partner's reaction. This confirms my own feelings about who I am and what I deserve, leading to lower and lower feelings of self worth and self hatred. More projection, more reactions, more frustration... you get the picture...

The spiralling circle completed itself from my first serious relationship.

My lack of insight did not help one bit.

In early 2012, when I was struggling with the aftermath of my divorce, I finally asked for help. Surprisingly, I remember most of the day clearly. I was having a panic attack, and I couldn't focus at work. Although we never showed each other vulnerability before in our relationship, I called my partner and asked for help.

It was the beginning of my recovery.

It took 3 years to recognise the unhealthy affect drinking had on me. I usually draw a line in the sand at this point in time, where I had the most significant recognition and made the most healthy decision in my recovery journey.

I engaged in almost 8 years of weekly talk therapy in Germany, and continue 'ad hoc' sessions here in Australia.

During those years of therapy, my therapist pulled out, sometimes dragging, kicking and screaming, the details of my experiences, and helped guide me to acknowledge and reflect on my interpretation of those experiences.

And when he felt the time was right, he would challenge me...

So as the dark clouds of Christmas began to roll in, he challenged me good and proper, with just one statement. I was talking about how low I usually felt around Christmas time, and that I wasn't looking forward to another wasted festive season sitting in my self loathing and negative mindset. That I rarely felt real joy in December or January, even though I have shows, I party and I laugh. That's a facade that I keep up because it's part of my job and I don't want to let anyone around me down.

He'd heard a lot of it before, and listened without interrupting me. Once I finished, he responded: 'You know, you are allowed to feel happy at Christmas time'.

That sentence literally stopped me in my tracks. Almost immediately I felt a shift in the direction of my thoughts. I questioned my therapist: How could he even say that? What does that mean? Is giving myself permission to feel happy something I can do? How do you give yourself permission to do that? Why hadn't I ever heard of this before?

From then on, we talked in more detail how I could break my 30+ years of habitual depressive festive seasons and low self love, not to mention other things that were keeping me stuck now that my therapist had opened the flood gates.

That was the day the seed was planted.

I don't think I can put into words the amount of personal growth and learning I had from all those years of sessions. Countless times my therapist challenged me, then picked me up, supported me to process and gain further understanding about myself.

Over time, I learnt that fighting feelings creates a barrier for processing and learning about my emotions and their causes. Once I learnt to acknowledge my feelings, without judgement, I began to learn how to question where those feelings might be coming from, and how best to work through them in the future.

Looking back to my first Christmas Day in England, I know now it was OK to feel low and to express that by crying. It was OK to feel guilt and sadness too. When I look deeper, those feelings were wrapped around the choice to leave my family and live in the UK. It's natural that I would miss them, and it was OK to have a good time without them too. It certainly doesn't mean my choice to leave equals I am a bad person.

I learnt to disconnect the dots.

He helped me learn to love myself, and that my past choices (particularly those made as a child), don't make me a bad person. These days I can live with a decision that may not have turned out as expected, because I know I made the best decision I could on the day. We talked about how to build self love and self worth through practising self-compassion, forgiveness and self care.

I learnt to build awareness surrounding my own capacity to set and achieve tasks, to respond to others requests or to engage socially. These days I am more aware of how much and what type of energy I have, and learning to be OK with putting myself first by saying no. Perhaps the biggest thing I've learned has been that saying 'No' is OK. The next item on the learning agenda for me is to say no, without giving a reason, or defending the decision.

You know, small steps, it's a life long journey.

We worked through my beliefs and values surrounding my relationship with myself and others, including what it means to forgive, both myself and others. That's been one rough journey, particularly when it comes to my family dynamics, and how those dynamics have influenced me over the years. I have learnt what is important to me in my relationships, and how I can have a better relationship with myself.

It's taken several years to really shift those beliefs, and a few more to put all I have learnt into practice. It's taken the last 10 years unlearning the first 30 years!

During those years in Germany, not only did my therapist help me in the moment, but he helped me build up my skills to challenge myself too, that seed he planted sure is growing!

These days I am able to ask myself 'why?', and then 'why?' again, without judgement, often finding answers, while gaining insight and awareness into who I am, and how I want to be. I am often finding myself to be more and more reflective, and I have learnt to take accountability and responsibility for my actions.

All of these changes have provided my heart with the love that it needs, and my mind the rest it needs to find peace.

These days, most days, I consider myself to be a good person.

Sometimes I still catch myself heading in the direction of the old ways, or maybe it's pointed out to me by someone close. In that respect, I'm grateful that I learnt that I am perfectly imperfect, and I can forgive myself for such 'terrible transgressions' in my recovery journey.

Over the years, I have continued to struggle with my depression and self love. For example, being stranded in Germany in 2020, or the floods in 2022, were hard, and I have lapsed into some deep holes. Overall, there has been a consistent improvement in my mood and my feelings of self love.

The seed from all those years ago, has grown into a big ol' oak with a yellow ribbon around it! My understanding of myself, and that I can make choices and grow towards a healthy life, really began to change that day when I was challenged about a belief I had held onto for years about who I am.

Now I'd like to write about the real reason you are reading, Christmas Day 2024.

Alex and I were both looking forward to spending time with mum, and we arrived at her place, coffee and presents in hand, to share a meal and open our gifts to each other.

Mum put on her favourite Christmas album, a vinyl copy of Die Roten Rosen's 'Wir Warten Auf's Christkind', which is a German punk band playin' Christmas hits in English and German. Go ahead and Spotify it next Christmas!

I lit the candles on Mum's 'Weihnachtspyramide', which is a traditional Christmas decoration that creates a carousel-type display using the heat from the candles to spin. Mum's has the Frauenkirche in Dresden on it, another German connection.

I put on a Santa hat.

We talked, laughed, and enjoyed seeing the happiness on each others faces as we opened our presents. Funnily enough, our last present of the day to each other all looked the same wrapped, somewhat large, square and thin. Turns out, we had all bought each other new records!!

Afterwards, I stuffed myself with Mum's breakfast. Alex and Mum were more gentle to their tummys.

We played Alex's new record.

Alex and I had plans to spend the afternoon together, just hanging out at home. Life has gotten very busy for us both lately, we have had very few moments to relax together, and so off we went home, to air con, our new gifts, and BB.

On the drive home, Alex put her hand on my leg, and said she was really happy. Happy for both of us. Happy that I was having a good Christmas. I questioned her use of words, 'happy I was having a good Christmas'. She thought we had had a fun and joyful Christmas, particularly in light of the fact that, historically, Christmas hasn't been easy for me.

Alex's comment literally stopped me in my tracks.

She was right, it was a good Christmas!

In fact, I don't remember forecasting or experiencing any of the usual seasonal dark clouds of thunder this festive season. There was no inner battle, no fighting with myself, or anyone else for that matter. I wasn't focusing on preparing myself for the low season, because it didn't occur to me that it would happen. There were none of the usual warning signs. There was no negative self talk, no blame or shame.

I survived... No, that's not quite right, I thrived.

I felt really good. I felt joy. I felt content. One might even say, I felt healed, but I'm not sure I wanna put that much pressure on myself just yet. I'll keep it simple and direct:

I feel happy.

Wow, just wow. How good does this feel? Is this what shiny happy people feel? How uplifting? How exciting? What a wild ride it has been, I know it still is, but I wanna enjoy this moment for a little longer...

After all these years, my habitual, muscle memory, go-to behaviour has become joy, happiness, gratitude, forgiveness, and love.

And then Alex summed it up perfectly, 'I'm just happy that you're happy...'

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#ohmyjoshofficial #mental health #alcohol recovery #personal growth #family ties #therapy #mental wellbeing #negative self talk #negative self image

Some mothers do 'ave 'em...

I recently met up with a close friend and over a cup of coffee, and a few more on following weeks, he shared his story regarding the recent breakdown of his relationship with his mum.

He shared his feelings of loss, and potential long term damage, of his relationship with his most significant close family member, his mother.

As he shared, I came to understand over the years he'd learnt to let the distance grow between himself and some family members, or chosen to set boundaries with others, due to various reasons, the overall decision based on challenging relationship dynamics.

He came to realise some of his family was toxic and dysfunctional, and he had to protect himself. He had learnt that while you can't choose your family, you can choose if you have a relationship with them.

His mum was the only constant. While there had been a few challenges between them, overall he felt it had been a good relationship, until now.

He said he felt some bad vibes leading up to the “conversation”, although he trusted that if there were any problems that his mum felt needed addressing, she would speak up, allowing him the chance to correct, change or extend his support, connection and relationship with her in a manner that would bring closeness, not distance, to their world.

I've known him a long time, and I remember years ago he was different. Back then he just as likely to argue, push people away, manipulate, act out and do all sorts of things that would often times make matters worse.

Over the years, I've noticed he's learnt that's not the way to build bridges, develop bonds, and cultivate trust. He now believes in the importance of connection, talking things out, and being honest and open.

I've experienced those changes within our friendship...

We've had plenty of chats about this kind of stuff over the years, and although still not perfect, he aims to focus on accountability, responsibility and strategies to learn how to develop healthier relationships. He's often reflecting, reevaluating and adjusting.

He's learnt people aren't mind readers, and playing games doesn't work. It's about speaking up before resentment sets in, setting boundaries, developing understanding between each other, not assuming and asking questions, and that a well thought out response is far more beneficial than an impulsive reaction.

Being angry doesn't give anyone a “get out of jail free” card, to behave any which way they want.

He told me how his mum had a go at him over a relatively minor issue with no warning. It sounded to him like she had been biting her tongue for a long time, and was just waiting for an excuse to unleash a brutal tirade of abuse and accusations, at one point calling him a “fuckin bastard”.

He remembers a lot of “all or nothing” type statements during that conversation too, things like “you are always rude”, or “you never say hello or goodbye”, “you're always doing your own thing, and never include me” and so on. It sounded to him like at some point, he's not sure when exactly, but she had decided everything he did was wrong.

He said she even mentioned something that upset her over a year ago, although he remembers having a chat about that back then. Well, maybe she forgot they spoke, but he's baffled as to why she didn't mention it when it first became a problem.

Why hold onto it for a year?

He said it was like she was constantly setting him up for failure by keeping quiet on anything that was bugging her. Just adding another thing to the list of bad things he was doing, or not doing. More evidence to confirm her opinion that all he did was wrong, bad or rude.

When he tried to give examples that these statements were not true, or offered alternative (and true) reasons why he behaved the way he did, his Mum would hold the line, offer no response, or simply laugh it off and shift the focus to the next issue she had on her mind, effectively dismissing him and removing any responsibility and accountability on her part.

He conceded, that at times, he didn't have time or capacity to engage when she wanted to. In those (past) moments he would respond with “give me a minute” or “can we arrange that for another day”, or “I'll call you back”, all of which she took as a slight against her.

It wasn't the fact that his Mum had issues she needed to talk about and feelings to express, he knows some of it was important stuff. It was how she'd done it. He thinks she let the resentment build to boiling point, letting the insults, and the judgements fly... Causing more damage than any of the issues she raised could.

She was angry, she said what she said, and he has to deal with it now.

He told me, even 2 months on, while it may be very easy to forget the hatred that was spoken, it is very difficult to forget the hatred that was heard.

He said, “I really can't imagine ever having a reason or justification to say the things she said to me, to her. Yeah, shit comes up and if you feel it's important, you gotta talk it out. But exploding, going on the attack, is just unhelpful”.

The few times they have seen each other since that day, he felt that she hasn't realised the damage to their relationship and the pain he felt by those words. He has sleepless nights, constant self doubt and feelings of worthlessness, all because of a mother's “love”, and anger.

He said, the worst of it all, was that he felt he had let her down as a son. He can't remember if she actually said he was shit or no good as a son that day of the conversation, some of it is a blur. His take away from the conversation and her behaviour since, his overall feeling, was that he has never been a good son, ever. He has done very few things right since he was born, and that finally the truth about his mother's feelings about him are out in the open.

He admitted there have been moments where he wonders if she regrets having him.

He said then something I wasn't expecting, but after all I've heard, shouldn't really be a surprise, “all I know is, I cause Mum pain just being around her. After hearing her words, its now clear to me. I want her to be happy, and that means keeping my distance”.

I could see his pain as he spoke. I knew it was hard for him to share.

Yes she was angry, but what did she hope to achieve by saying such things in such an angry way?

We did discuss some of her background, what he knew of her childhood, her family and their struggles before he was born. There's several events from her childhood and younger days that likely affect her today, although she doesn't seem to be aware of it. I didn't offer this as an excuse for poor behaviour, only that it may help him gain some understanding. It might be if she ever wanted to look within, she may be able to trace back through her experiences, and recognise their affect on her feelings, thoughts and behaviours today.

He doubts she fully understands her core values and beliefs, and where they come from. It is surprising how just one sentence or experience (let alone many) as a young person, can have a life long affect on our perspectives, decisions and behaviours.

He said to me “I just wish that any problems she may have had, she would have wanted to discuss it with me instead of building up to this brutal outburst”. He would have listened, and tried to come to a solution or arrangement that both could be satisfied with.

He told me, “But right now, I just can't trust mum”.

He feels that any trust they had, disintegrated during that conversation.

Sometime after the initial conversation he asked her what are her expectations for their relationship in the future, what kind of relationship does she want? She didn't know, and so he feels that if there is any hope of reestablishing connection, it would require effort on her part.

The balls in her caught.

He spoke about this (un)development of his relationship with his mum and the complete sadness he feels that overshadows everything at the moment. There has been news, what most people would consider exciting news, in his life. Things he would normally share with his Mum, and now he feels he can't. How can he share this news when all the trust in her, and their relationship, has dissolved? If she can spin a positive story into a bad one, like in recent conversations, what's stopping her from twisting this news?

After one of our conversations I thought about how I would feel if my Mum used brutal and angry words expressing her discontent for my part in her life, out of the blue, with little warning. Honestly, I couldn't imagine it happening. It would be such a 180 on her behalf, it would surely put me into deep shock, deep depression or maybe worse.

