Category: Health and Wellbeing

Stories about staying well in body and mind, from local health services and support to the everyday things that help our community look after itself and each other.

Some conversations leave bruises even when no one raises their voice

This post is personal. Every now and then, I use my blog as a journal and I write something just for me. If something I’ve said lands with you and it helps, I’ll be grateful for that. If it does, please leave a comment.

I thought we were talking about land. History. Legacy. I thought we were having a conversation between two people who had both lived long enough to understand the weight of inheritance , and the ache of loss.

But somewhere between the conveyancing records and the development maps, something else entered the room. A quiet hierarchy. A tug-of-war over whose version mattered more. And every time I tried to bring in the human story , the people, the emotion, the cost,  I was redirected back to documents, dates, deeds. Like that was the only kind of truth that counted.

And then came the part that hurt in a way I wasn’t expecting.
He said he had to get back to his grandchildren. He said it more than once.
And he knows. He knows that my story is different. That there are wounds in my life that have never closed properly. That I don’t have grandmother duties to return to.

He didn’t say anything unkind. But sometimes, it’s the absence of care that stings the most.
Because what I needed in that moment wasn’t data.
It wasn’t validation.
It was recognition, that standing here, trying to honour the past and speak for the future, I am doing it alone. And I am doing it anyway.

And that counts for something. Even if he couldn’t say it.

What I’ve come to realise is that even conversations that hurt can be useful. Writing this helped me move through it, but shaping those moments into fiction has been even more rewarding. The experience gave rise to a new character in my novel, a solicitor named Lionel Greaves, who represents the quiet power of institutional knowledge, and the harm it can cause when wielded without care.

Lionel Greaves is a man of standing in the community, respected for his memory and precision, but not always for his empathy. He trades in certainty, not sentiment. To him, law is order, not fairness. He rarely intends harm, but often causes it through his refusal to see the emotional consequences of his words. He believes he is helpful. He doesn’t realise he is also dismissive. And in doing so, he becomes a quiet antagonist, not through malice, but through omission.

#EmotionalLabour #LegacyAndLoss #PersonalTruth #InvisibleGrief #FamilyDynamics #Estrangement #HumanDignity #SpeakingFromTheHeart #GriefIsReal #HoldingSpace #QuietStrength

Why Can’t Governments Let Go? When the Community Moves On But Power Clings to Conflict

Lately, I’ve found myself on a learning journey. Watching what’s happening in the world, and even in my own backyard, I keep coming back to the same question: How do our governments keep getting us into these messes? Conflicts that last for decades, policies that make enemies out of neighbours, and a constant sense that ordinary people are dragged into fights they didn’t start and don’t want.

So I started digging, and here’s what I’ve found. While everyday people often find ways to move on and connect, their governments often don’t. And that disconnect is costing us all.

The broader community don’t hold onto old grudges. They care about safety, family, work and being able to live in peace. They’re not the ones calling for wars or enforcing sanctions. In fact, across the globe, people are reaching across national and ideological lines to find common ground.

A young Iranian might admire Israeli medical tech. A Cuban musician collaborates with an American on YouTube. Indians and Pakistanis laugh together on social media. North and South Koreans cry when they’re briefly allowed to see long-lost relatives. These aren’t enemies. They’re people who recognise shared humanity.

Governments operate differently. Conflict can serve political goals. It creates a clear enemy. It unites people through fear. And it often justifies repression, spending or staying in power.

Sometimes it’s about ideology. For example, Iran’s government positions itself as morally opposed to Israel. China defines itself partly through its claim over Taiwan. And even in democracies, strong anti-enemy rhetoric can win votes.

Letting go of an old rivalry means rethinking identity, power and control. That’s not something governments do easily.

While politicians trade threats and play long games, it’s everyday people who suffer.

Civilians are the ones displaced, bombed, or cut off by sanctions. Families are split by borders. Passports become tools of isolation. Trade stops. Opportunities dry up. The people who want peace often have the least power to make it happen.

