Introduction: Hold onto your butts!

The morning light filters through the windows and over my shoulders at Leroy's Café—a nondescript Cafe in Newport. A historical railway, power, and pumping station suburb of Melbourne's west, which now accommodates young, well-to-do families squeezed out of the overpriced Eastern suburbs. Women, boys, girls & men are streaming past the window to the railway station. Eager to start the new day. My coffee sits half-finished as I type these words. No filters, no carefully constructed image. Just me, just raw, bloody truth.

taking it online. Bloody big moment to be honest.

Firstly, yes. This is a focused blog about my personal ‘right in the thick of it’, ‘up to my balls’, and then neck personal experiences.  

This does, though, encompass the stuff we don't post on social media or chat about. It’s about slowly growing up and realising life isn't the world we were promised or imagined. Trying to stand tall but absolutely not standing apart. It’s about falling down (often spectacularly! and often by my own subconscious hand) over and over again, and the constant efforts of getting back up when no one's watching, over and over again. 

I'm writing these for anyone who's ever sat in the car for an extra five or ten minutes before walking into work, home, footy practice, casual catchup, wherever, needing that moment of silence before putting the mask and often armour on. For you who smile and say "yeah, good" when asked how you're doing, while mentally wondering everything from “why did they really ask that?”, to “what can I do to go quickly into the next room”. 

These thoughts have been locked in my head for well, decades to be really honest. Circling like sharks and often taking proverbial chunks out of me and others along the way. But they're of no use there anymore; I know all this shit down pat (rye smirk). So, I offer you this for your personal contemplation and empowerment. Maybe this'll strike a chord or help you out in some small way.

To every infant, child, or grown-up silently drowning under expectations.

To every dad (and grandparent) who's wondered if they're screwing up their kids for life.

To the newly married, questioning if they're doing it for the right reasons. To those who've watched their support networks slowly fade with time and circumstance.

To anyone grinding through each day, wondering when it gets easier, when will life just, you know, click? 

Your circumstances may feel unique to you, and honestly, they are. However (and I can’t mention, no SHOUT this enough), you are not alone as much as it feels. You are one of a part of many.  

Let me rephrase a bit. Your journey is yours alone. No one else can live your life or control its trajectory. There will only ever be one you. But that pressure in your chest when the responsibility and stress pile up or move from one thing to the next, and everyone's looking to you for answers? Often, a sense of hopelessness. That voice questioning if you're enough?

That's universal, man. 

But we can‘t show it, right? Fuck, let alone mention it to anyone. We nod at other dads at pickup or on the street. We talk about sports scores, DIY jobs, and how busy works been. We find practical “real” things to fix because those make sense, and we’re good at fixing things, right?  

There's a peculiar loneliness of sitting in a room full of people— colleagues, friends, even family and feeling completely unseen. Forgetting when the last time was that someone asked how YOU and being genuinely intrigued. 

Be strong — Be nurturing, Danny Tanner with his perfect talks, wise Atticus Finch fighting injustice while parenting flawlessly, commanding Uncle Phil's perfect balance of discipline and love, squeaky-clean Mike Brady navigating whole families without a misstep, steady Carl Winslow keeping cool through every crisis. That moment where a man magically "clicks into fatherhood" mode the instant Bub is in their life. Fuck, even chaotic, screaming Frank Costanza, beer-guzzling Homer Simpson and playful Bandit from Bluey, somehow ease into fatherhood. This standard has been the desire and expectation for so SO long. 

And romantically? Painfully, admittedly, I'll never be rain-soaked, house-building Ryan Gosling, proud-then-vulnerable Mr. Darcy, patient Jim Halpert with his charm, or adorably awkward Ben Wyatt with his devotion. These benchmarks carve away at your thoughts with each comparison. 

But those are fictional characters with scriptwriters with reshoots and rewrites, editing, weekly meetings, and, of course, great acting. Real life doesn't come with commercial breaks when things get tough. It's just me, improvising every second of every minute of every hour of every single day, hoping nobody notices we're making it up as we go.  

These categories have gutted us from the inside out—me included. Meaning, we/I have lost ourselves. 