I think I would be concerned for Mum, what was really going on with her?

What happened......?

Mum, are you ok......? No really...... Are you OK?

But then, how could I ask her? How could we, after that trust was napalmed, begin to find a way back to trust, love and connection?

I guess I would step back, go over what she said, and came to a similar conclusion to my friend. It would be clear, for now, she doesn't want me in her life anymore. I would read her actions loud and clear.

There's nothing I can say to my friend to help. What could I say that brings comfort in such an uncomfortable situation?

All I can do is listen.

As painful as it is, it isn't unusual to hurt the ones closest to us. There's a trust there that the person closest will continue to love us, no matter how hard we push them away, no matter how much we hurt them. I know my friend loves his mum. I know he's feeling very hurt. I can only hope that steps are taken to mend the bridge that exploded a few months ago.

I'm not saying my friend is right and his Mum is wrong, I don't think the world can be viewed in black and white either, especially when it comes to relationship dynamics.

I don't know how many stories I've heard, or relationships I've been a part of, where resentment has crept in, built up and erupted uncontrollably. It can be a very evil and damaging, and these days I believe many times it can be nipped in the bud, simply by speaking up.

In fact, I try my best to encourage myself, in fact force myself, to express my feelings when I start to feel that I am heading in the direction of resentment.

Sure you have to trust the person you're speaking to, maybe they actually won't listen, or acknowledge you. Maybe they get angry because you said this or that. It's a risk. And I'd say if you let the resentment build (like my friend's Mum) to the point of exploding, there's a larger risk that the trust will be gone within moments of the volcano erupting, burning all in its wake.

Once spoken, words can be very hard to undo, even more so when the words are said in anger.

Let's not let anger get the better of us, or our actions.

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#toxic relationship #relationships #family matters #toxic parents #personal growth #core values

In my life, I've loved them all

Last night I met up with 2 friends.

We've known each other since 1992, so that's about 35 years. We spent 6 years together at school, and while the other 2 kept in close contact after high school, I disappeared for a few years to Europe. I really only kept face to face contact with one of the them on my visits back home.

We caught up for dinner, back in my ol' stompin' ground of Brunz, the other 2 grew up in nearby Mullum.

There were a few long lost memories discussed, a few trials and tribulations revealed but really most of the discussion was around our journeys with our relationships and our own mental health, where we were, and where we are at now.

We all shared. It was an evening of being vulnerable, honest, and open. There were new learnings as we listened to each other, quietly contemplating without judgement.

Only one of us still has their childhood home in the family, and only one of us doesn't have children. One of us has divorced parents, the other two, their parents are still together.

Two of us now know (some of) the beginnings, the trauma, or experiences, that triggered the development of some damaging lifelong beliefs and behaviours, while one of us is still at the beginning of exploration. We all agree want to learn more about these past experiences.

2 of us have strong, stable, caring, and supportive partners, one of us is going through a separation from a long toxic marriage that left them lost and drained, only now starting to find themselves and experiencing joy again. One of us is on their 2nd marriage.

One of us presented calm amid a storm of self doubt, pain, and hurt, providing care and concern for the others. One of us is happy to finally have a mental health diagnosis that allows a name, a label with instructions, to the noise in their head. One of us is still trying to find out their diagnosis, and the root cause of the values and beliefs that is holding them back.

One of us has had incredible learnings, revelations, and self growth in the past 6 months, more than in their previous 42 years, while one of us feels like they haven't learnt enough or come far enough in their knowledge, skills, and behaviour even though they have worked on themselves on a daily basis for many many years.

2 of us have learnt to forgive ourselves, 1 of us struggles to treat themself as well as they treat others.

The 2 who have children, are great parents, and didn't spend the night comparing notes on baby wipes, but were people in their own right, with their own story, emotions, and learnings.

2 of us are musicians, yet we didn't even mention playing last night, one of us is in the church, yet faith didn't pop up in the discussion.

All of us have close relationships, who are experiencing their own mental health journey. All of those relationships are different and affected us in different ways over the years. We focused on ourselves and learning, and also on those close to us and how to support them.

Many of our journeys and experiences have taken us down similar paths, that is, similar scenarios but unique to ourselves. And some of those experiences were nothing like what the others experienced.

We all have learnt that it's not the experience itself, but the interpretation of that experience, that has had the biggest impact on our lives and where the biggest personal growth can be found.

Here we were, 31 years since graduation, sharing our stories and learnings with a focus on our mental health and personal growth, realising we have been walking a similar path together, long distance.

We've all equally recognized the benefit of self-growth, exploration, and learning and coming together to share our experiences. A master class in self-growth.

A moment of compassion, love and understanding.

They say hindsight is 20-20, the experiences we shared last night showed us that the challenges we have faced over the years have been moments to grow from, and we are all better people for those experiences. Although at the time those moments were traumatic and challenging, they've helped lead us to where we are now, at the point of growth and understanding.

If someone had said to me in my 20s I'd be having these types of conversations in the future, I'd probably have laughed at them.

Talk about adulting!

I love you guys, thanks for last night.

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#friendships #personal growth #bestfriends #vulnerability #connection

Happy anniversary baby @alexannedauntless - thank you for your consistent love, support and understanding. It’s sure been a rollercoaster ride so far! I love you x #wifeappreciation #weddinganniversary #thirdanniversary #wife #happywifehappylife #moritzburg #copenhagen #oceanshores #byronbay #iloveyou #relationshipgoals #couplegoals #bestwifeever #lovingyou #3years (at World) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpWeKTqSMKF/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#wifeappreciation #weddinganniversary #thirdanniversary #wife #happywifehappylife #moritzburg #copenhagen #oceanshores #byronbay #iloveyou #relationshipgoals #couplegoals #bestwifeever #lovingyou #3years

It just so happens that today, Valentines Day, I celebrate 2930 days sober. Remember my band, @the2930s ? Anyhow, I digress. Around 3pm NSW time (5am Dresden time) on 6th February 2015 I had my last drink at Rosis… a couple of hours later I was in an ambulance heading to a psychiatric hospital, the rest, as they say, is history. If I knew then what I know now, I may have reevaluated my situation earlier, but I have regrets. It’s all part of the journey. Thanks everyone who has helped me along the way. From back when I needed a place to stay, an understanding ear, a kind word, space, comfort, a meal, a smile, a laugh, keeping me accountable and everything in between. I truly have some amazing people in my life and I wouldn’t be here today without you. #soberissexy #the2930s #8years #8yearsandcounting #sobriety #soberlife #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #anniversary #2930days #lifechanging #dontdrinkanddrive #ohmyjoshofficial #gratitude #selfcare #rosis #rosisamüsierlokal #dresden #alkoholfrei #alcoholfree #alcoholfreelife #thisisliving https://www.instagram.com/p/CoocJ64Sd3o/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

2920 days and counting

It's been 8 years since I became free.

I can still remember parts of that last night drinking that ended up with me, as the sun came up, in an ambulance heading to a psychiatric hospital, it was a suicide watch kind of situation.

I was in a bad way, and in very bad relationship, a very toxic one, with alcohol. I was too close to the relationship and couldn't see the damage until I was in hospital.

I have documented a lot of my journey in past blogs, particularly a year ago when I wrote The 7 year itch.

Recently I was chatting with a Dresden local, a musician who I have known since 2006. We had a couple of bands together, also played in each other’s other bands and drank and partied many times over the years.

In mid-2009 we had a big falling out, I can't remember all the details (a lot alcohol was involved) but we ended up coming to fisticuffs and I came out worse for wear. The bands and friendship we had ended pretty quickly after that.

I know at the time we both pushed each other, egged each other on, and made fun of each other. Looking back there was little respect and big egos at play. Both too tough to show vulnerability or real care for each other. I know for my part, at the time I was not fully aware, nor willing to be accountable for my behaviour.

All the problems were someone else's fault.

So then came several years of me being a fool, I wouldn't even visit places I knew he'd be at. Why should I? Why should I even bother to spend money in his establishments either, I was angry, he hurt my feelings. Mind you, I know now, I was just projecting my insecurities onto him, even if we weren't talking.

Fast forward a few years, and I got sober and I started to open up to new ways of being. Being vulnerable, being responsible, being accountable, and being open to building bridges. It was a long process, and it wasn't like we suddenly became mates again, but we did cross paths more and more often as time moved on.

I can't remember the exact year, but I'd say it was in 2018 or 2019, he asked if we could meet and have a chat about my drinking (or lack thereof). I remember he wanted to talk about my experiences and maybe get some advice. He explained to me he had come to realise that getting drunk was his way of creating an excuse to treat others badly. Well I sure as hell had been there before, we both had together, some 10 years prior.

It was almost like we were ex-lovers, meeting years after “moving on” and opening up about our past mistakes. We realised we both had messed up, we'd both been mean and spiteful and difficult and challenging, and we were now open to clearing the air and rebuilding on our reconnection.

I can say that now, after that conversation we have grown to care for each other deeply. We're good mates, and even though I am now half a world away, we continue checking in on each other from time to time. We see each other’s posts on social media, and often that sparks a conversation.

Those conversations have become deep, meaningful, trusting, and caring.

We didn't bury the past either. We opened it up, talked about it, and apologised. It wasn't easy for both of us, but it brought us back together.

We no longer take the piss out of each other, we care for each other. We no longer have egos raising the toxicity level between us, we've both shared some deep feelings that have created the space to trust ourselves, being imperfect humans. Having that hard conversation, about our behaviour, thoughts, and feelings, and expressing our insecurities and worries, opened our friendship up to a deeper level, and man, it is awesome.

Bromance, love, care, trust, and friendship.

Recently we were chatting and the subject of our reconnection came up. We both said we missed each other, and we are so glad that we reconnected. He said I wish I had done it sooner, and I responded that it happened at the right time, when both of us were open to the idea of reconnecting.

We are both musicians, and timing is everything.

He isn't the first (or the last) person I have found a deeper connection with since I sobered up. I no longer partied for the hell of it, having superficial moments with people, and started enjoying coffee dates with deep and meaningful connections. It's been a journey and a real blessing. The more I open up, and share my vulnerabilities and insecurities, the more others do too, and that just gets us deeper and deeper, feeling connection and love.

I am not 100% happy, I haven't been for most of my life, but when I think back to the dickhead I often was on the booze, these days I can find gratitude and love for myself as a sober guy who shares, and connects, with people.

I am very blessed to have been on this journey since 6th February 2015. Often folks talk about “giving up” something as a bad thing, but what I have found is new ways to connect, experience and enjoy life.

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#alcohol #drinking #personal growth #relationships #connection #mental health

Dr Kitch, it's terrible...

It's been a while. I know that writing my thoughts and feelings down has a real positive affect on my mental well being. I learn about myself and often feel free, or freer, from the worry or concern I had before I started writing.

I just haven't prioritised writing lately. Sometimes I don't feel motivated or, more often, I don't feel I have anything interesting to share.

I do write, but I don't share everything. I have unsent letters to friends, family, pets and myself, which I have written for the sole purpose of getting my thoughts and feelings out, and hoping in the process find a little bit of calm.

Recently I got a new job offer.

My current position as a community support worker is fantastic for many reasons, and not so great for a few. After finishing my studies to become a counsellor I wanted to get some experience in the real word. During the past 6+ months, I have seen improvements in the well being of the people I work with, and the influence I have had on their lives. I really enjoy the time with the people I work with, even if shifts can be challenging at times.

However, I am not excited about the company, my managers and the system of care in place. Probably the best way I can explain it is, the company can be more of a challenge to work with than the people I work one on one with.

It was never going to be a long term job, it was about getting experience, learning about myself, the people I work with, the various mental health diagnosis out there, and how the system works. After 6 months, I still put in 100% with the people I work with, but I'm not a fan of the system.

So I am changing systems.

The new job will be somewhat similar, but vastly different in other areas. I will work at one location, and people who need support will come to that location. I will no longer work in isolation, I will have colleagues to work with, and support me, during the whole shift. Shifts are longer and there's no cancellation at the last minute. I will work as a peer support worker at a suicide prevention project. I can't go into further details right now, but it'll be an exciting step for me to be able to support people in crisis daily.

I will work both jobs for a while, but eventually cut back on my old position once I settle into the new job.

Part of the new job is that I'll need to keep myself safe, prioritising my mental well being and physical well being. I am really pleased I will be part of a team, and have colleagues, who I can talk to, learn from, and share my experiences with. I'll have a daily opportunity to debrief, something that is often missing in mental health work. I'll have a chance to learn from other peer workers, one on one, as well as sharing with people who visit the project.

Exciting times...

What isn't exciting is how I'll keep myself physically well. I need to get vaccinations. Now I don't want to go through the whole COVID vaccine debate, it is what it is, and this is about something else.

I am very scared of needles!

Prior to COVID, The last time I remember getting an injection was in late 1997, when I broke my pinky finger and needed a local injection in my elbow, in the spot we call the “funny bone”, where that nerve tingles down your arm when you bump it. I had to be gassed up, held down and I still was crying, shaking and hating every moment of the process. I remember the doctor said “stop being a baby”, which definitely didn't help the situation. I remember telling him “make sure you put in more than enough to numb me, because you won't get a second chance”.

I was alone, he gassed me, jabbed me, re-broke my finger and set it in place.

Good times...

I have learnt a lot since the COVID vaccines became mandatory, I learnt that I could get a jab (or 3) if I had Alex with me to hold my hand and an understanding nurse who was gentle. I focused on the fact I was showing courage, even if I was reacting with tears and shaking, doing something that protected my family, and myself.

Those jabs were the first I had had in over 20 years.

Last month I began the process of getting jabs for the new job. I calculated I'd need at least 4 seperate injections, if not more, over the coming 3 months. Initially 2 at a time and then 1 or 2 after that, not to forget the dreaded blood tests I'll need too.

Oh boy!!!