Despite all this, i think change is possible. In many cases, people-to-people diplomacy and cultural connection can begin to soften political hard lines. Civil society organisations, global communities, and public sentiment can create pressure for peace.

It may be slow, but history shows that citizen voices can grow too loud for governments to ignore.

“Governments start conflicts in suits and end them in silence. But it’s everyday people who pay the cost — and often hold the key to peace.”

Interesting read in the conversation

Do all Iranians hate the regime? Hate America? Life inside the country is more complex than that

#CitizensForPeace, #PeopleNotPolitics, #VoicesOfChange, #EverydayDiplomacy, #PeaceStartsWithUs, #EndTheCycle, #GlobalSolidarity, #CommonGround, #PowerOfThePeople, #HumanFirst, #ReclaimPeace, #ThinkBeyondBorders, #HopeInTheOrdinary

The comfort of quiet fixers and high-functioning weariness and The Last Letter Mysteries

Lately, I’ve been living in that strange, slippery space I’ve come to call high-functioning weariness. I’m ticking the boxes, showing up, delivering what people expect of me at a level that probably looks impressive from the outside. But inside, I’m running close to the scrape. There’s no collapse, no crisis. Just that low thrum of depletion that doesn’t shout, but still shapes the days.

I know I’m not alone in this. Many of us know how to hold it together. To keep contributing. To keep offering. But when the quiet moments come, the evenings, the gaps between, we find ourselves unable to read, unable to find the right rhythm of music, unable to settle into a show that doesn’t either drain us or feel hollow. We want to be nourished, not just distracted.

And so I found myself watching The Last Letter Mysteries, that gently odd little show also known as Signed, Sealed, Delivered. I’m not sure what led me to it. But I can tell you what’s keeping me there.

It’s a show about four postal detectives who track down the intended recipients of undelivered letters. That’s it. That’s the whole premise. But each episode opens up a story, often decades old, about love, regret, apology, longing. And they fix things. They really fix things. Not in a big dramatic sense, but in the way that matters most: by listening, by staying, by honouring the truth in each letter.

I think that’s why it speaks to me right now. Because I am, in my bones, a fixer. Not the kind who swoops in with the answer, but the kind who reads between the lines. Who wants people to feel understood. Who carries other people’s pain, even when I don’t mean to.

And this show is full of people like that. People who believe stories deserve closure, that hearts deserve a second chance, that a lost letter can still arrive in time to change a life.

There’s no cynicism here. No irony for the sake of it. Just kindness. Grace. People doing small, meaningful things.

Maybe that’s what I need in this moment of high-functioning weariness. Not more adrenaline. Not more outrage. Not even more inspiration, really. Just something that reminds me that quiet persistence matters. That purpose doesn’t always have to be loud. And that even in our most depleted seasons, there are still stories that can reach us where we are.

#HighFunctioningWeariness #QuietFixers #SignedSealedDelivered #TheLastLetterMysteries #TVThatHeals #EmotionalResilience #StoriesThatMatter #GentlePower #HopeInSmallThings #KindnessMatters #IntrovertEnergy #SlowLiving #LetterStories #HealingThroughStory #SoftStrength #PostalDetectives #Heartforward #CompassionateTV #RestorativeStories #MeaningfulTV #WornOutNotBroken #FixerEnergy #StillShowingUp #BurnoutCulture #HumanKindness #ThePowerOfQuiet #ComfortWatching #SoulfulShows #WatchWithHeart

The day the power came back on

You don’t appreciate something until it’s gone. Water. Power. Peace and quiet.

Last night, the wind didn’t politely rustle the trees, it came tearing through like it had a grudge. By the time it blew itself out, the power was gone, pot plants were on their side, and a grain auger had blown over on Jamberoo Mountain Road.

