TO THE HELPERS

It took more than four years for this book to be written, from idea to manuscript. But the road to get here was one I’d been unknowingly travelling down my whole life. So many people have walked it with me, and at the risk of sounding like an airbrushed Insta-dickhead, I really do feel #blessed.

At The Age, I was fortunate to work in a newsroom that has always thrown its arms around its own in tough times. Thank you to Andrew Holden, Mark Forbes, Cameron Houston, Mel Fyfe, Adam Morton, Mick Coulter, Beau Donelly, Marilyn Vella, Michael Bachelard, Chris Johnston, Penny Stephens, Miki Perkins, and many others for supporting me during those difficult days. And to Duska Sulicich — the best boss who ever lived — you will never know how much your love, patience, and support helped get me back on my feet.

I am grateful to all of the friends, experts, and colleagues who shared their expertise and personal experiences on happiness, mental health, and the human condition in this book, but particularly to Hong Vo and her family for allowing me to share Martin’s life with the world. May we learn from your loss and do better at building a future where young people are seen and heard.

At Scribe, my sincerest gratitude to Cora Kipling — not just a kick-arse publicist but a caring friend — and Henry Rosenbloom for his enduring patience and faith in me and this book, despite having to wait so long to see it finished. I am also forever indebted to Julia Carlomagno, the most insightful, diligent editor, whose commitment to this project went above and beyond. Thanks for taking my teary phone calls and for ignoring my repeated requests to ‘burn this fucking piece of shit book in a fire’. And to Allison Colpoys for her patience and talent in coming up with such an elegant and striking cover.

During those final months of writing and editing I was lucky to have friends who offered me their homes as an escape from the city. Amelia Chappelow and Vincent Taylor, thank you for the Clubhouse, with its glorious sunsets and family of backyard kangaroos. And Kath Cinque, I don’t know if I’d have finished this book without your beautiful beach retreat or your loving friendship. Warmest thanks also to my dear friends Brigitte and Simon Belleville, who looked after me with such care and kindness in those difficult early days and continue to add great richness to my life.

I am so grateful for the village of helpers who had the courage and compassion not to turn away when things were bleak, but rallied to my side, tenderly guiding me through the despair, the catastrophising, and the many hours of ugly crying. Rachael Bettiens, Carmen Hawker, Dana Meads, Jen Vetilleschi, Mary and Matt Goodman, Mari-Claire Lewis, and Jesse Hogan, you made me soup, held my hand, did endless laps of the park, brought care packages, listened, and generally gave me hope that the storm would pass. And Hamish (as if my cat wasn’t going to get a mention), you’re as batshit crazy as I am and often treat me like your personal butler but you’re a constant source of love, comfort, and lols.

I know that not everyone struggling with mental-health issues has a support crew, so I’m incredibly grateful to have a family who has always had my back. Thank you to Neil, Ker, Daisy, and Orla Stark for your love and generosity. To Margaret Ross and Robin Stark, for every supportive conversation, card, email, text, and bank transfer over all of these years; for your boundless love, and for believing with every ounce of your being that your daughter was strong enough to overcome anything. It’s taken me a while to believe it too, but here I am. Thank you. And to my amazing goddaughter Charlotte Brennan, who continues to face her own struggles with grace and courage. I am so proud of you, darling.

To my journo family, Rania Spooner, Tammy Mills, Nick Toscano, Tash Boddy, Sarah Danckert, and Ben Butler, who are always with me through the good times and bad: cheers for all the intense political discussions, raucous singalongs, inappropriate jokes, and Sunday-afternoon sessions at the Castle. Our trips to Tang have nourished my soul (if not my liver) at times when I’ve needed it most.

Also, a huge thank you to Marieke Hardy for a generous gesture of trust and friendship that eased the burden and gave me permission to press pause.

To my brother-from-another-mother, Michael Lallo, it was those long chats over cups of tea in The Age café many moons ago that not only sparked one of the most meaningful friendships of my life but also raised my emotional consciousness and set me on this journey. Thank you for your love, insight, and punctuality.

And to Loretta Curtin, whose whole-hearted friendship has been a joy for more than 15 years: thank you for our conversations about courage and vulnerability, for your tenderness, and for connecting me with a doctor who saw the real me. That doctor, Fiona Enkelmann, has my eternal gratitude for her patience and compassion. May we see more carers like you in our health system. Thanks also to Belinda Bailey, a compassionate and wise early guide when I was looking for answers.

To my childhood friend, Lisa Gilroy: despite the geographical distance, I feel the strength of our closeness and shared history every day and it has sustained me. Likewise, Fiona Hunter, some days you were my reason to get out of bed. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and your pain, and for all that you and your beautiful boy, Jude, have taught me.

Veronica Clarke, you have been more than a psychologist. You have been my guide, my rock, my lamplight through the darkness. How do you say thank you to someone who has saved your life? I suspect you would tell me that gratitude is shown through deeds, not words. And so I hope that every day that my heart is full and open, every day that I live authentically, stand by my values, and resist the urge to be dragged back to old ways, it will go some way to repaying the faith you have shown in me.

Finally, to the three people who shouldered the most weight.

Chris Vedelago, my flannel-wearing, gangster-chasing, potty-mouthed, most excellent partner-in-crime, thank you for steadfastly refusing to let me give up on myself, for loving me even when I am a complete pain in the arse, and for finding a way to make me laugh in moments where the simple act of existing seems impossible.

Jason Ball, admit it, the psychic lady was right. Meeting you changed everything, and I’m so glad it did. I doubt I’d be here today if not for your love and support, and all that I’ve learned from our friendship. You more than anyone carry the burden of my crazy. Heartfelt thanks for having the compassion and courage to stand by me through it all. Your trust in me helps me trust myself.

And my dearest Leonie (Nonie Nones) Wilson, what a privilege it is to be loved by someone so caring and wise. Someone who knows me better than I know myself. Thank you for your kindness and patience, your unconditional love, your thoughtful handwritten cards, and for confiscating the shovel when I can’t stop digging. You are, quite simply, the best.