In December, I had the doctor, nurse and Alex lined up on Thursday morning to get the ball rolling. Except it didn't roll very far. I was amped up and before the appointment thinking “right, I'll go in, lay down, they'll jab, I'll cry and shake, and then we'll move on like nothing happened”...

After huge anticipation, and a few sleepless nights, leading up to that appointment, it didn't happen. The appointment ended up being only a discussion with the doc and a prescription for the jabs. See, I didn't know I had to go to the chemist to get the needles and come back for the jab. So it was all rescheduled for the following Saturday morning.

I had been mentally prepared on Thursday, only to be denied, and had to prepare again for Saturday. I am so lucky the nurse and the doctor were compassionate, understanding and knowledgable on how to support folks like me. Folks who have a strong reaction to needles. They did a great job, and I don't do this very often but I'll blow my own horn here, I did a great job too. I kept my arm still, cried, shook, wiggled my toes, talked very fast, lost a little oxygen or something because my face was tingling, and I got through it, I survived.

2 jabs down!

I could tell the nurse was pinching me (pretty hard according to Alex) to help desensitise my upper arm as I was laying down looking over Alex's shoulder, tears in my eyes, wiggling my toes. I didn't make eye contact with anyone while in the nurse's room. I could tell when the needle went in, and it didn't hurt. I should know better, I know it doesn't hurt.

So why the reaction?

I have been thinking about this since the job (and jabs) came up. Why do I react in such a strong way, even though I know they don't hurt, they're not unsafe and I have survived them before? And why is there this strong reaction, just to the thought, of having to have an injection?

In fact the fear was so strong that about 15 years ago, while surfing in Hawaii, I cut my big toe up on a reef. I had to go to the emergency room. My partner at the time can surely remember the Jackie Chan type nurse who took care of me, and the shaking boyfriend on the bed with eyes all big and fearful. I knew that needles were going to be mentioned. Those needles could be for stitching me up or for some other thing like tetanus!

What the hell is tetanus?

I am sure I had whatever necessary vaccinations a child needed back in the early 80's, which might have included this tetanus the nurse mentioned, but when asked when I had my last tetanus shot, I lied. I said “oh, in my late teens”, which was within 10 years and satisfied the nurses curiosity. Secondly, thank god they decided not to stitch me up, they decided to use super glue instead.

Crisis averted.

I was glued up and left the emergency a relatively happy man. Eventually I got a walking stick and enjoyed a rockabilly festival at our next stop, in Green Bay. Playing cricket and doin' the limbo with my rockin' cane on the dance floor. Those that were there, know, it sure was a good time to have a limp.

Back to the question of the day... So, why the reaction?

Firstly, I'd say that long gap of 20+ years between jabs hasn't helped. I got more and more scared, worried and distant from the needle. I avoided getting any blood tests, or jabs, for almost 25 years. I wouldn't travel to a country that required a jab. I wouldn't go to the doctor if I hurt myself and thought there's even a hint of a chance that the doc might consider the possibility that there's a reason he might think about using a needle even close to me.

So lets go back, back even further than 25 years...

Many of our adult thoughts, feelings and behaviours stem from our childhood experiences and what we make of those experiences.

I have a memory of receiving a jab in 1986 in Brunswick Heads that didn't go well. I was 6 years old, and my parents had separated the year before. I don't have many memories from my childhood, this is surely the strongest.

I know the previous jabs were all in 1980-1981, I was just a wee baby and it's in my baby booklet Mum has kept all this time. I don't remember any of these jabs. By 1986 I was more aware of the world around me, I was aware Dad wasn't around, I was no longer living in the big city. I knew there were things going on, with me, Mum, Dad and my sister, that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I'm sure it was a stressful time for us all, I am sure that stress was something I didn't know how to process.

I remember feeling very small, with the feeling of tears burning down my cheeks, fighting the doctor, shouting and crying. I may have tried to run, but didn't get far. I remember being at the door pleading with them not to do it. I remember the doctor wasn't very impressed with me. I can not remember Mum being there.

This was a traumatic event for me.

It isn't the event itself, but the stress one feels, that makes it a traumatic event. That's why two people can experience the same event, and have different reactions. One may feel fine, the other traumatised.

So why the stress? Why the reaction?

My recent thoughts directed me to my parents having recently separated, and I was taken away from all that I had known: big city suburbia, and my family security at the only house I'd ever known. My environment, and our family, had changed and I hadn't processed all these changes. I was missing Dad, and trying to adjust. I remember I was struggling to settle in at school. Mum did her best, I have no doubt she protected us kids and made the best of the situations that arose. She definitely worked very hard to support us. I don't have memories of any other really challenging events, between the time we left Melbourne and when I had the jabs.

Mum said as a baby I was fine with the jabs, I cried a little, but didn't react to the extent I would show a few years later that continues to this day.

What I remember as my worst experience since my parents separated, still affects me years on. There has to be a connection there, because that experience affected me so deeply. Another way to think about it is to ask the question, if I had those jabs in Melbourne, with parents who were still together and happy, would I have developed the fear?

I am not upset with my parents for separating. I think it was what they had to do, as there was unhappiness in their relationship that they couldn't work through. I've been there too, and ending the relationship was the best way.

Even as I type this, I can't get close to connecting the dots. Usually I do, usually as I write I find answers to questions I ask myself, because I let my thoughts wander, I let them go deeper than I have before.

So far, nada.

I may need to go deeper, and that is becoming more challenging around this subject. I feel I may need professional help with that. It isn't always easy asking yourself the hard questions, I may need a little help.

But it did affect me, didn't it?

My fear and reaction are so ingrained that I struggle to shake it off. The fear and worry has been in my head for too long to just “get over it”, “man up”, and get it done. It takes a lot of work, it's a real journey, to change years of behaviour, thoughts and feelings. I have been reframing my thoughts, becoming more comfortable with being vulnerable in front of others, and finding small ways to see myself take whatever steps I need to get through these few moments of intense reaction.

Small steps.

The smallest ones I could possibly do to get 'em done. I've written about this before, when a job, event or action feels too big and overwhelming, I break it down into the smallest parts possible.

Small achievable steps.

I have thought about the steps I took to get through the COVID jabs, and that was because I saw the reasoning behind it, I made a choice to get them to support safety within my family, close friends and community. I got those jabs for someone else, not for me. I surely didn't want those jabs, I never have ever wanted to have 'em.

Alex came to all 3 of those appointments, held my hand, wiped the tears, and talked to the nurses. She showed me the compassion and support the doctor didn't showing me in 1986 and again in 1997. I did the jab for her, and she in turn showed me I could do it, I could face the fear after all these years.

When I found out I would need to get updated and new vaccinations, like this tetanus shot, I decided to work on small steps to help me. I would need the dreaded blood test too, something I have never been able to successfully do. I tried once, when I was about 20, but I didn't last long in the pathology clinic. I was out of there the moment they tried to put that strap around my arm to stem the blood flow.

I never looked back.

Recently, I used an opportunity to experiment with exposure therapy. That is, to expose myself to small amounts of needles.

About 6 weeks before my first injections, when a close friend needed to get an IV put in his hand from the ambulance, I stayed in the room. I didn't actually watch the thing go in, hell no!!! I was a couple of meters away, watching his face, and seeing little reaction or worry, in fact he was calm. Once it was in, I had a quick look at his hand, didn't look too bad either. OK, this was a small step, I let someone else get a “permanent” jab while I was in the same room.

Happy days...

Next step, upping the exposure....

I had the opportunity to take someone I work with to get a blood test a few weeks later. I could have looked away, I could have left the room, I could have asked him to turn away, but instead I faced my fear. I watched the whole process, and the outcome was 2 vials of blood, and he said it was the best blood test he'd experienced. I immediately took down that nurse's name and would book in with her when I needed a blood test.

I felt like I'd come a long way from the days of not being able to even be in the same room with a needle.

Now with the new job, we're back at it, getting jabbed. That Saturday's appointment was intense, I wiggled my toes to distract myself, so much so that I didn't realise I was digging my nails into my toes, and was bleeding.

I got 2 jabs in a row... I still can't believe it.

It helped to have a strong reason to get on with these vaccinations. A new job... A new job which supports our goal to buy our own house. I figured out the overall reason too, my health. I'm not getting any younger, I'll need jabs and blood tests more and more likely as I grow older.

But I don't think I am ready to volunteer to get a jab just because...

I need a solid reason, I need support and understanding, and I hope over time, with more growth and understanding, I'll be calm, cool and collected while the nurses and doctors do what they gotta do...

Thanks for reading,

Josh

EDIT: I re-read my blogs to make sure I cover all the detail, to go as deep as I can. As I wrote this, I was sure the issue with my fear stemmed from my parent's separation. The thought of a needle throws me back to that time of change.

I am sure, that it does to a degree, and needs further exploration... But...

Just now, as I read through, correcting a few details, spelling mistakes and grammar, I came to realise in 1986, the biggest part of the needle fear stemmed from my feelings surrounding the doctor's attitude and lack of compassion towards me.

I felt hurt, I felt unfairly judged, and I felt that I was treated badly.

I was a sensitive kid, my parents weren't together and I was experiencing a lot of change. I feel that the doc didn't care about any of that, he just wanted to stick it in, no matter what the experience may have felt to me.

Now, I can work on finding calm.

#needles #personal growth #doctor #growin’ up #vaccinated

6 months on… It’s been a trying time, for us and many in the area. After the initial clean and tidy, we brought all our ruined items, that is parts of our lives, to the street, and watched it all get thrown into the back of a truck. After the initial communications delay, either myself or Mum have been on the phone (often on hold!) to the insurance company, builders, assessors and anyone else connected with the rebuild every week, and it’s still very slow going. Latest estimate is the house won’t be finished before Easter next year. It’s understandable when you consider the 1000’s homes damaged, lack of work people and materials, but it doesn’t make this situation any more tolerable, it really sucks. We spent many days working on the contents list for the insurance. It’s really hard to go through each item that was lost. Painfully reminded each time what we went through, what others went through. The house has been ‘made safe’, the walls removed, parts of ceilings removed, bathrooms and kitchen pulled out. It is now a space that sounds big, empty and lonely. I’ve tried to come to terms with what happened, to say well it’s just a house, it’s just stuff… but it’s more than that… it was a home, and it was our lives, and it’s not so easy to shrug that off. #flood2022 #oceanshores #nswfloods #flooddamage #flood #flooding (at Ocean Shores) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ch9Go-oBpXZ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#flood2022 #oceanshores #nswfloods #flooddamage #flood #flooding

Sunday Morning Coming Down...

I've just woken up.

Well, that's a bit of a fib, I woke up a couple of hours ago, and got some messages on my phone from Europe, and needed to get away, get out, move; so I took a bike ride.

It was a cold wintery morning ride and I needed to clear my head because I miss my adopted home, Dresden Germany, locally known as DD, a little more than usual at the moment.

Right now, most of my friends are in DD, either because they're on stage or in the crowd. My brother, GB, is playing 2 shows at an awesome outdoor venue, one that I have attended many times while I lived there, with his very successful rock n roll country band. Additionally, many of the fans of that band, TBH, are fans of my old band, The 2930s.

According to the texts, currently, it's about 2am and some are drunk and at McDonalds. I can imagine the sound of their laughter, the silliness of their fun, and the connection they have to each other; Rock n roll baby! They've just attended an awesome show, maybe the first in a couple of years, hung out at the after show party and now need a bit of fast food to mix with the beers they've had on a hot summer night of energy.

These folks were my family, are my family, chosen a world away from my real family down under. They were there with me for drunk McDonalds, after parties, concerts, coffees, serious talks, Rosis and screaming for more when the last song finished.

I love these people, I don't do that lightly, and we've been through a lot together. Many of them have been through the dark drunk days I had, through the mental health crisis and anxiety I experienced (sometimes when I experienced it on stage) and back out through the other side where I found more balance and health in life. Some of them I supported through their own issues too. Some are faces in the crowd, but they're just as important, they bought a ticket, they enjoyed the show, we connected, they smiled and said thank you as I signed their merch.

It was all about energy and connection.

I got close with many of the fans over there. I knew something personal about their lives, and in some cases wrote songs about what I heard or experienced with them. Drunk or not, I wanted to connect not just with the fan, but with the person. I think they felt it too. I know I did. I appreciated the tattoos they got of my lyrics, I appreciated the time they spent on a train travelling hours or even days to come to a show. I appreciated their continued loyalty and love, and that feeling hasn't stopped just because I left Germany.

While living in Germany, I didn't put much effort into my down under musician life, and while plenty of old friends here remember the old days when “Little Josh” had gigs at the local pub, many don't know the depth, length and intensity of the European touring lifestyle, shows and energy I experienced for over 13 years. (While I moved over in 2002, it wasn't until 2007 when things began to heat up).

I miss my friends a lot today. I should have been there at that Dresden concert. In fact I had planned my whole return down under based around this very concert in July 2020. I was going to see the boys play, see my friends, fans and (chosen) family, then jump on a plane a few days later. I was going to have a fond farewell... It didn't go according to plan... Damn you pandemic and rescheduled concerts.

I appreciated “The Josh Fest” (American Car Day) that happened last minute before flying out. It was a different kind of replacement show, I got to play and see many folks at that show just before flying out (well, just before being stranded) and at the time I really appreciated it, I still do.... But this Dresden concert I'm currently missing, meant something else... The reason why I chose to become a musician full time was because of their lead singer, a man whose music, going back to the 90's, influences me to this day. I wanted to say goodbye face to face, I wanted to say thanks to him, and to all of those who had been there for me.

I guess part of this is me sitting here feeling sorry for myself, and wondering if I'll ever get back to DD or if I'll ever tour like the days gone by. Maybe I didn't take the time, at the time, to appreciate it enough when it was all happening. I wasn't in the moment enough? I'm not sure...

There's still a lot to figure out here...