That’s not where I live, but it’s the road that connects Jamberoo to the Highlands, and when something blocks it, it matters. Especially when it happens at 4 o’clock in the morning. Our local RFS crews were out there in the dark, again, answering the call. I think there were nine callouts in our area alone. They don’t clock off. They don’t wait for daylight. They just get on with it.

Photo Credit Jamberoo RFS

Here at my place, the damage was minor. A few pot plants got knocked over. I went to stand them up and realised some had rooted into the ground,  poor things. They might not survive the shock. But if that’s the worst of it, I’m grateful.

I came from out west, where the weather has its own brutal personality but wind wasn’t really part of it. I lived on a farm there too, and I can’t remember the power going out once. But here on Saddleback Mountain, nestled in rainforest, the trees fall like bowling pins in high winds , and with them go the power lines.

Usually it’s our side of the mountain that loses power. This time, the whole village went down. No lights, no heating, no water, unless you’ve got a generator or a gravity-fed tank system like I used to. These days, I rely on a tank and a pump. And while the dairy up the road was whirring along thanks to its generator, I was standing in my kitchen staring at the tap and shaking my head.

I headed into town to buy some water, only to find the shop I’d planned on was closed. Of course, no power, no till, no open door. But then I ran into Warren at Kings Patisserie, who offered to let me bring down containers to fill with water. I would have, if I had anything other than a few jars.

Instead, I bought 24 bottles of water, which Warren sold to me at a very generous price. That’s the kind of neighbour you want in a blackout.

When the power came back on, I was bundled up on the couch like a retired snowman, debating whether to light a candle or eat another biscuit. I heard the fridge click. The TV  blinked. The lights came on, and I wandered around my house flipping switches like I’d never seen electricity before.

It’s amazing, isn’t it? How much we rely on the things we rarely think about. And how quickly we remember our luck when they return.

So here’s to the power crews. To the RFS out before dawn. To Warren and his water. To the neighbours with tractors who clear fallen trees.

And to the humble joy of a working espresso machine.

#SaddlebackMountain #Kiama #RFSheroes #OutageAftermath #WindyNight #GrainAugerDown #WarrenToTheRescue #KingsPatisserie #RuralRealities #PowerPerspective #CommunityKindness

Empathy is not a declaration of loyalty, it’s a declaration of humanity ❤️‍🩹

This image speaks to me. It captures a truth too often lost in polarised times: empathy is not a declaration of loyalty, it’s a declaration of humanity ❤️‍🩹

When you grieve for a Palestinian child or worry for an Israeli hostage, it does not mean you’ve chosen a side. It means you have chosen to care 🕊️

The world will try to force you into a corner, to brand your compassion as bias and your sorrow as political. But refusing to dehumanise others is not weakness. It is the only strength that moves us forward 💪

You are allowed to feel — to mourn, to question, to hope — without needing anyone’s permission, and without needing to apologise for the complexity of being human 🤍

Holding space for suffering on all sides is not fence-sitting. It’s refusing to be blind 👁️

#EmpathyIsNotAllegiance #HumanityFirst #CompassionMatters #HoldComplexity #RefuseToBeBlind #PeaceWithJustice #ConscienceAndCare #SpeakWithHeart #ChooseToCare

Three men, three egos, and a time bomb. Trying to stay human in a world on fire

Trying to stay human in a world on fire

I’ve been writing this blog for close to 15 years. Often, it has been my way of making sense of things – the news, the noise, the strange mess of modern life. It started as a habit, really. A way to capture the thoughts that came tumbling in after reading the morning papers.

Every day, the first thing I do is pour a coffee from my beloved espresso machine and open the Sydney Morning Herald. But lately, I find myself hesitating. I glance at the headlines – war, retaliation, destruction – and feel the heaviness settle in before I’ve even taken a sip. For the past few weeks, so much of the news has been about Israel, Gaza, Iran, and now the involvement of the United States.

The problem isn’t that I don’t want to know. I do. I just want to understand, not simply react. And that’s harder to come by than it should be.

