On this day 12 years ago – 10 June 2008 – just after 8 o’clock on an overcast winter’s morning; Mum emerged from our long, winding hallway, stepped into the kitchen, softly trembling with tears as she struggled to find the words to tell us that Dad had passed away…
In 2004, my dad was diagnosed with melanoma skin cancer. In the following years, the cancer advanced to other parts of Dad’s body, and eventually, his brain…
When I was 12 years old and in Grade 6 at primary school, my mum and my two younger siblings moved from Fitzroy to Clayton. Mum had obtained emergency housing after one too many domestic violence incidents with my stepdad.
A friend that I met at school and his family got me involved with the football and cricket clubs, and from then on it became my outlet: first from my poverty stricken home-life, and later on from the drugs and crime that my brother and returning stepdad were involved in. I loved being able to get away on the weekend, to just enjoy sports and the family-orientated environment that they provided.
I know returning to sport is vital, turning up to game day and being a team player… however when I’m crippled with anxiety it’s not the same. For the past 5 years I have struggled with postnatal depression and anxiety after a rapid return to work in my small business as a naturopath just weeks after my daughter was born. This was not an ideal situation however, due to the way the cards fell and a combination of personal events, that was what had to happen.
It is true, there is no sport. There are no training nights, there is no game day. There is no waking up on game day with the excitement and nervousness that comes with sport. There is no seeing your teammates, there is no banter,