Living back down under, I don't have the same kind of support and family, I don't have the same feeling. It's not bad, it's just really really different. I don't get phone calls to play gigs like I used to. I have a day job now, I have a boss, and that's a whole other mess. I'm still not convinced it's the right mess for me either, more on that in another blog maybe.

I saw a video of the concert last night, taken from near the onstage monitor guys mixing console, looking through the musicians at the front of the stage towards the faces of the crowd in the amphitheatre. I have stood at this spot before, I know it well, and I know the crowd well. I can see the front row girls singing along, some of them my good friends, in between the legs of the band members I've known and loved for many years. My best friend on the bass... It wasn't easy to watch to be honest... I was saddened by the fact I didn't get that one last chance to stand on that stage, next to my bro GB, and cheer 'em on...

But as I write this blog, I am beginning to feel a sense of gratitude.

Gratitude for my pal GB who in 2008 picked me out of the crowd to come and say hi to, he knew me, I didn't recognise him. That moment in London, well, that set the stage for my move to Germany, it set the stage for The 2930s, and Rosis Rockets, my recording studio, Rosis, song writing, DJing, and plenty of touring.

I'm feeling gratitude for my front row girls, who became friends I could rely on, I could love, I could get to know, I could be part of their world as much as they was a part of mine. The more appreciation they showed me, the more I wanted to give back.

GB told me last night, over text, not to look back... He's right, but sometimes it's really hard, I've had a shit week and I feel that (almost) everyone I care about is together having a good time in DD.

I was meant to be at that gig.

Thinking about it, feeling gratitude for the experiences I had, especially when I lived in Germany, but also for the times in England, is about the only way I can get through these moments. I look at old photos, I remember stories of big nights out, that maybe no one but us there know about. All the inside jokes that only band members or close friends know. The times a fan felt connection to my lyrics, the depth of energy they experienced and expressed to me, before, during and after the show. The knowledge something I wrote, connected to someone else, is and will always be the highest of thank yous I could receive.

I used to keep busy in Germany to prevent myself, no, to distract myself, from missing Australia. How the tables have turned. Any moments of quiet in my head these days, lead me back to (old) Rosis, TBH, GB, Catalina Music, The 2930s, Joes studio, dönerteller, the front row girls, Sonnenstudio, the snow, the autobahn, The Elbe, The Blue Note, and the distance I now have from all of that.

It was one hell of a ride. I miss it. I miss the people, the places, the sounds, the smell, and you guessed it, the food.

This morning, the distance between Dresden Germany, and Ocean Shores Australia, was really felt.

Even though I am 7 years sober, today it feels like Sunday morning coming down.

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#mental health #Sunday morning #friends #dresden #the 2930s #ohmyjoshofficial

Get a hair cut and get a real job...

Well, it finally happened... My life has progressed from student, to worker, to musician, to student, to worker ... I now have what, as a musician, I'd call a 9 to 5, the daily grind, a normal job, that thing the folks in the crowd do when they're not at my concerts!

It's been an unusual journey, at least it feels that way. I realise now, I was actually quite comfortable as a touring musician in Europe. I had steady work, especially in those last few years, I knew what I was doing, I was confident and I had a hell of a lot of fun; good bands, good venues, good fans and good money. I was writing songs and I had my own studio too.

I was set...

The transition to working in Australia has brought about a lot of challenges and lessons learned. I know I fell into an awesome artistic opportunity when I worked on Elvis, and then did a few more TV shows (well, the stuff that ended up on Netflix). But that was different than a “real” job. It was fun, casual, challenging and super interesting too. I was surrounded by pros doing their jobs, actors doing their acting or supporting actors, like myself, waiting for the director to holler “cut!” As Baz said “film is forever”. It was and still is a big deal to me.

I am on the big screen!

But the new job, being part of the Australian workforce day in day out, is a real challenge.

I don't work 9 to 5, I don't have an office, I drive a lot, I am outside in any weather, I have homework, I work shifts which chop and change every other day... and after all that, I get a pay check that doesn't quite resemble my sense of self worth.

Since starting the job, I've been on edge all the time, I don't mean in the sense I'm scared something might happen to me or my client, but that I am responsible for someone else's welfare while they are in my care. It's a constant thing, in the background, under the surface.

When I'm finally home trying to relax, I worry about the shifts the next day, did my manager change them and forget to tell me? How will the client feel tomorrow? Am I up to the task? Did I miss any emails today?

When I finished the course, I wasn't quite sure about what I want to do, and I applied to various vacancies that tickled my fancy. Although possible, I wasn't confident enough to go out on my own as a counsellor. I felt I needed more experience first, and it also felt a bit like being a musician, I'd be constantly hustling for work, or at the very least it would be up to me to find the work, to obtain clients, and network with other professionals. After all the energy it took to study, I wanted something a little easier to slip into, especially because this was a big career change.

Oh boy, was I wrong about it being easy...

When I got the interview, nailed it and then the job offer, that was the easy part.

I am a community support worker. It's a job whereby I support clients, with various mental health concerns, getting out into the world. I help them reach their goals, I support them with any reasonable request, or something they agree to that I or someone else might suggest. Sometimes I am just helping out deleting emails off a phone, sometimes I am booking doctor appointments or arranging scripts and sometimes I am just someone to chat to, play a game with, or take a walk with. The job is constant, spontaneous and intense.

The company I work for is big, and is in a big transitional stage at the moment, there's new management and new processes, policies and procedures. It's very daunting, because the last time I worked in Australia this much, was back in 2002! In fact I started the new job almost 20 years to the day I left my old one in Melbourne! There's so many rules and things I was not aware of, I'm learning on many fronts, the industry, the company, the client, mental health and, funnily enough, myself.

Honestly, I am finding it hard to adjust to this new life style, it's very energy sucking.

There's management, and how to work alongside them, and the clients who for the most part are lovely folks that are in need of support. There's the whole community services industry which to me is a big complicated mess. I am used to being in a band, with 3 or 4 guys in a van, it's a big adjustment.

I'm still learning how to do all of that, and how to take care of myself in a job that one can quite easily burn out in. I'm learning I need days off, I need some time to sleep, relax, do the things I enjoy, and enjoy the company of friends and family. I'm still battling that challenge each day, I feel like I can't switch off and there are not enough hours in the day.

I am learning what I don't like about working too. I haven't done this kind of work before, and it's been really good to know what I want going forward. I may stay in this role for a while, the experience is good, but I will eventually move on, find something more suitable to my needs, and I have narrowed down some future expectations.

I feel that I need regular hours, or at the very least, when my hours are set, they don't move. I've had many shifts chop and change from one day to the next, throwing me way off course. It's a lot to adjust to for someone who likes the safety net of knowing what's coming up. My roster is constantly changing, some days I can adjust a bit quicker than others, some days I just long for a clear plan.

I also know, in the end, I'd like a job that is closer to home. I am driving 100s ks each month getting to clients, and it is wearing me out. I am not paid for that time on the road, I am not compensated, and my time is precious, I'm not getting any younger. It's lonely work too, and while I can work really well on my own, I wouldn't mind colleagues to bounce ideas off.

I am also trying to get used to having a manager. I have tried to be as available as I can, as flexible as I can, as open and honest and as supportive as I can. Sometimes this approach has worked well, but sometimes I feel I am not trusted. In fact, there have been a few sticking points that I may move past, but it has taught me that having a good manager I can trust is really really important. I will make sure at my next interview that I am confident the manager is someone I wanna work for/with long term.

I am enjoying the challenges of working with clients. It's interesting how each client is individual, and that each shift can offer a large spectrum of behaviours, responses and support (that I am required to offer). This kind of spontaneity I can handle pretty good too. Each week, I am learning as much about them as I am about myself, we all have good and bad days, we all have only so much energy, and our needs change all the time.

During the first few weeks of this job, I was thrown in the deep end. I had a client before I even did basic training! My manager at the time asked me if it was OK and I felt that saying no would only increase my anxiety for the next first client. Client #1 knew what he was doing and I was honest and asked him for guidance, and he was gentle with me. It was a good beginning, but since that first shift I am recognising I am sometimes drowning in the unknown and in anxiety. As fulfilling as this role is, this position tests your limits on various fronts.

I finally did a “buddy” shift months after starting, it's a shift where some experienced helps show you the ropes. By the time it happened, it was more a handover, as my “buddy” was leaving the company and had some high needs clients, management thought it was a good idea for me to be introduced to these clients. During those shifts I learnt one could relax on the job, my “buddy” was a very chill guy, who didn't seem to let anything get to him. The difference could be that he'd been in the job for a couple years and just got very comfortable in the role, but I had in the back of my mind that if I am not focused on the client, their needs, goals and requests, I am not actually doing my job. While silence and sitting still is part of the work, I don't feel that it's the focus of my work. I still haven't decided if I am over thinking it, if I am wearing my “counsellor” hat too tightly or if I am just not that sort of person who relaxes on the job.

Only time will tell...

In the end, I am happy to work, to learn, to find out what I like and don't like about this industry, the direction my next steps may be and how the other half live, that is those who are really struggling with every day life due to mental health illnesses.

I struggle each day, and I don't acknowledge that enough. I write about it sometimes but I feel it every day, win, lose or draw. Getting my head off the pillow can be a real struggle. I make it look easy, but sometimes it's downright heavy man.

I felt it terribly earlier this week, and all I wanted was to stay in bed. But I had a shift, I had a client, I had someone who has had a rough time and who needed my help... So I got out of bed and helped him. In the end we had a good day, he made me laugh, I got him to laugh and we even worked on some of his goals. It was a good day...

Then I went home, and curled up in bed...

Thanks for reading

Josh

#mental health #support worker #daily struggle #new job #life update #burnout #therapy

Even when I'm sleeping...

Yesterday was the anniversary of Mijo’s passing.

I knew at 9am it was the moment he took his last breath. At just 28 weeks old, he’d only been in our lives for 20 weeks. About 18 weeks of that was amazing, the last 2 weeks were not so good.

The last 20 hours were painful beyond words.

He was just one of a few pets I had the privilege of being a parent to. We had a dog when I was young, living in Melbourne, and when Mum, my sister and I moved north, we had a cat for a few years. In my 20s when I moved in with my girlfriend in England, she had 2 wonderful cats, brother and sister, who reignited my love for being a fur parent.

When I moved to England it took a few years to be a parent again, but in the end I had 3 cats (2 were sisters) and a puppy. I really loved those 4. I still do. They were the most amazing pets, and I loved the companionship, and having someone to talk to!

Leaving them in Germany was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I rarely go a day without thinking about them. The girls, Catalina and Mathilda, were the first cats I started to train, and both could be walked down the street on a lead. I didn’t know one could train a cat. Gizmo was a cheeky tabby boy who was the answer to all cuddles and purrs. Eventually, the 3 of them had some tricks up their sleeve. However once I got Mijita, my little girl puppy, the training for the cats fell a bit by the wayside.

Mijita came into my life at a turning point in my life, and in the years we were together she never saw me drunk. She was my constant shadow and we did a hell of a lot together. From Checkpoint Charlie, to sunrises in Florence, window shopping in Amsterdam’s redlight district, touring and meeting rock stars, urban swimming in Switzerland, paying for items in shops instead of me going to the counter, and skateboarding, paddle boarding and bike riding.

We did it all.

Leaving all that behind was really hard. It’s taken a few years to be able to look back at photos of us together, and not feel pain, but feel gratitude and joy for the time we spent together.

When Alex and I moved back home, we did have discussions about getting a fur baby of our own. Maybe a dog, maybe a cat. Initially, we put off the decision. The problem with dog ownership, especially here in Australia, is that you are very limited in what you can do with them. Most shops won’t allow them inside, most restaurants too, very few dog parks and dogs cannot go into forests and nature reserves. The freedom of Europe doesn’t exist here.

But Alex had other plans.

While getting a dog was out of the question, we just weren’t ready and not sure what our future would hold, owning a cat was a different story. Cats can offer similar companionship, without the logistical complications and commitments!

Sounds purrfect!

As I’ve written in previous blogs, Alex surprised me for my 41st birthday with a beautiful baby boy, who we named Mijo. 8 weeks of pure grey and white fluffiness.

I felt that connection again, like I had with Catalina, Mathilda, Gizmo and Mijita.

Mijo was troubled with a few health issues, the coolest one was that he was deaf. I could take him anywhere, and he was as chill as could be. I remember having coffee, in one of the local town’s cafes, with folks everywhere, birds flapping about and making a ruckus, and he was curled up on my lap, hanging out.

That day a year ago, still hurts the 3 of us. Alex is no stranger to fur grief, with her own history of lost pets. Mijo was our first fur loss together. Mum recently had to say goodbye to her old girl Ruby, who now resides next to Mijo in Mum’s room. Mum talks to both cats daily, sometimes I hear her, and it brings a bittersweet smile to my face.

I spent time after Mijo’s passing trying to make sense of how such a great pet, I mean he was absolutely perfect for me, my behaviour and my wishes, could be gone from my life in such a short time. We still had so many adventures to have together.

He hadn’t been to all the local beaches yet!

I came to realise, his short and intense time with me was to help process the loss of the 4 German pets. I started to look back at all 5 pets and feel gratitude. I began to focus on the good times, the silly times and the blessings for having them in my life.

I would do anything to have any of them back in my life, but I know that is not a choice I can make. Focus on the good times.

Mijo was the best thing that happened to me in 2021. He helped me grieve the loss of the big 4 in Germany and showed me there’s life after death. That’s why he came into my life, he came to show me the way.

I was somewhat lucky that during the time we lost Mijo, I had a great teacher, a psychologist, who was really understanding and supportive. Not to mention the class being supportive of my situation. She also gave me advice, and it wasn’t long before I was talking about having another cat. In the end, there are no rules to how you express or process your grief. I talked a lot about how I was feeling, working through my pain, eventually I felt a sense of calmness.

Often I find it hard to decide on things. Like, if I go to a restaurant and there’s too many choices, I get too overwhelmed, and wish I was at In and Out Burger (one of the simplest menus ever). Many times I revert to Alex’s help, I tell her what I think I might like, which could be 5 or 10 things, and she goes off to order.