Too often, the reporting feels breathless. Headlines provoke instead of explain. And somewhere along the way, the context gets lost. We’re left with snapshots of horror and very little help in putting the pieces together. Rarely do we get articles that step back from the emotion, offer both sides, and help us see the broader picture.

That’s why this morning I turned to The Conversation, and I’m so glad I did.
One article in particular helped me take a breath and make sense of it all. It didn’t try to spin a side. It didn’t try to make me feel something. It simply laid out what’s happened – and what might happen next.

The article explores three possible paths forward now that the US has bombed Iranian nuclear sites:

1. Iran strikes back
Iran may retaliate in a limited way but is unlikely to escalate. Its missile stockpiles are dwindling, and the regime’s top priority is survival.

2. Iran backs down
There may be a path to negotiation, but only if Israel stops its attacks. Netanyahu, however, has made it clear he does not want to stop. Any ceasefire would be a major climbdown for Iran’s leadership, and they are not known for backing down easily.

3. The US engagement is limited
Most Americans do not support this war. Trump may not want a long-term military campaign. But once the bombs drop, it is hard to define that as limited.

Reading that article didn’t make me feel better. But it helped me feel steadier. It helped me remember that it is still possible to seek understanding.

So I kept reading. And what stood out most to me this morning was not the missiles or the maps, but the people behind them. The leaders. The ones making these decisions.

Donald Trump, back in charge, is doing what he always does – acting for effect, claiming victory before anyone knows what the consequences will be.

Benjamin Netanyahu, Prime Minister of Israel, is continuing a long campaign not just against Hamas or Hezbollah, but against the very existence of Iran’s nuclear program – and maybe its regime.

And in Iran, Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei holds all the power. Even with a new president, nothing moves without his approval. He has spent decades holding that grip and won’t let go easily.

Each man is rigid. Each man is proud. And none are showing signs of compromise.
It is not a triangle of diplomacy. It is a triangle of ego.

So where does that leave the rest of us?

Thousands of kilometres away.
Nowhere near the missiles, but still carrying the weight of it.

Because in this era of 24-hour news, you don’t need to live in a conflict zone to feel the tension in your chest. It arrives with the headlines. It sits with you at breakfast. It hums underneath your day.

Is it any wonder our birth rate is falling?
Who could blame someone for looking at the world and wondering if it is safe to bring a child into it?

It is easy to feel small in the face of all this. To feel like nothing we do matters. But that’s not true.

All we can do – and it is enough – is focus on what is in our control.

How we treat each other.
What we choose to read and share.
Where we put our energy.
What kind of community we help build.

A while ago, I wrote another blog post about this very idea. About how sometimes the most powerful thing we can do in the face of chaos is return to ourselves. To our values. To our centre.

Because that’s where resilience lives.
And that’s where hope begins again.

#MiddleEastConflict #TrumpNetanyahuKhamenei #NewsFatigue #HopeAndResilience #TheConversation #BlogReflection #GlobalLeadershipCrisis #WhatWeCanControl

Every day I wake up and Donald Trump is the news the news the news the news

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re waking up every morning with a vague pain in your chest and wondering if it’s anxiety, indigestion, or democracy collapsing again — same.

Every day I open my eyes, and there he is. Donald. Trump. Still. In. The. News.

Not a cameo. Not a footnote. Full-blown lead story. Every hour. Every update. Like Groundhog Day, but with more indictments and worse hair.

Remember when the big idea was that humans could evolve? That countries could be run by grownups? That peace was the point, not the punchline?

Now it feels like all the major decisions in the world are being made by someone stuck at emotional age nine. And the rest of the so-called leaders? Let’s just say the hiring process clearly didn’t involve anyone with a sense of ethics, foresight, or emotional regulation. Psychopaths used to run countries in the history books. Now it’s a business strategy.

And the news. Oh, the news. The news the news the news the news.
We were promised journalism would inform us. Hold power to account.
Instead, it’s a horror anthology with a soundtrack of sirens and clickbait.

