mental-health – Musings from the cold

Tuesday, April 29, 2025.

An ordinary Tuesday.

I was working from home. Tradies were here installing a new airconditioning system after the old one stopped working some weeks before.

I was writing a proposal, finding the right words to use so we could meet the ‘superior’ criterion. Working out what our methodology would be, wording the bid so that it communicated clearly what we would do and how we would do it. Trying to make sure it wasn’t too academic; that it was real, concrete, do-able.

The electrician had poked his head into my home office earlier and told me there was a strong gas smell out near the gas meter. I think there might be a leak. I went round to check and sure enough, the smell was strong. He told me who to call. I called and within 10 minutes a man was at the door to see if there was a leak. There was. Ten minutes later it was fixed. No payment necessary.

I didn’t stop for lunch because the dealine was today. Tuesday, April 29.

1:49pm. My phone rings. It is my youngest daughter, her voice full of shock and pain and grief. Mummy, I need you.

I’m on my way.

I call Ben, her big brother. Go to Emma. He leaves immediately.

I call my husband.

I’ll come straight home.

I book a flight.

I ring my boss. I have to go to Tasmania. I don’t know when I’ll be back.

Go. Be with your family.

One of the tradies explains how to use the new aircon panel. I look at him blankly.

I make tea, pack, shake.

During the seven hours between her phone call and when I finally reach her house, I had not thought of a single solitary thing to say. My work requires me to find the right words. But not this time. Nothing has prepared me for this.

I’m so sorry for your loss doesn’t seem adequate. I say it anyway.

Tea?

The days go by in a blur of slowness and disbelief and mundanity. Boxes of sandwiches, little cakes, sausage rolls and pies are dropped off. My granddaughter smothers one of the little pies in tomato sauce, only to discover some time later that it was an apple pie. I thought it tasted weird. It was good to see her laugh.

Bags (and bags) of groceries arrive from Emma’s older sister. The kids go through them, oh, I love Fruit Loops … these are my favourite biscuits … popcorn! There’s also practical things: toilet paper, shampoo, body wash, little packets of tissues. I thought they’d come in handy at the funeral.

Visitors drop by with care baskets, grocery vouchers, soup, more sandwiches. We graze mindlessly, for days.

Ben drops in. They sit, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking. I wash the dishes and fold the washing, not knowing what else to do.

Arrangements are made. Questions are asked. How will I go back to normal? How will I cope? What if I can’t do this?

We wear green nail polish and tuck the little packets of tissues into our pockets.

So many people. So much family. So many tears and grief and incomprehension. Why? When he had so much family and people who loved him … why?

It’s not a useful question.

Emma approaches the microphone and speaks about the spontaneous trips they’d go on to pan for gold, to fish, to go into the bush and cut wood. She speaks of silliness and fun. Of their loud and messy family. Of his big soft heart.

She’s brave. No, she’s more than that. She’s strong.

It broke my heart.

More than six men take their own life in Australia every day.

Every day.

It’s been called a silent epidemic … and I’m not convinced anyone has any real answers. I certainly don’t.

But I will say this: Parents of boys, please (please) allow them to feel and express their emotions. Emotions are human not gendered. They’re for feeling and communicating not for suppressing. Don’t ever tell your son not to cry, or not to be a sook, or not to show fear or vulnerability or sadness or joy or delight.

Emotions aren’t a sign of weakness.

They’re a sign of being human.

The title of this post comes from Les Murray’s poem An absolutely ordinary rainbow.

It’s a poem that reminds us of what’s at stake when men are denied emotional expression. The weeping man breaks a taboo, not just by crying, but by doing so in public, without apology. It was an unsettling image because, back when it was written (in 1969), we weren’t used to seeing male vulnerability treated with reverence instead of ridicule.

Are we now? What has happened in the years since to allow men to unmask, to express emotion openly, unashamedly and without explanation?

24/7 national crisis support services:

Lifeline: 13 11 14 | Text: 0477 131 114 | Crisis Online Support Chat Service

Suicide Call Back Service: 1300 659 467

Kids Helpline: 1800 551 800

MensLine Australia: 1300 789 978

Beyond Blue: 1300 224 636

Standby Support After Suicide: 1300 727 247

QLife: 1800 184 527

13YARN: 13 92 76

I’m excited!

Oh hang on. I need to do my three questions and my F-word. We’ll get to my excitement in a sec.

The three regular questions I respond to each Friday are:

What am I proud of this week?
What am I excited about?
Where are the flowers?

My F-word is favourite.

What am I proud of this week? I went shopping. In a shop. Not only that, the shop was in a shopping centre. There were lots of shops and heaps more people. And I spent well over an hour there and bought things, of the clothes variety. Now, that might not seem like a big deal for many people and not a source of pride, but for me, it was. Some time ago, can’t say exactly when, but in the last few years, I’d developed a level of anxiety that meant being in shops caused unpleasant physical and emotional distress. I can’t say why it caused this distress – something about feeling trapped is as close as I can get to it – but it was real, if invisible to others. I can go to cafes, and I can work in an office, but there is something about a supermarket, a department store, IKEA, a clothes shop, that causes me to feel severely uncomfortable. That caused me to feel severely uncomfortable (although just writing about it now is doing terrible things to my insides).

Telling myself to put my big girl pants on hadn’t helped – there is no shaming yourself out of anxiety – instead, I had psyched myself up in the days preceding the shopping trip (I didn’t tell Tim in case I couldn’t go through with it), and told myself there was nothing to fear, that I wasn’t going to be trapped, and that no one was going to hurt me. I practised a week before by going to the supermarket and despite having some wobbles I managed to do my first proper grocery shop in a very long time.

So with my mantra ringing in my ears – no one is going to hurt you, there is nothing to fear, you won’t get trapped – I went shopping. Apparently, I still balled my hands into fists when I entered a shop, but enter it I did. I didn’t raise my balled fists in a defensive gesture when people came towards me as had become my unconscious habit, and so looked less like someone about to hurt others, and no one hurt me.

If you’ve ever had anxiety, you’ll know it really is something to be proud of.
What am I excited about? Chase is coming to visit this afternoon!! For those who aren’t in the know, Chase is my youngest son (second youngest child). He lives in Queensland and we don’t get to see him very often. Well, to be more correct, he lived in Queensland, until this week. He’s now moved to Victoria, and he’s coming to visit. What his move means is that once he’s found a house, the rest of his family will be moving down too, and that means, for the first time in 10 years I’ll have one of my children and two of my grandchildren living in the same state as me. It’s very exciting. I’d made up the guest room bed before breakfast, done a shopping list, and am psyching myself up so that later this morning I’ll be able to go to the supermarket to buy things to cook a meal for my boy. Awww!!
Where are the flowers? Last week I suggested that I might take some photos of flowers on the weekend and share them with you in this week’s post. I didn’t take any photos of flowers, but I did take another photo for my black glove series. Of a dragon fruit. It was gross. But photographically interesting.

Thanks as always to Tim for donning the black gloves

And my F-word? Favourite. Guess who’s my current favourite?

Hahahaha.

Trick question! Mothers don’t have favourites.

That’s it from me for another week. I’m off to the shops!

Tag: mental-health

An absolutely ordinary Tuesday

Friday’s 3 questions and an F word