Storytelling May Save Lives
Transcriber: Christina Scharf
Reviewer: David DeRuwe
As a young girl,
I recall my mom saying to me,
’Naomi, life will come with struggles.
The most important thing is the way
in which we meet these challenges.′
Little did I know that her words
were preparing me for my future.
Fast forward.
At 25, I am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
I live in a vibrant share house
with amazing friends,
just off Melbourne’s iconic Chapel Street.
I’m a graduate of one
of the best universities in Australia.
I had just finished a tenure
as a one-year editor-elect
of our illustrious student newspaper.
I’m in love with my hard-working, cute,
funny tradesman boyfriend
who I’d later marry.
We’d spend time together on the couch,
going on dates and partying
with friends on weekends.
I’m passionate about writing.
And then …
I had a trauma-induced nervous breakdown.
I don’t mean a meltdown or a series
of complex emotional challenges;
I literally mean, I lost my marbles.
I could not think rationally.
My speech was pressured to the point
that I could not speak in sentences,
and my behaviour
became increasingly erratic.
There are some points of my life
that, no matter how hard I try,
I will never ever forget.
One of those moments
was the absolute mortification
of seeing my old neighbour
peering out nosily
from behind her window
while I was frogmarched
across my front lawn
and shoved into the back
of a divisional van by police.
I was terrified. Humiliated.
‘Why am I here?’
‘What is happening?’
‘What is that smell?’
‘Urine?’
‘Where are they taking me?’
‘A locked ward?’
‘A psychiatric ward?’
‘Wait a minute.’
‘They’re throwing chairs.’
And there, amidst
the volatility and the chaos,
I was forcibly medicated.
That medication made me exhausted,
nauseous, sedated, and feel dead.
Wow, from esteemed graduate to lockdown.
I was overwhelmed by the journey
that lay ahead in terms of my recovery.
One Friday night, I was ruminating
about the whole experience,
and after emptying
three bottles of really cheap wine
and having a big fight with my boyfriend,
who I knew was going to abandon me,
I decided it would be easier
if I killed myself.
And so I tried.
My story could have ended there,
like some 3000 Australians each year.
Suicide is the leading cause
of death in our country
between the ages of 15 and 44 -
higher than our national road toll.
But what if I told you this?
Maybe storytelling could change that.
Over the course of the next decade,
I painstakingly walked towards recovery.
It was like doing the cha-cha:
two steps forward, five steps back,
but I didn’t dare stop.
Finally, I started speaking
in sentences again.
Eventually, I got up the courage to share
parts of my story through writing.
Amazingly, my words were picked up
by Yahoo Lifestyle,
Elephant Journal, and The Huffington Post.
It wasn’t until all of that happened
that I realized: I’m a writer again.
As editor of the Goodman Project,
I wrote a tribute to my stoic husband
for his unconditional love and support.
I never would have made it
without his tenderness
and willingness to help
love me back together.
He brought me back to life.
At the AusMumpreneur
conference, it hit me:
I needed to write a book.
This was going to be tough.
Wading through every lived experience.
Little did I know that writing
my story would change me.
Australia’s first people
told stories through ‘dream time’
to convey important lessons
to the next generation.
And here’s what I learned:
To heal, you need self-reflection.
To combat old negative beliefs,
you need to shine a light
in the darker corners of your being.
The stories you do not want to tell
are the ones that most want to be heard.
There is something profound and powerful
in hearing someone’s story.
When you listen to someone’s story,
it validates them;
they feel heard,
it promotes recovery,
and by reclaiming your own story,
you take control of the narrative.
You can choose the direction
in which you want that story to go,
and that is the key to freedom.
Like my mom predicted, my biggest
struggles became my greatest lessons.
I had hit rock bottom,
but let me assure you that rock bottom
is a completely fine and solid foundation
upon which you can rebuild your life.
Numerous medical opinions and prognoses
said I would never leave
the public mental health system
or go back to work.
They did not think I would
get off the cocktail of medications.
But you can have your tea rooms,
your hefty pay packets,
your swipe tags to get in and out,
your medical degrees,
and the letters behind your name,
because this is my story.
I’m a survivour,
I’m a writer, and I’m an author.
I’m a mom, I’m a wife,
and I’m a fierce mental health advocate.
And I’m not just sharing all this
in the hope that it gets back
to that old nosy neighbour.
Although now that I think about it,
I kind of hope it does.
In my vision, the future goes like this:
We champion diverse voices
and stories from around the world,
and as global citizens,
we engage and we listen.
This will create a paradigm shift.
We’ll recover better,
we’ll feel seen, heard,
understood, and respected.
In the grips of a global pandemic,
we must value human life
like never before.
The grace that helped to save my life
also compelled me to share my story.
And so I challenge you
to share your hard story
with a neighbour, a co-worker,
or a stranger on the train,
because they’re the ones
that bring us together.
And ask them to tell you
their hard story, too.
In a world where we are brave enough
for the uncomfortable stories,
we might just save lives.