Somewhere between the latest war and a cost-of-living crisis, we’re now expected to care about how much ketamine Elon Musk has had this week.
And why he’s once again spending his time publicly arguing with teenagers.

No, really.
Grown men with private jets and space programs are picking fights with high school kids who make their protest signs on Canva and believe the planet deserves a future.

They’re treating social media like a battlefield, as if scoring points online against a Year 12 student will somehow fix inflation, lower emissions, or improve global diplomacy.

It’s not leadership. It’s ego with a Wi-Fi connection.

This was not the deal.
The deal was flying cars, world peace, and a universal translator for when your cat gives you that look.
What we got was a chaos feed in our pocket and the creeping realisation that our nervous systems were never built for this.

Still, we wake up.
We switch on the coffee machine like it’s our defibrillator.
We doomscroll in the dark like responsible citizens with trust issues.

And then we whisper the sacred prayer of modern existence:
“Maybe today, Donald Trump won’t be the news.”

He always is.

Meanwhile, other things that make you want to scream into a linen napkin

While millions of people skip meals, ration medication, and pray their rent doesn’t go up again, Jeff Bezos is reportedly dropping $10 million US, that’s about $15.5 million Australian, to marry his second wife on a private island in Venice.

Yes. Really.
An actual gazillionaire is about to host a wedding so opulent it makes Versailles look like a backyard barbecue. The venue? San Giorgio Maggiore, a Venetian island known for its breathtaking views and complete absence of irony.

The bride? Lauren Sánchez. Former TV presenter. Occasional astronaut. Regular in the “who’s who of the world’s most dramatically posed Instagram photos”.

The rest of us? We’re still watching iceberg lettuce prices like it’s a stock market and quietly wondering if we could afford to be slightly less alive this month.

Of course, he can spend his money however he likes.
But maybe, just maybe, when the world is on fire and families are skipping breakfast so their kids can eat dinner, $15.5 million on a destination wedding feels less like romance and more like a slap in the face with a diamond-studded fan.

Eat the rich? We can’t.
They’ve booked out the catering.

#TrumpAgain #NewsOverload #CoffeeBeforeChaos #ElonVsTeenagers #PsychopathsInPower #EatTheRich

Smooth trip, pet Ubers and an iPad joyride

This is a post for all the beautiful Kiama people who’ve been reaching out with care and concern. I’ve heard you, and I’ve been focusing on getting my life back on track.

For those new here, it’s been a tough month. I’ve been calling out the toxic culture in our local council, and what I’ve learned is confronting. Some of our councillors have become so used to operating in the drama triangle that it’s become their norm. But here’s the truth, the only people who can get themselves out of that mess are them.

Last week, I drove to Sydney. This week, I decided to take the train. It was all going to be very civilised. A bit of theatre, catch up with friends, take in MJ the Musical, and head home refreshed.

And mostly, it was.

Let’s start with MJ the Musical. If you ever sang into a hairbrush, attempted the moonwalk on a slippery kitchen floor, or belted out Billie Jean with way too much drama, this show is for you. The dancing was outrageous. The staging was slick. The lead performer channelled Michael Jackson so well I kept forgetting I wasn’t watching the real thing. It’s not a deep dive into controversy. It’s about the craft, the music, the magic. I loved it.

Next day, I jumped in an Uber. Or more accurately, someone ordered an Uber for me. I got in, greeted the driver, and immediately noticed he looked distressed. His English was limited, but it became clear he was expecting a pet. Yes, it was a Pet Uber. Apparently, that’s a thing. And apparently, I am not one.

No dog. No cat. No ferret. Just me.

The poor man was very worried. I briefly considered pretending to be transporting an invisible cavoodle named Kevin but decided against it. He drove me anyway, bless him.

It was only after I arrived that I realised I’d left my iPad in the Uber. And if you know me, you know how much I rely on that iPad. It’s where I read. It’s where I write. It’s practically my second brain.