It’s always a surprise when the meals come.

We talked about getting another cat only a few weeks after Mijo’s passing. I find, if in doubt, talk about it. And we eventually came to the conclusion, if and when she found a kitten for us, then it was the right time. I figured it would take weeks, but it literally was a week later we were driving down to pick up a little kitten ragdoll, who we eventually named BB Junior.

Boy, is he cute!

I don’t really know where to start with this little guy. He’s a round ball of floof, who has the zoomies one minute, and the next he does “the flops”, where he walks close to you and flops and rolls over on his back for a belly rub.

He’s healthy, and unlike Mijo, is terrified of the vacuum cleaner. He walks on a harness outside with me, and together we have walked at least 5 houses down the street on the lead. He isn’t particularly afraid of cars or bikes; however he does prefer that he is facing whatever is coming towards him. He likes the local nursey, with its plants to walk through and coffee tables to sit at.

He absolutely loves visiting his cousin Charlie. While they had many play dates before the flood, when we lived at Charlie’s for 3 weeks until we got the rental, those 2 bonded so well that once we moved out, they start to miss each other if it’s been a week or two between play dates.

I find it really amusing that the cats behave more like dogs. They play all day long, until they wear themselves out and then just find a comfy spot and sleep. While us adults continue the coffee drinkin’ and talkin’ for another hour or two.

He can sit, spin around, meercat, come when called, fist bump and high five.

He is not food motivated as much as Mijo, and it can be difficult to train him, but he is getting there. I think it’s really down to me, as I have spent less time training him that I would have if he was super into it. He does come whenever I open the drawer with the clicker and treats in it, so he knows what’s coming, but usually after a few minutes of spinning around, he gets bored and walks off. That’s the moment you realise he is not a dog.

I am really glad that Junior is comfy in his kitten backpack, something I wear when riding the bike with him, or when we go visit places. He was quite comfy during the flood day, mostly sleeping until rescue, when he started to get a bit wet in the rain. He knows it’s his safe space, and we make sure it’s always available to him outside the house.

Junior isn’t the cuddliest cat. I’ve had cats which always wanna be on your lap, but he isn’t a lap cat. He didn’t like sleeping on the bed with us either. At first, I was really concerned with that, as I do enjoy the warmth and vibrations of a kitten purring on your knee. Lately, he’s started to sleep most of the night somewhere on the bed, often inbetween us, and also sit with me on the couch. While it’s not my knee, it’s really cool that he’s finding comfort close to us.

He has shown some signs of separation anxiety, especially if I’m outside or drive off. I am not sure how badly he suffers when we are all out, but if I’m outside I can hear him yowl and yowl at the door. In the end I try to rush whatever it is I’m doing outside so he doesn’t feel any more stress than absolutely necessary.

We’ve had a lot of rain lately, again. So he hasn’t been out on his harness much, but of course the aim is always to get outside 3 or 4 times a week, and train daily. It doesn’t always end up happening that way, but he’s just as happy snoozin’ on the couch as he is chasing bugs in the garden.

He has done a prison break twice since being at the rental house. The first time was through a front sliding door that is light and doesn’t lock, basically, a big flyscreen in a wire frame. We ran all over trying to find him, and in the end he was under the neighbour’s house. I could call him and he came running out, looking a little worried about the mess he got himself into.

Dusty, dirty and big blue eyed.

That front sliding door is now permanently locked closed, he won’t be getting out that way again. But he did sneak out the back door too. I closed another fly screen security door, but it didn’t latch. He made a run for it out of the corner of my eye. I chased him down quick, but only after bashing into fence posts and trees trying to grab the little fella. He was on a mission to explore!

Since Ruby’s passing, Mum’s bedroom door has been open regularly, and he has taken to exploring grandma’s room. He now likes to run in and jump on her bed to get a belly rub. Mum talks to him constantly too, Mr BB this and Mr BB that. I think he’s been good to have around, without Ruby it’s not been easy on Mum. Junior is literally the exact opposite of Ruby, yet offers what all cats offer, companionship.

Currently, today, Junior is with Charlie. The boys are having a sleep over while us parents are away. We are really thankful Junior’s godmother, that is Charlie’s Mum, is more than willing to kitten sit.

I saw a video the other day, about unconditional love and it stuck in my mind. I won’t go into the video details, but I realised that with all my pets, I have felt unconditional love for them. No matter what, for better or worse, for costing me a small fortune, for filling my heart with joy, for scaring me (Mijita had a thing for being the only one who got injured in any given situation), for doing what they’re told, or not.

For dying just 20 weeks after coming into my life.

They have all taught me something too. I know that may sound odd, but it’s true. Mijo taught me about the feelings of loss and how to process grief. Mijita taught me about trust, and about give and take in relationships. Catalina also taught me about building trust, she knew when we went walking in the German streets, that I wouldn’t let a dog get close to her. Mathilda taught me about boundaries, and to respect them. Gizmo taught me that my expectations are always right.

And Junior? He’s still teaching me, mostly that being unpredictable and spontaneous is a fun thing.

A few years ago I shared a moment with my best friend in Germany. I recognized, even if our friendship was ever to end, I would still love her unconditionally. Whatever would happen, my love for her would stay strong and true. I shared my feelings with her.

And I realised after that conversation there are others in my life that I felt the same for. A deep and meaningful love for that person, in all their awesome self, for better or for worse, they were a perfect human being.

Some know my musical partner in crime, GB, from Berlin. He is another person that I could put into the unconditional love category. In my life I haven’t met a truer friend, someone who has been loyal to a fault. He has never swayed from his support and steadfastness by my side over the years.

There’s a few other German friends who I feel the same for too. We don’t speak all that often, but 1 week or 1 year between phone calls or coffees, doesn’t make a difference, we start off where we left off. Genuine, deep and meaningful friends, who I care for with an unwavering love.

My feelings for unconditional love go back beyond Germany.

In particular, 3 friends from high school. One of those friends, who was my closest pal in my teenage years, who came to all the concerts with me to check over blues and rockabilly bands, who wore the same hair style and clothes as me, is no longer in my life. At some point he told me he didn’t want me to call him again, and it broke my heart. It was worse than any breakup I have ever had, we’d been mates for 15 years, and it was right before my first wedding too!

I still love him.

For better or for worse, he was so important in my life, and I don’t really know why he doesn’t want to talk to me, I have suspicions why, but no evidence to prove my theory. I look back at our photos, and think about the mischief we got up to, and damn we had some good times. While the pain of losing him was tough back then, now I look back with gratitude and a smile, we were a couple of dudes figuring out our way.

I don’t know the rules for unconditional love, if there were, I am sure I’m breaking them. I don’t have any biological children, but I have a god daughter who I love dearly, who I’d do anything for if she asked. I have had several furbabies in the past, and currently have the floofiest dude to love and hold, and I love them with all of my heart.

I have friends who I feel the deepest of love and gratitude, with no strings attached, no rules.

Is that unconditional love?

My wife, who I love with all my being, and is ever changing, with her interests and hobbies changing all the time. Mum who has been my rock for all my 42 years, and whose love for me hasn’t wavered. Dave, who chose to continue to be my step father long after he and Mum split up. His love has been the strongest example in my life of unconditional love.

If I call, he answers.

No matter what has happened with the big 4 in Germany, the 2 gremlins in Australia, and my best friends and family, they have all been nothing but the best things in my life.

Those no longer in my life, I still miss them, but now I just miss them with a smile or even when I’m sleeping.

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#lifes journey #unconditional love #journaling #my thoughts #ohmyjoshofficial #pet love

Can you write a post about Junior please? With some new photos. Love reading about your cats.

I’ll find some time in the coming weeks to write about the little guy.

Schools out for summer

Read part 1 here Read part 2 here Read part 3 here

It’s been 12 weeks since the flood.

The 3–12-week post flood time has been a rollercoaster phase of recovery, bringing additional worries, concerns, exhaustion and triumphs.

We started living together again and began to build the new temporary life for ourselves. The rental was smaller than the flood house, and the layout is quite different, we are living more on top of each other, with less space between.

Adjustments have been made.

We must adjust to new routines, with the symptoms of flood brain affecting us. At times we are very sensitive, forgetful, exhausted, stressed or feeling down. It’s not an easy time, patience and understanding are going a long way to keep things on an even keel.

It is an opportunity to try new things, find new processes and solutions, and routines. When we moved in, I worked on a few things, to improve my “new” life, small things like no electronics in bed. However recently I have started to digress a little bit and have spent much more time on the couch scrolling on social media and not having much motivation for anything else.

You win some, you lose some.

We furnished the house mostly with donations from friends and family. We put out the call, and it was answered (thankfully), in fact at one point we had a little too much and donated the excess. 12 weeks on, I think we have what we need, and anything else goes under the “want” category. We are not living here permanently, so we are conscious that whatever is in here, needs to be moved out at some point.

Less is more.

We lost BB out the front within a week of him moving in. He snuck out the sliding door and no one noticed. As soon as we realised, it was all hands-on deck searching for the little guy. I ran around the block, knocked on neighbours’ doors, Alex forego her usual midge repellent to stay out front in case we saw him trying to cross the busy road. After an hour of searching, and a post on FB, Alex noticed him through the fence at the neighbours, just meters from his escape route. He was a bit dirty, a bit frightened, but safe and sound in my arms pretty quick. I’m so glad I taught him to come when I call his name.

He’s becoming more and more dog than cat.

It was a scary moment for us all. While I do take him out on a harness for short walks, he hadn’t been here long enough to settle in. I was concerned he’d try to return to his “home” the flood house, which is about 1.5 kilometres away.

After that fearful moment we have been extra cautious and diligent with the doors! He has only slipped out once since, this time at the back door, and I grabbed him pretty quickly.

I started seeing a psychologist 4 weeks after the flood, someone who offered support for those who were flood affected. It’s been good to have a clinician to talk to, although I find psychologists in Australia have a very different approach than the German therapists I saw for all those years. I feel they are not listening as well as they could, and don’t delve deep enough into issues. It could be that after all those years of therapy, and my studies, I have very high expectations, which is something to reflect on.

I’ll probably have 6 to 10 sessions with him, spanned over 3-4 months. I had come a long way in that first 4 weeks on my own. I had been finding more calm and peace, but still at times I feel overwhelmed and lost, and having the doc to talk to has helped me return to that more peaceful mindset.

On the day I left my first doctor’s appointment, I picked up Alex and we headed home, only to be rear ended in the rain by a young girl who hadn’t realised the traffic ahead had backed up. Another situation we really didn’t want to experience at that time. Luckily, none of us were hurt, and the cars were driveable but both needed repairs. It took 8 weeks to get insurance and repairs done on our car, all covered by her insurance.

Exactly a month after flood 1.0, came flood 2.0. It was a time of great worry and concern for us and many others, and I was back at the flood house making sure all the items remaining in the garage were as high as I could get them. This flood hit other areas hard, like Byron Bay and Lismore, and our area was mostly unscathed, but it was a bad few days with all the rain.

It was at this time we found out the garage at the rental house flooded. The ground is higher out the back, and the water flows from the back door of the garage towards the front. We only had a few items of little worth in there, and we know now not to allow anything to sit on the ground, but it has reminded us again of our experience.

One win after the flood, was that I finally got to see recent photos of my dad. For various reasons, including COVID, none of the family have been able to visit him in his care home in Perth. However, there’s an app that the nursing home use whereby the nurses and staff can post a photo and the family can see it, comment, and like. A little like Facebook, but much simpler and much more private. It was a real bonus to see photos of Dad going on social outings and having a wine or a beer.

A few weeks later Dad’s guardian arranged a phone line in his room too. He had recently lost his mobile and, to be honest, was finding using his mobile phone difficult. So, a landline and a simple phone, means I can call him pretty much anytime, and as of 2 days ago, he still recognises my voice!

I managed to finish all the assessments and role plays for my course on time. The flood kicked my butt for a while there, but once I focused on each day, and kept at my assessments whenever I was up to it, I got it all done. I have passed, and while I have yet to receive my actual certificate, I am quite proud to say I have completed the Diploma of Counselling.

The last week in class was a real mixed bag of emotions.

I had a falling out with one of my teachers on my very last role play assessment with her observing. I learnt a lot from that situation, and I feel like I handled it pretty well. I’m still very disappointed for the sour taste left after a year together, and I have learnt to let that be too.

I can only control my behaviour, thoughts and feelings.

My MacBook decided it would stop working on the 2nd to last day of class. Perfect timing, considering I was in the middle of writing notes. The flood had gotten to the MacBook, and before I could do a post flood back up, she (or he) died. At the time, I found my level of acceptance pretty good. I didn’t yell, I didn’t cry, I just felt that I had to accept it died and I lost my notes since my last back up.

I have had it taken for repair, but it’s not repairable. Luckily the insurance will replace it, in fact I’ll get a small upgrade, but I won’t be able to get back my files. Study files, photos and other important documents. Oh well, that’ll teach me to wait until class is over to back up.

Other than the laptop dying, the other 2 days of class that week were amazing. The teachers provided us with great course completion tools, a sense of achievement, fulfillment and support. Their goodbyes were bittersweet, and I really feel a solid connection with them. I am so thankful they were our teachers; I think the class feel that way too.

The last 6 weeks or so with my class really showed me the importance of having a solid support network around you. My classmates wouldn’t let me slack off, miss a day, or make excuses. They encouraged and supported me, especially after the flood, when things weren’t good, they kept at me. This brought us closer, which I am thankful for.

At our last lunch together, with the course behind us, there was a huge sense of connection, love, and support.

This group of folks, who vary in age, background and skills, are the first non-music related people I have really connected with in years. Pretty much all my past connections come from either my history (school or where I grew up), family and family friends or my music career. I have about 20 folks I can call friends, who have never seen me play live or bought a CD off me, that’s a first.

It’s a new chapter in my life to experience this new way of connecting.