These low blows of inadequacy reverse and overwrite our basic human nature and instincts. What we feel in our hearts. The worst part? We've participated in the undoing, comparing ourselves to these standards, shaming ourselves for not towing the line. It's carved away our authenticity, replacing natural reactions with shoulds and fitting the mold, while we stand by and let it happen. Here's the brutal, fucking truth: while outside forces have steered us, the real change must come from within. Define ourselves on our own bloody terms. 

Lastly, travel— Yes! A bit of contrast will be numerous travel stories, but don’t worry! It's not just another YouTuber, Vlogger, or TikTokker demanding a road to stardom; those of us who have been fortunate enough to travel the world often kept journals and film photography about our experiences. (Que” Okay, Boomer!”)  

Looking back now as I'm sitting here, I wonder if I indeed was seeking adventure, or in truth running away. Escaping the monotony of how I saw and experienced my life and the world around me, and what was waiting for me. Often alone, then eventually always alone. The reasons for the isolation, or as I constantly said, "independence" are complicated, deep, and still needs lots of unpacking, which I assure you will be told. 

Fast forward to Parenthood (Insert dramatic music, with a loud” What the actual fuck!”) Nothing prepares you for the moment when you set eyes of this bloody tiny human and suddenly, you're responsible for everything about them. Now someone's life literally depends on you to live!  

Not just keeping them alive, let alone safe and healthy, but it is up TO YOU with your means and brain power to determine, mold, and guide their life's trajectory. Their understanding and interpretation of the entire world for their whole life. Now your 1-second instant Kodak moment must be doubled, triple, or more, and likely in vastly different ways. Every decision you make now, more than ever, has long-lasting consequences. 

I will declare, I am no expert. I don't have letters after my name or walls lined with degrees. Schooling and I never quite understood each other. My high school ENTER score was below 50, I have 1 failed and 2 incomplete (Which is most likely to remain so) University and TAFE attempts. More on my education later, too. 

 What I do have are 42 years of life watching, trying, failing, learning, and trying again. Memories that reach back 40 years– That’s right! I can vaguely remember back to when I was 2 or 3! Not just the memories. Including playing Space Invaders at Melbourne Airports ‘state-of-the-art sit-down arcade machine or rolling around in my wheeled baby walker like a constantly moving air hockey puck. But the feelings that came along with them. How I took on the world, how I held the world, myself in it, and how I see myself now.How moments, some gradual, some instant, turning points along this life have sculpted it or hacked it away.  

I’ve had lots and lots of time to think. To consider my triumphs, roadblocks, self-destructions, learnings for all, then repeating all over again. 

Oh, and at 42—after decades of beating myself up for failings I just couldn't understand—I discover there's a name for the way my brain works. ADHD. Severe Inattentive ADHD in total, four letters that suddenly explained a lifetime of feeling like I was. Four decades of thinking, discipline, and willpower were all I lacked. Which, in all honesty, has massively and undoubtedly deprived and undermined my entire life up to date.  

 

The forgotten deadlines. The projects started with enthusiasm and ignored halfway. The inability to focus on something, but the hyperfocus that made hours disappear when something finally clicked or became an easy distraction. The drowned-out white noise of thoughts competing for attention. The shame of being called lazy, disorganised, unmotivated by those I looked up to, who I needed, craved approval and understanding from.—When I was trying. I was really, REALLY trying  

Lastly, and not to be outdone, Mum, who had been waiting and craving grandkids for decades. Already having started knitting, sewing, and immediately identifying herself as “Grandma”, our only meaningful link to grandparent nurturing and the rock of our family existence. The one person who I think noticed something was not usual with my development. Well, she died (in quite awful conditions)  just 3 days after bringing home our first child and her first grandson.  The blood cancer relapses she aggressively fought over and over again having thought to have destroyed it each time over 8 fucking years slowly but surely and indeed painfully was too strong to overcome.  

Ollie was home on Thursday, felt and was enveloped in his Grandma's warm and loving embrace on Friday, then she was gone on Sunday. 

No time to process. No space to grieve. Just new nappies to change and a partner with postpartum struggles, and a world that demanded I keep moving forward when all my body and mind wanted was to crumble. 

This is where I stand. A bit weathered, still standing, still showing up. 

 

Okay, ready, aaaaand ACTION!