Cue the great iPad recovery mission.

The young person who booked the ride jumped into action. I jumped into Find My iPad. We both started trying to reach the driver. And then we made the discovery. I was watching my iPad on the move across Sydney. Marrickville. Glebe. Newtown. At one point it did a loop of the M5.

For four days, my iPad Ubered around Sydney. It had a more active social life than I did. My iPad had been everywhere man. I’m not saying it has PTSD, but I do wonder how many dogs licked it before it made its way home.

Eventually, thanks to persistence, goodwill and a few lucky breaks, I got it back. The driver was thanked and rewarded. The young person who coordinated the whole thing was thanked. I went back to Sydney to collect it and made a day of it.

This time, I saw The Spare Room, Helen Garner’s story brought to the stage. And what a joy. It’s sharp and funny and deeply moving. A play about illness and friendship that never preaches or pities. It just notices. It holds space. It lets the audience feel what they feel. I adored it.

As an aside Yes it is clear I love that pink cardigan – Theodore and Scanlan. It cost me an arm and two legs and yes Eevi it is worth every cent. ( Do you have one of those friends you go shopping with and they coming running up to you and say Lynne you must see this – its sooo you. You try it on – they say Lynne – its sooo you – you must buy it and of course you do) 

And then something even more astonishing happened. I had Yum Cha for the first time. Yes, I’m nearly 70. No, I don’t know what took me so long. Dumplings. Pork buns. Endless pots of tea. A trolley full of happiness. Why didn’t someone sit me down and make me do this 30 years ago?

The new-look Central Station is seriously something to be proud of. For once, you don’t feel like you’re arriving through Sydney, you feel like you’re arriving in Sydney. The whole place has had a glow up, and it shows. There’s light, space, smart design, and a real sense of arrival. The Grand Concourse feels exactly that, grand, and the way the old sandstone arches now sit alongside sleek glass and smooth escalators is nothing short of gorgeous. It’s functional, it’s stylish, and it finally feels like the gateway to a world-class city. Honestly, it’s the kind of station you can be proud of, the kind you want to show off, the kind that lets us stand tall next to New York’s Grand Central.

The trains though? Bless them. They still look like they were commissioned during the cassette tape era and haven’t had a proper bath since. Grubby, worn out, and clinging to their past lives with stained seats and faded signs. They roll into this architectural wonder like a teenager showing up to a wedding in a hoodie. But you know what? You step off that train, walk into Central’s new glory, and all is forgiven. Almost.

The train home ran on time. I had a window seat, a warm conversation, and a nap without snoring or dribbling. And now I’m home, reunited with my iPad, and back to reading with a grateful heart and a full belly.

Sydney, you’ve outdone yourself.

#SydneyAdventure, #PetUber, #MJtheMusical, #TheSpareRoomPlay, #YumChaFirstTimer, #LostAndFound, #TrainTripTales, #iPadRecovery, #TheatreLover, #Kiama, #TheBugle, #TheBugleNewspaper, #TheBugleApp

 

Dementia is such a cruel disease. It can take away who we are as a human but we can hold the memory

Photo credit: Linda Faiers

Today I spoke with my dear friend Peter. His early-stage dementia is reaching the point where he can no longer hold onto the fact that two close friends are coming to visit in two weeks to celebrate his 85th birthday.

And yet, our whole conversation was about the Middle East. About power, greed, and the failure of leadership. About what this means for us as Australians. About what we can do — what we should do — in the face of injustice.

It’s a strange, beautiful heartbreak: to watch someone lose grip on the present but still reach so clearly for the greater good. To see how deeply that instinct runs.

Peter may forget the calendar, but he hasn’t forgotten how to care. How to question. How to keep showing up for the world.

He is still a lighthouse. Even in the storm.

#DementiaAwareness #WisdomInAStorm #EldersWithPurpose #LivedExperience #LifelongJustice #TheGreaterGood #HoldTheMemory #LoveInAction