Now that I have finished the course, I’m starting to look for work. I have mixed feelings about going into the community services sector, and I am trying to weave my way into a job that I hope to enjoy. My mind goes back and forward, should I focus on being a counsellor, or community support worker or go back to IT or music related jobs? The whole job market is a pain in the butt, and I am struggling after spending a year studying, only to learn that I know less about what I want to do for a living.

I do miss playing shows and being on the road too.

Speaking of shows, I finally got one for 2022. Thanks again to Cherry Divine who reached out with a gig in June. It’ll give me something to focus on musically. This gig is a little special too, as the bassist we’ll be using is someone I’ve always wanted to work with.

For my own music, I did have a little trio get together for some rehearsals in late 2021, but it seems that until I get a gig, we won’t be getting together. I understand, no point in rehearsing without knowing what you’re rehearsing for. I do miss getting together with the guys, well with any guys, and I hope we will get a chance to play. For now, I am still focusing on life after music, taking gigs I am asked to play.

Cherry Divine’s gig got me working on my guitars again, all of them with rusted strings and in need of some tender loving care since the flood. The humidity here gets to everything. I mean, I expected after the flood for things to go south, but even before that, it’s so surprising how ugly stuff can get! Alex and I have a lot to learn, or in my case remember, what life is like here.

Over the Easter weekend Ruby stopped eating and started to salivate a lot. The old girl was struggling, and we had to take her to the vets. The news wasn’t good, she had an issue where her body was eating her adult teeth. This is something that happens with kittens naturally when they lose their baby teeth, but if it comes back to affect adult cats, it can be painful and requires knocking the adult cat out and pulling their teeth.

The vet gave us few options, and deep down we knew that Ruby was too old for anaesthetic and her kidneys probably wouldn’t handle it well either. We decided to use some pain relief to see how Ruby went over the next few days, but the prognosis wasn’t good.

We took Ruby home.

I was hoping she’d do well with the pain meds and bounce back, and to some degree she did, but the underlying issue with her teeth was not manageable long term. I was reminded of Mijo, and it wasn’t until the vet put the catheter in him, and push the syringe, that I lost hope. Deep down I am a hopeful person, although I think hope relates closely to denial.

On the Tuesday morning when we took Ruby into the vet to say goodbye, I was still hopeful we could find a solution. I was googling, I was wishing and hoping. But Mum, she was brave. I think she had made the decision to say goodbye to Ruby at the first visit to the vet. Mum was courageous, and we all know how it hurts to make that difficult decision.

Mum was showing her gratitude for all those years with Ruby by her side, making the best decision for the old girl.

Ruby didn’t like me much. I was the one who often picked her up or gave her medication or pushed her butt into the cat carrier (and often my reward was Ruby peeing on my leg). I didn’t mean her any harm, and in fact I fed her, patted her and talked to her all the time.

She was Mum’s companion. Ruby had been through 2 floods, breakups, visitors, thunderstorms, tears, and support to Mum. They head butted each other most nights when Ruby wanted attention while they laid in bed. Ruby had been through a flood rescue, soaking wet, and gave mum hope and unconditional love during her most difficult days.

Part of me thinks Ruby knew it was time to say goodbye because she’d been with Mum all those years I was away and knew now I was here to stay and be Mum’s support.

It was a tough Easter, but I have to say Mum was the bravest, strongest and lovingest in those moments when Ruby needed her, just like Ruby was when Mum needed her.

The day after we said goodbye to Ruby, I was able to help Mum with a little win. We got her trike up and running. It had been over 6 weeks since she last rode it, and I know it brings her a lot of joy to be able to ride. It needed the battery charging, a post flood clean and some TLC. We gave it a good test over the school holidays, and since then, whenever the weather is decent, she’d trike to work.

Often I join her on my bike too, and I enjoy seeing her smile as she rides. It pushes me to get some exercise, get some fresh air, move, think, and be mindful. I drop Mum off at work, then I often ride a different way home, something with decent hills maybe. I usually finish with wobbly legs that know better than my head when to slow down or stop.

I spent time going through my stuff that is scattered in various garages, houses and storage sheds. I haven’t completed the task yet, there’s mould and washing and cleaning and stuff to throw out, but I am getting there. I’m constantly reminded that all my stuff isn’t under one roof, my roof, my home. The plan was to put up my band posters, to fill up a bookshelf, to have a studio, to play my records, to have a space for Alex to do her artwork… to build our life together down under.

All that is on hold for just a little longer.

Since returning to Australia I have done some extras work. Filming various TV shows and even a movie, but up until now nothing has been released. Well, one had been, 9 Perfect Strangers, but I checked out the episode I filmed and I’m not in it, nor are any of the other extras I was working with, I think they refilmed or just cut us all out…

However, I was an extra in Melissa McCarthy’s Netflix series “Gods Favourite Idiot” months and months ago, and finally it has a release date in mid June! I’m only in one scene, a protester outside their house, but looking at the footage of the trailer, I am quite sure you’ll be able to see me once the series is released.

Stay tuned!

The Elvis movie is finally coming out in late June. Remember when I blogged about it in secret? Didn’t you recognize the blog titles?

I did blog about the audition and some of the scenes I filmed. Until now, I couldn’t write about it directly; we sign paperwork that says you can’t say anything in public. I did 3 scenes: The carnival, Rosswood and Louisana Hayride.

When I wrote about meeting the CEO, it was Tom Hanks who came up to shake my hand (and a few others) and thank us for our efforts. The Carnival scene was an overnight job, it was cold, it was hard work staying awake, and he wanted to acknowledge our efforts.

Awesome. Legend.

During filming I got to see Baz, Tom and Austen work up close, listening to how they interacted with each other and the crew. It was an incredible experience, and even if I can’t find me in the final cut, I know I was there, and I got to see “Elvis” in the 50’s, take after take shakin’ it, not bad for a rockabilly kid like me.

Read all about the Elvis movie here: Love Me Tender TCB If You’re Lookin’ For Trouble

It’s very exciting now that the movie is coming out. The extras are all buzzin’ online and in private messages to each other. I expect I’ll go to the cinema a few times to see it, and surely will own a copy on DVD. I know that some folks don’t like Baz’s directing, all I can say is, without that experience of seeing filming of a huge movie, without being up close with him and the other actors, without that opportunity, life would be different for me. It got me out of a rut.

Thanks Baz.

I started submitting to flood inquiries locally and nationally. Documenting the flood heights, our experiences and other various info. It’s a bit tough to go over the photos and experience, but it’s needed if we are to get local government funding and support and let the right people know what happened. I think our area has been a little bit forgotten, I mean there are some folks on our street who can barely believe our house flooded.

Mum and I have attended a couple of community meetings too, to show support for our area and to gain funding to improve flood mitigation. It’s a big job, and I am glad there are people with the skills, knowledge and energy to take this further, while I just write and submit our parts. Hearing the experiences of others, who live just a few hundred meters away from us, reminds me that we were quite lucky.

Overall, we have come out of this OK. That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard, it means we don’t live in a tent in our mould infested house, and we have insurance to cover most of the damages. Like many others, we have mental health damages which can’t be fixed easily.

Little BB has had a win too, he got himself some new outfits that matches daddy’s. I stopped by a pretty typical Aussie workwear clothing shop while Alex was trying on some shoes. Low and behold they had pet flannelette shirts, and matching adult shirts! Well BB looks dashing in his new outfit, and I am really happy that he and I can take walkies together, and everyone will know he’s my little boy!

During that 4-10 week post flood period, as I was watching more and more social media, I wasn’t focused on my own self care. I was pressuring myself to find a job, sort out and clean up my flood belongings, support Mum and Alex, and wasn’t keeping my eye on the, mental health, ball. I was, and still am, social, meeting friends for coffee and reaching out etc, but I wasn’t doing more things that felt joyous.

As I realised that I was feeling more and more down, I began to re-evaluate what I was doing. I started to train Junior again, ride my bike or do a little home workout, play a little more guitar, write my blogs, focus on simpler days with just 1 or 2 things I might want to achieve, and be more accepting if the day didn’t go to plan or I didn’t feel up to it.

I also mowed the lawns, something I haven’t done since about 2008 when I left the UK!

Once I finished the course, I spent less time focusing on “one day at a time”, and more time on pressure! I was pressuring myself too much, and really hadn’t stepped back, and let myself just be. These days, 12 weeks on, I am aiming to do all those things and more, but all of it in moderation and with thoughtful process.

We did have a wonderful mother’s day with Mum, and her best friend L. L and Mum have been friends for 30 years. When my cousin met L, he immediately started calling her Aunty L, so it’s stuck. The family has chosen her as our Aunt and spending a day with her and Mum sounded liked an ideal mother’s day. Both of the girls enjoyed the morning brunch with Alex and I, with a little shopping afterwards.

Mum said it was the best Mother’s Day ever.

I didn’t think I did much to make that happen, booking a table and arranging a surprise guest. But those small things added up to great conversation, laughter, smiles and hugs.

L is really the sweetest and most supportive person. When she heard about the flood and then the rental we got, she went out shopping and bought us a bunch of basics to get us started, things we hadn’t thought of too. A carload of towels, cleaning products, toilet rolls, batteries, utensils, buckets, detergents, moisturiser, hand wash, and, well I can’t remember it all, but it was a lot! She drove over an hour to get it to us too. We still go out to the garage whenever we need something that we don’t have, sure enough, it’s in with the stuff L brought over.

Now that I knew my laptop was well and truly dead, without any chance to resurrect the files, I had to begin the process of writing down the contents we had lost in the flood from the start. Insurance companies love lists and details, and it’s difficult to remember those details, and it’s hard to go through photos and see what has been thrown out.

Reliving the losses is no fun. I kinda wish someone else would/could do it. But who knows our belongings better than us? While the assessor has been through and jotted down some notes, we have to make a complete list, with photos, invoices, replacement costs and more. It’s a real pain in the butt, please just offer us a lump sum and we’ll take it!

We can’t sit down and write a complete list in one go either. It’s too much. It feels like a list that never ends. I attempt once or maybe twice a week to sit down with Mum, pick a room, and go through it. Asking anyone to think back to where and when an item was bought pushes their memory, let alone after being through a traumatic experience.

We are slowly getting there…

We received the building/assessors report of the repairs required to enable living in the house again around week 11.

It’s official, the house won’t be fully repaired and renovated until March 2023. That’s 13 months of temporary rental life, 13 months without Mum in her home. Mind you, none of us particularly want to go back to live there.

We spent about 3 hours reading the report and finding errors, omissions and changes that are needed. It’s a fair bit of jargon and easy to misunderstand what has been written down. We ended up with a list of 14 questions to email to the insurance company. These questions could lead to more questions, or another assessor to visit, or more calls to the insurance company. The calls take an hour or more just waiting to talk to someone.

One thing that has been a win regarding the house renovations, is that recently we had a solid assessor who has helped us by taking the time to answer our questions on the ground. No matter how silly, wild or unusual our questions have been, he’s been patient and understanding, and answered to the best of his ability. We didn’t understand the process after the flood, and at times we got 5 steps ahead of ourselves. Matt helped us slow down, and understand the steps involved. Things aren’t 100% perfect, just look at the assessors report, but at least we understand things a little bit more, and we have a bit more peace of mind.

Thanks Matt for taking the time to clarify.

In early May I had an interview for a casual job as a Community Support Worker. The job revolves around supporting folks with mental health issues integrate into community life and achieve their goals. My counselling skills will come in handy, and it’ll give me experience with a wide variety of clients, situations and access to community supports.

I felt the interview went well, considering it was my first in the community services sector, and only my 3rd interview in 20 years down under. I came out feeling a little confident, but I also didn’t want to get cocky. I wasn’t even sure I wanted the job, as I keep going back and forward from missing touring musician life, wanting to go into something like IT that I know I can kick butt with, or keeping focused on work that are outcomes of my course.

I found out a week later I got the job!

I have actually kept that news a secret from Alex and Mum. I don’t know why I did that, but now that I think about it, I think it was because I wanted to see how I felt about the job before celebrating with others.

I wanted to be happy with it first.

In fact, Alex usually proofreads my blog, making sure my grammar and spelling is up to snuff, so she is finding out as she proof reads this blog today, just before I post it. And Mum? She’ll find out after it’s posted online, assuming Alex can keep her mouth shut for a few hours.

I am excited about starting something new and seeing where it’ll take me. It’s given me a real confidence boost, a sense of direction that I felt I was losing the past month or so. I know that if I didn’t get that job offer, I’d be stuck wondering what I should really be doing and going back and forwards between all the possibilities. I’m glad my possibilities right now have narrowed down to this one job, it feels good to have something to focus on.

Funny thing, my start date is literally 20 years after my end date of my last Australia job. I was working in Melbourne, for a country wide back packer internet café business. I finished up in late May of 2002, before I flew out to the UK in June.

Mum and I have begun clearing out the storage unit that Alex’s work had arranged for us during week 1 post flood. We got there around week 11, and damn, we forgot what was taken there. It’ll take some more visits to clear it out completely, but it’s been good to start the process of deciding what to keep, what needs to be thrown out, and what the insurance may need to know about.

Dave and I actually got a wave in last week too, first in about 3 months. Now, if anyone experiences floods on coastal towns, you know that the swollen flooded rivers release farming chemicals, sewage, trees, and all sorts of nasties into the ocean.

E.coli anyone?

We’ve been keeping an eye on the ocean water tests and also stories from other surfers how their eyes feel while surfing, or how the ocean smells or even if anyone we know got sick from swallowing a bit of water. Seems like the danger period has passed and we got out and found a small wave at The Pass, an iconic spot in Byron Bay. We had fun, our bodies didn’t hurt too much after such a long break and I’m eager to get back out there this week once the conditions improve.

Like bike riding, it’s a chance for me to practise mindfulness. To be in the now, in the moment, to be present.

2022 started badly, COVID isolation, and kinda went downhill from there. The floods, the clean-up, the recovery, assessments, the car accident, the laptop, the 2nd flood, the rental, building reports, Ruby’s passing and the future worries, have all been low points to work through.

