Born on Waiben (Thursday Island), within the traditional lands of the Kaurareg people, I have always been connected to the rich cultural tapestry of my heritage. My family’s ties to Masig (Yorke Island) and the Masigilgal people instilled a deep respect for our traditions, shaping my identity and informing my professional practice.
Over the years, I have seen the devastating impacts of colonisation, institutionalised racism, and violence on our communities. These experiences create layers of complex trauma, manifesting in alarming suicide rates among Indigenous peoples. As a clinician, I navigate these challenges while honouring the cultural contexts essential for healing. But there are two moments which stick out and have shaped my journey to becoming a psychologist.
My first transformative moment begins in a world where mateship and camaraderie are everything—a military life that shaped my values and purpose. From day one in the army, we are taught that teamwork is paramount in the military. The bonds formed in those intense environments are unlike any other. You face physical, emotional, and mental challenges together, and in doing so, you develop deep connections with your comrades. During this time, I began contemplating my values and the direction I wanted my life to take.
I remember a pivotal moment during a training exercise in Shoalwater Bay, Queensland. It was just before midnight, and I was on a gun line with my platoon sergeant—an experienced man who had seen the horrors of Rwanda and Cambodia. We had developed a close mentor-mentee relationship over the years. As we sat together, he shared a heartbreaking truth: many of our comrades were taking their own lives after returning from combat. They had survived the physical battles only to be haunted by the emotional scars that went unrecognised.
At that moment, I felt a profound sense of responsibility. My role as an officer was to ensure the welfare of the soldiers, to look after their families, and to ensure they were adequately supported. Yet, I was grappling with the reality that mental health issues were claiming lives long after the battlefields had faded from view. This was a tragedy I could not ignore.
That night, my interest in mental health was ignited. I questioned why those who had fought bravely were not receiving the needed care. I remember reading the Royal Commission report later; the tears flowed freely as I absorbed the stories of loss and despair.
Another moment that stayed with me occurred years later in a quiet pub in Rockhampton. I was unwinding with a mate after a long deployment when an Aboriginal woman walked in. She wore a hospital gown, a band around her arm, and half of her head was shaved. It was clear she had just discharged herself from the hospital. How others treated her disturbed me; she was just a human needing water. We offered her some chips and a warm moment of kindness, and in return, she expressed her gratitude.
Fast-forward three years. I was working in a mental health service when I encountered that same woman again. To my astonishment, she remembered me. It was a surreal moment that reminded me how a small act of kindness can make a difference in the lives of others.
Throughout my journey, I have also faced conflicts within myself. Even when physically fit and healthy, I often found it hard to get out of bed. There was a calling within me to support and assist others—a calling I never anticipated. I had never dreamed of attending university, much less becoming a psychologist. I would have laughed if you had told me twenty years ago that I would be in this position.
I began as a tradesman, transitioned into a soldier and an officer, and eventually found my way into the field of psychology. It felt like a natural evolution, albeit an unexpected one. I don’t consider myself the best psychologist, but I strive to be genuine and compassionate. I genuinely want the best for people, and even when I feel I might be the one needing help, I wake up with the commitment to make a difference.
Reflecting on my early life, I think of my old uncle, who lived with schizophrenia. He was labelled “mad,” yet he played a pivotal role in my life as a young father. The only one who could soothe my crying son was the very person society had deemed unfit. Moments like that challenge everything we think we know about mental health. Becoming a psychologist has been a journey I never could have predicted. These two experiences, and indeed getting married and having kids, have shaped my mission: to support those who struggle, to understand the depths of the human experience, and to foster a sense of hope where it often feels absent. I think we all experience these moments of transformation and resilience and feel the urge to connect—lessons I carry with me every day as I walk this path as a psychologist.