I have had to continue to re-focus on taking it one day at a time and looking out for my own well-being, while supporting those around me.

Tomorrow is the May 23rd, that’s 12 weeks since the flood. I hope the remaining part of the year sees a few wins for us, and for those around us.

Oh, and I only missed 2 days of class the whole year of the course.

One day at a time.

Thanks for reading

Josh

#flood2022 #baz luhrmann #elvis movie #recovery #my story

Just eat it…

Part 3: You can read part 1 here and part 2 here of the flood story.

After the flood, the rescue, the clean-up and the beginning of recovery, I was feeling really worn out. I had been running on adrenaline and shock, mostly in survival mode. Not really taking in what was going on around me, feeling tense, exhausted, stress, overwhelmed and worry.

Visiting the flood house each day was tough. There was the overwhelming amount of work that had to be done, yet not knowing where to start. It took a lot of energy to feel motivated. I mean, literally each morning was a struggle to begin, and then during the day we’d find something else that needed attention, and yet found it consistently difficult to begin that task or keep focus.

The rollercoaster ride of emotions changed quickly.

Visiting the house felt like revisiting the experience of having the water rise through the house. Reminding me how lucky we were to be safe and healthy, yet also how much we’d lost during that day and the time since. Our security, our safe place, our routine, our expectations of our future, the struggles we each endured personally and together.

After a week, I knew I had to start taking breaks from the flood house.

Over the weekend I decided that on Monday, a week after the flood, I would not visit the house. That Monday I began to feel a sense of relief. I could breathe a little. I could begin to find a sense of normality. I could start to get my thoughts in order.

Alex wanted to go to work, check in with her colleagues and I needed their internet, it was a match made in heaven. The office was buzzing, and a lot of that buzz was community support, not sales. It felt good to be around folks, folks who had come to the house to help the week earlier, and folks who had compassion, support and smiles for us. While Alex caught up on a few things, I went over some assessments, and got them submitted for marking. Something preflood and normal was happening. Something, that after the flood, meant life wasn’t completely ruined. I could see that there was a possibility of moving forward, baby steps.

On Tuesday (flood day +8) I had my first day back in class. The campus was being used as an evacuation centre, so except for the flood day, there hadn’t been any classes to attend online or in person. Apparently upwards of 500 people were sleeping at the campus, in corridors and in classrooms.

I was happy to be back, again continuing my break from the flood house and showing me life could go on without the mud, mess and mayhem.

It was a very emotional day.

Hugging my classmates, retelling our story, I found it all so very overwhelming, yet therapeutic. There were tears, in class and out of class. There was connection with my classmates. My goodness that class is a supportive bunch, and I was so glad to be in their presence that day.

There was an underlying thing going on with me that week too. It was building slowly since the flood, bubbling under the surface. I had come home to support and help Mum, and yet here I was carrying yet another pile of her wet stuff out to the front lawn to be collected, not the kind of help I was envisioning when I left Europe. I felt like I had let her down.

I hadn’t protected her.

I was also feeling crappy about letting Alex’s car get flooded. It’s her safe space, she has her independence and “me” time when driving the car. Now she had to rely on others to get her around, she had less decompression time after work. Also, this was not how I expected our 2ndyear here to kick off with, a flood and displacement.

All that weight really, really hit me hard. I was starting to feel the pressure on myself, I know that the girls didn’t blame me for anything, it was me blaming me. I was being hard on myself, but I couldn’t shake these feelings for a while there.

That first day in class I got to talk with my classmates and teachers about my feelings. They all did their counselling jobs just right, listening and letting me talk it out. It’s taken several more weeks to learn to take it easier on myself, and realise I’d done the best I could, and there wasn’t much else I could have done at the time.

To be honest, I think I have always found it easier to forgive others than to forgive myself. Another self-healing process to work on in the future.

I’m grateful for my classmates, a room full of counsellors, and teachers who supported me and helped me in the weeks after the flood. I’ve been told I showed great strength by turning up to class, and they gave me a safe space to work through the trauma.

On those days I felt like giving up, they reminded me take it “one day at a time”. Damn it, that saying keeps coming back to bite me in the ass. Thank you, guys.

As I got to upload some of my assessments, I was up to date, in fact I was a little bit ahead, which gave me some study breathing space too, and I focused on what was most important at the present moment of each day.

To take even more pressure off, I decided to focus on just a few things for the coming weeks. Help myself, Alex and Mum, and to finish my studies. Until I graduated and we had a long-term roof over our head, nothing else was of importance. I cut back on even more from my “to do” list. I took stock of what we’d been through and worked on finding gratitude in what had happened. We were safe.

During that second week, I got a haircut too. Wow, another normal regular thing that felt amazing to get done. I started to post a few things on social media, getting the word out about the flood, the house and how we were. The responses from everyone were really heart-warming. I even had a message from my ex-wife, we hadn’t had contact in many years, and I felt really privileged she reached out. Thank you, C, for reaching out to us.

We had to start looking for a long-term solution to our living arrangements. We couldn’t stay as we were forever. Alex, BB Junior and I at Sophie’s, Mum at one cousin’s and Ruby at another. The original ideas we had to rent from a family friend fell through, so we got on the case to find a rental.

Within 24 hours we got approval for a 12-month contract, in a 3-bedroom house in Ocean Shores. Maybe the last one available as everything was getting snapped up quick. We didn’t even view it before signing, we knew we couldn’t wait another moment. The house is located close to the shops, so Mum can walk anytime she wants.

I visited a laundromat with Alex that week.

Even though friends and classmates had taken washing for us, we still had a lot of personal stuff that needed doing, it needed that muddy smell and mould to get washed and dried off. I hadn’t stepped inside a laundromat in many many years, and Alex thought it must have been way back, since her New York times. We survived the busy Sunday morning wash n dry session and had fresh clothes for the coming (rainy) weeks.

As Alex’s car was an uncertainty, we weren’t sure any repairs could get it back on the road, we had talked about buying another newer car. The second-hand car prices had gone up dramatically since the flood, and I wanted Alex and I to have a win, something to look forward to, feel joy and gratitude. So we found a small run around car, a new one, from MG that she really liked. We arranged a test drive and next thing you know we are ordering a brand-new car. There was a very nervous smile on Alex’s face as she signed, neither of us had ever owned a new car before.

It was really great to have a win that week. To do something for our future. Something to focus on that brought us joy. Something to look forward to, to own, to use. It’s ours. (Although it won’t be delivered until May).

On Wednesday (flood day +16) the first assessor came to the flood house. It wasn’t a fun appointment. They had told Mum she needed to throw out more items (literally everything touched by water) and I arrived with her going through more of her parents’ items. We had to relive the whole flood and clean up again.

Not only that, but our life of trash was also being picked up from the front lawn at that time. So here we were rushing to get things out as trucks and other machinery were outside throwing things out. Not an easy time, one I’d rather not have.

It took another week before we could move Mum into the new rental place. We had to find a bed, and furniture. I reached out to my classmates, who helped with some donations: furniture, a fridge, and one of my closest high school friends gave us a bed and other items. Within a week we had pretty much all the basics ready to go.

Mum moved in on Thursday (flood day +17). She would have a couple of nights on her own, before I moved in with BB, and then Alex last. By Monday (flood day + 21) we were living under the same roof again. It was another phase of adjustment.

Ruby moved in a week later, you know the cat Queen needs everything in order before she arrives.

A new house, new items in the house, new living arrangements, a new “us”.

3 weeks of separation, disconnection, wasn’t easy on us. Moving into a new smaller house, figuring out how to live together under different circumstances, hasn’t been a straightforward adjustment. We had gotten quite used to living together before the flood, and now we had to relearn, in a new place, under stress.

It hasn’t been smooth sailing.

We all want the best of for each other, and I’m sure under different circumstances it would be easier, but we were forced into this situation, a stressful situation, and now must figure ourselves out.

But I have to say, living under the same roof again has been good. I missed Mum terribly during those 3 weeks. I worried about her too.

The ups and downs during those first 3 weeks started to even out. We had some wins, and a place to live made all the difference. Having a bed was even better.

I can’t speak for the girls, but after that deep dive my mental health took in that 2-3 week period, I started to find gratitude in small things. I had gotten a bit slack with that, but these days I find the taste of coffee, the smile of my wife and the purr of my cat are all I need to feel good.

Everything else is the icing on the cake.

Thanks for reading

Josh

#floods2022 #ocean shores #mental health #adjustment #progress

From small things...

Part 2.... Read part one "When The Levee Breaks", here

As the sun went down on the day of the flood, I was relieved we were finally dry, in a house that wasn’t flood affected; we were all safe.

We knew the floods were high in the area, but up until that evening we’d been focusing on survival in our own world. We watched some news footage of other areas that night, shocked at how high the water got, and how it was likely to get higher overnight. We heard statistics and stories of rescues, despair and losses, something we continue to hear now, weeks later.

In some cases, the water was almost 3 meters higher than the worst flood on record, covering 100s square kilometres. That’s a hell of a lot of water, many homes thought to be safe from such devastation, like ours, are no longer safe.

1000s of families displaced.

I don’t remember falling asleep the evening of the flood.

The next morning, Tuesday (or flood day +1), we didn’t know if we could even get to our house, let alone if there was still any water inside, and if so, how much. By 9:30am we were around at the house assessing the damage and figuring out clean up.

I guess in a way, it felt like the day before, like a dream. A really bad dream.

The carpets were stinky, wet, and squishy under foot. The mud, the smell, the mess, and the walls that were already starting to warp. Things like towels originally used in attempt to stop the water coming in under doors, now soggy, brown, and heavy. It was very overwhelming.

We didn’t know where to start. Shock and disbelief were all we felt.

It was a huge undertaking we weren’t prepared for, with the added “bonus” that we had no communication with the outside world. Major internet cables were damaged south of us, and local phone towers weren’t working. It would be about a week before communications in our area were back up and running. Not what one needs when there’s a national disaster happening.

We would have rather been available to help others, but we weren’t in that position.

Thankfully, my cousins were there to help begin clearing things out as best we could. We needed to hose out the garage and house, to get the mud out, so it would be safe to walk around. Mud sure is slippery stuff. After the mud was cleared in the garage, we could start moving items out there, and then begin in the inside of the house.

We managed to get the “flood” car started. However, by Wednesday it had died again. It took 6 weeks to get various repairs done on it, including a new CPU, before it was road ready. Thankfully, Dave didn’t give up, he spent countless hours and energy getting the old girl cleaned and running.

Knowing where to start is tricky, and when you’re in shock it’s even harder. At least that’s my experience. If we did start somewhere, it was easy to get distracted by the things found, damaged or lost, to the brown murky water. The first week clearly showed me neither myself, nor Mum, were in a position to make decisions, but through the tears we tried.

There were moments when I walked from room to room in a daze. Not really taking in what had happened, not sure where to start on the mess, and not sure what to feel. Anytime someone asked “what can I do?” it usually ended with either of us crying, just overwhelmed with what tasks lay ahead.

The house has an extension, a storeroom and bathroom built on the back, which can only be entered from outside. I had forgotten about these rooms the first few days of clean up, but when I remembered I checked them out. The water had risen higher than we thought and moved things around. I had items from before I left Australia 20+ years ago out there, such as a box of photos and an old esky filled with my belongings, both wet.

I still haven’t opened them.

The bathroom had a lot of the pool stuff in it which is, well, waterproof, but now it was full of mud, and slippery and yucky. It either had to be cleaned up or thrown out. But to be honest, would you want to use something that had sat in sewer and pesticide water for a day or two? A task just too big for Mum and I to contemplate at first, it would have to wait.

It happened all the time that first week, walk through a room and be reminded of what we missed, what wasn’t put up high, that is now lost to the flood. As we shuffled items from room to room and tried to clean up, completely overwhelmed with the losses, and the amount of work still to be done.

I checked a large wooden box in my room that I thought was waterproof, it was too big to put up high. Inside there was another plastic box, and in that I found about 400 family photos, from back in the day, wet and soggy. Bursting into tears and kicking myself for being so silly as to not check inside that box the morning before the waters rose, Alex took the photos. Gently she peeled them, while they were wet, and placed them all out to dry. Later her colleagues took some home to place with a dehumidifier, around 98% were salvaged.

Photos of Dad, Mum, my grandparents from their younger days, and baby photos of me and my siblings, photos of shows I have played, all saved. That was a good moment. Thanks Alex, J and S.

Anyone that came by, didn’t have the emotional attachment, and they got the job done. Mum and I would bawl at the sight of grandma’s glasses all brown and silted up, whereas someone else would either pick them up and clean them or throw them out, without hesitation or tears. Having folks help did move things along quicker, we are all grateful for those who stopped by and supported us.

Watching the pile of household items on the front lawn grow was heartbreaking; beds, tables, couches, lamps, rugs, TVs, magazines, clothes, washing machine, mattresses, cat beds, carpets and more. And then I look left and right, and my neighbours’ piles are growing too. Devastating. Driving down the streets here, all we saw were piles of families’ lives on their front lawns, damaged, brown and wet.

Thanks to the help of friends, and Mums colleagues, the carpets in the 5 rooms were up by Wednesday afternoon and the rooms were starting to dry out.

Alex’s work colleagues helped us with a lot during that first week. They drove to Bunnings (the local building store) to get packing boxes. They helped us arrange storage for some of our stuff, and then took our stuff there for us. They arranged pallets so we could keep our items off the damp and mouldy cement in the garage. They supported Alex in various ways at work too, no pressure to return to work until she was ready. Overall, they kept calm, focused and supportive, even through our trauma responses and tears.

My classmates stopped by later in the week, once I could get word to them after driving 15 kilometres for some internet and phone calls. Cleaning fridges, washing our clothes and towels, and generally offering support. Every little bit helped 10-fold.

We felt a strong sense of community in those first few days. I finally met the neighbours across the road, the next-door neighbours and I never talked so much as in those early flood days. People would stop by and offer to carry, clean, tidy or just offer an ear for a chat. There were cakes, coffees and teas offered. There were suggestions about how to correctly clean items, how to deal with the insurance, how to cope, how to organise our items. There were heartbreaking stories about experiences of friends, colleagues and folks we didn’t even know.

By talking through our experiences, we could each process that little bit more of our experience and emotions. It was good to get it out in the open. It was difficult but good to hear others talk about their experiences or experiences of people they know.

Our aim was to clear the house so it could start to dry out, and it took about a week to get it (mostly) done. 6 weeks later, there’s still boxes that need going through and items that need cleaning. I have clothes and belongings in 4 different locations, and mould that keeps on keepin’ on.

On Wednesday evening, I had a very strong reaction to the rainstorm rolling in. It started when I first heard thunder from way off. I ran outside to see how it all looked, and I felt this urge to go back to the flood house to check I put everything up high enough in the garage.

I couldn’t stand the thought of losing more.

I had trouble breathing. I was hot under the collar, and I was crying. I think I was rocking back and forward too. Alex took control, helped me calm down and hugged me until the feeling passed. She said later I had a panic attack.

Whatever it was, it was not pleasant.

On the TV that week, I recognized one of my high school teachers being rescued, holding onto the back of a kayak, dragged through very deep brown water to safety. I still can’t find the words to express the emotions when I saw that image.

On Thursday exhaustion, stress and muscle aches were really settling in. I was often lost around the flood house, still trying to make sense of it all and trying to clean up. I lost my shit at someone who made a comment about me overreacting about something mundane like cleaning up some items. I don’t think I have ever yelled at someone like that before in my life, I even scared myself. The anger, which deep down I realise was a feeling of betrayal. It was the first time since the flood I was being judged, and I sure didn’t like it.

Who would?

Things were tense as it was, and I hit my limit that day. I apologized for my reaction, and I think the person realised they may have overstepped the mark. We got on with cleaning up. I am grateful for their overall support and energy, which continues to this day.

Alex and I celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary on the Friday after the flood. Looking back, it’s sure been a real whirlwind of a rollercoaster ride. We went out for pizza and us time. Keepin’ it simple is what we do best. One thing’s for sure, our love and relationship has gone from strength to strength during this very testing period.

We still love and care for each other just like 2 years before, and for me, even more so after each experience (good or bad). Alex has been a support, a rock, a guiding star, the light in the dark, the clear road ahead and the hug, smile, chat and love that I needed during these testing times.

On the drive home, the rain got really really heavy. It was a scary moment for us both. I gritted my teeth and got through it with tears in my eyes, I was reminded that rain is no longer something I enjoy the sound, feel or look of.

By the end of that first week, I started to feel terrible around the house. I guess it was always there, but increasingly when I visited the flood house to work on clean up, I’d feel a lump in my throat or something in the pit of my stomach. Alex could feel it too. It felt like the visits were retraumatising us. So, after 6 days of cleaning, tidying, packing, unpacking, crying, repacking, making decisions, sleepless nights, more tears, muscle aches, exhaustion, stress, hugs, a few laughs, coffees and finding another item we connected with wet, I decided I would take a break from the house. Alex too.

I only wish I could have gotten Mum to take a break after the first week.

It was a tough no sleep, high stress week, becoming increasingly hard to hear or see Mum upset. She’d financed and bought the house on her own, furnished it the way she wanted, and recently we did some home renovations like painting and curtains. It was just starting to get comfy for us all, and to have that connection with each other and the house disrupted was hard. Seeing Mum distraught, upset, frustrated, exhausted, confused, and hurt was difficult to see and feel.

I understand Mum isn’t someone who relaxes easily, I learnt that from her, and part of her way of processing what happened was to keep busy. We all react differently to the experiences around us, another reminder to me, to let those do what they feel they need to do to move forward.

During that first week or so, there were a lot of emotions, intense feelings and adjustments. It would take some time for me to process what happened, and what sense I made of it all.

I knew there were people volunteering, communities getting together arranging food, shelter, transport and more for those who were evacuated, flooded out or lost their homes. I didn’t feel great that I couldn’t be very active supporting others, but I knew I wanted to help, if I could.

The day after the flood we had to register at the local evacuation centre, and as I walked back outside, I saw a woman in the car park who had her cat in her car, her car was packed full of stuff too. I didn’t hesitate, I walked up and asked if she needed anything for her cat. She needed food.

We talked a bit more, she was stranded, trying to head north but was stuck because the roads were closed. She followed Alex and I to Sophie’s house and we gave her a bag of dry and some wet food too.

Her smile was all the thanks I needed.

I felt joy that I was able to give back to someone who was flood affected. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to her and her cat, and it meant the world to me at the time.

Incredibly, the Tuesday ended with a smile. With everything around us in turmoil and chaos, and all the feelings of helplessness and the trauma, every moment, no matter how small, that provided a shimmer of good and hope, was something to hold on to, and something to grow with.

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#floods2022 #disaster #trauma #recovery #ocean shores

When the levee breaks…

Where do I start?

The last 6 weeks have been a whirlwind of trauma, tragedy, triumph and emotions.

I originally wanted to write about all the things in one go, but it’s too much for just one blog entry. So, I’ll just write… and see what comes out… this might be part one of a few parts…

First, let's go back to the beginning of this term, when going to class was tough. I really didn’t feel up to returning to study. I don’t really know why, maybe because of the long 2 month break over the Christmas holidays, which was mostly spent in isolation, but I just didn’t feel motivated. It took quite a bit of energy to push myself to turn up to class.

The teacher asked the class 2 questions at the beginning of that Tuesday: What do you want to focus on during this last term? What is your strategy to keep focused?

My response came to me surprisingly quickly. I was reminded of my first day of class in April 2021. I had not stepped inside a classroom for over 20 years, I had no idea what I was doing and what lay ahead. However, on that day I made a commitment to myself that I would do whatever it takes to finish this course.

I responded to the teacher’s question and announced to the whole class: I would focus on finishing the course, and to do that, I would take it one day at a time.

I’ve spent a lot of my life dreaming of the future or reliving the past. I was rarely in the moment. My calendar is full of a “to do list”, that never fails to grow bigger. It’s also full of special dates from the past that I often relive, often without a positive feeling. I kept experiencing anxiety on a regular basis, because I wasn’t mindful of the present. I wasn’t being grateful for what I have got or experienced, just disappointed about what I haven’t got or what I missed out on.

I didn’t stop to smell the roses.

That first day back to class this year, was a real turning point for me, I decided I was going to work on learning to live in the moment as best I could. I felt this was currently where my mental health and personal growth would most benefit, by taking things one day at a time.

I had turned up to class, and that was an achievement I needed to acknowledge to myself. That was the most important thing I could do that day and, if it was the only thing I did, then pat myself on the back, a job well done.

Turn up, be present and do the best I can.

From then on, I removed as many distractions as I could from my daily routine, there was less guitar playing, or gig finding or even socializing. I slowed right down. The main focus was that I turned up to class, even if I didn’t think I was in the right mindset to learn, just being there was a sign I was still heading towards my goal.

Slowly but surely my motivation came back, and on those days when I felt down, my class mates and teachers wouldn’t let me slack off, they’d remind me “one day at a time”. They were stubbornly supportive, but that’s what you get when you’re in a room full of counsellors.

So, there I was slowly getting my student mojo back… and then the levee broke…

So much can happen in just 24 hours…

On Sunday 27th February the rains got real heavy on saturated ground and didn’t let up. By Monday morning as the tide was at its highest, like many others in the area, we had water inside our house.

Looking back, the whole thing feels like a dream. A really, really, bad dream.

Mum and I didn’t sleep much on Sunday night and by 5am I was driving the car out of the garage to higher ground, scaring myself in the process. The water sure is deep in the dark! I decided not to risk it with our 2nd slightly higher car. I thought the water couldn’t get higher enough to get inside it, boy I was wrong.

We tried to get everything up high in the house, guitars on kitchen benches, boxes of books on tables, tax documents, visa applications and passports out of the bottom filing cabinet. Electrical items, lamps, fans and cables up on couches and shoes and clothes out of the bottom of cupboards.

While Mum and I were running around putting stuff up, we let Alex rest a little longer, she’d need her energy later anyhow. Eventually, Alex woke up to Mum and I trying to prepare for the water entering the house outside our bedroom window.

The key word here was “spider”, which I yelled as I realised a huge huntsman was just an inch away from my hand, he was getting away from the water perched on the wall. Alex and spiders of any size don’t mix, and she shot upright pretty darn quick.

I logged into class at 9am, showing my online class the water rising outside and really, in hindsight of that adrenaline rush, not realizing how much worse things were about to get and how this moment in time would change us forever.

At least I was marked “present” that day.

The water came through the marsh land a few hundred meters behind our house and rose over the neighbouring golf course. At the same time, it was news to me that the water could flow down our street out the front of the house like a river too. I opened the garage door, and it flowed fast and furious through and out the back, connecting the road river to the golf course lake.

As the water entered the house, it didn’t come through the low windows or under the doors first, it crept through in between the cement slab, bricks and timber frame in corners and other spots. To be honest, we didn’t do too bad with our preparations; we just didn’t do them at the right spots. The water has a mind of its own, there’s no stopping it no matter what you do.

As the water rose, we waded through the water and kept putting things higher, or finding things we’d forgotten about in low cupboards, either wet already, or found just in time to save ‘em.

As soon as the water entered the house, I called the SES asking for rescue. We knew we were not the lowest part of the road, and that walking out in either direction was a dangerous option without help. We weren’t sure if the power or phones would work for much longer either.

We “moved out” of the house to wait for rescue, into the “catio” or summer room. Basically, a room with fly screens for walls, usually used to enjoy the cool evenings without the mosquitos and bugs to disturb dinners, today it was our knee-deep flowing water rescue room.

Our belongings were up on the table, as were the 2 cats, in their respective carrier box/bag. Ruby was not impressed at being in her box, but Junior was comfortable in his bag. Both cats spent over 7 hours in their carriers, without a break, until we were safe on dry land.

I had all my electronics, laptop and iPad, ready for rescue, so that once we were safe, I could continue my studies!! It’s funny how the mind works in times of stress, class wasn’t going to happen for a while Josh!! Numpty!

Around mid-morning, Alex had mentioned to her colleagues online that she, sorry, wasn’t able to work, there was water in the house. Her boss quickly rallied her colleagues to head on over with kayaks to rescue us!

So now we had 2 rescue teams on their way, but when would they arrive?

We waited for what felt like hours, checking what we could inside the house, taking photos, checking the front street and just waiting and worrying. At one point I started to think we may not be rescued and would have to consider sleeping in the house somehow. The thought of sleeping on a wet mattress didn’t appeal to any of us.

We chatted to a few folks who kayaked or paddle down the street and stopped out front, there were even a few kids oblivious to the destruction in our homes along the street swimming and laughing as the “river” pushed them down the street.

There were logs, gas bottles, chairs and coke cans floating by in the brown water.

The SES arrived with a rubber ducky mid-afternoon and checked in on us. We were glad they got to us, and they were glad we were relatively safe. They had another family with children to check further down the road, we said that’s OK to go to them first, we just asked them to stop by on their way back to pick us up.

They also mentioned Alex’s colleagues were waiting for us at the end of the road. Apparently, they had their kayaks in the water at the end of the road ready to come to our rescue, when the rescue guys arrived. It was suggested that maybe it was safer for them to rescue us instead.

Eventually the SES, rescue squad and policeman returned with the other family to grab us. After a bit of back and forwards, Mum was going to go first and Alex and I later, we decided we’d walk with them as far as we could, and then between us and the other family use the boat in the deep sections. It was quite overwhelming, to be rescued from our house, a house that had been our safe space for the past 18 months or so, and that had protected Mum for over 10 years.

We were very thankful for the rescue guys coming to our aid. They’d been working since early morning and hadn’t had a break. They waded through the waters more than once, and I’m sure they were really feeling the pain and exhaustion.

I had my electronics and study notes on my back, I had BB Junior on my front in his cat backpack and I had my suitcase in the boat. Alex had her handbag with her laptop and the food bag, she left her clothes bag behind. Mum had Ruby in the carrier, a suitcase and her backpack. We walked slowly through the rain for over a kilometre to safety.

That kilometre involved parts of almost dry road, knee deep water, waist deep water and jumping in the boat at chest deep water, all of it against the “tide”. There were cars submerged, people out staking photos, some houses totally safe from the water, others deeper than ours. It was a real mixed bag.

When we finally got to the end of the road, we met Alex’s colleagues who drove us to our friend’s place, Sophie*, where we could figure out our next step.

The cats were soaking wet, but happy to be out and about in the late afternoon when we got to our respective temporary accommodation.

We had no idea how high the water would get that evening and could just hope our belongings were going to be safe. That evening the power cut out for 18 hours, and by the next evening all communications, phone and internet, would be out for at least 5 days.

We couldn’t even let our loved ones know we were OK.

During flood day, Mum, Alex and I worked together almost seamlessly, as a team, to get the house in the best possible order for when the water rose. We were running on adrenaline and survival. There was little time to be tired or unfocused, it was all action.

Little did we know, we had just been through a traumatic experience, something that changed us and will stay with us for the rest of our lives. The shock of it all still surrounds us 6 weeks on.

Our security blanket, our house, our plans, our routine, our safety was shattered. We are a family that was displaced by the flood. We are one group of many who experienced tragedy during those days, and for many days and weeks to come.

For the next 3 weeks Alex, BB Junior and I would sleep in Sophie’s spare room, while Mum would sleep at my cousins and Ruby was at my other cousins.

Like many many others in the region, we are a displaced family due to the highest flood in living history. It was 1 day in our lives, but the knock-on effect will live with us forever.

Thanks for reading

Josh

*not her real name

#disaster #floods2022 #northernrivers #trauma #mental health

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