‘What an arse I’ve been’: Why I’ve completely rethought my approach to mental health

I’ve always been a fan of the stiff upper lip, but Aussies have been getting this very wrong.

25/6/1998. Sleep. Sleeping. Woman. Female. Bed. Pillow. Generic image.

‘‘Take a concrete pill and harden up” is the Aussie motto. Contrary to our ancestors, the whingeing Poms, we appear to have adopted the attitude that admitting to any struggle is a sign that you are failing in life.

There’s no doubt that we see “acting emotional” or “seeing a therapist” as being self indulgent and simply not the Aussie way to be. It’s annoying and weak.

I’m the first to admit I’m very guilty of this. I’ve always been a fan of the stiff upper lip and that those who are always airing their woes of the week as “carrying on like a pork chop”. In fact, I’m worse. I’ve even thought to myself that seeing a therapist is simply “giving more oxygen” to problems and that therapists are enablers.

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The only therapists I need are Glen Livet or Ben Buckler at 5pm on the back patio. I mean, our grandparents went to war and lost arms and stuff, and here we are carrying on going “Frank from accounts is being passive aggressive in his emails, waaahhhh”.

Now I know a lot of you will be nodding along with me right now but I need to admit that my attitude stinks and I’m working hard to change it.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying everyone should have a therapist on standby in case someone looks at you funny and I certainly don’t want to turn back into the English, but what I am saying is that my attitude is outdated and rather privileged. I’ve had the privilege of not feeling so dark I want to throw my insides out. I mean, I’ve had dark times but not to the point where I would hurt myself.

Why am I writing this now? Three reasons: the first is I’m currently lying in bed recovering from a tumour removal and in my vulnerable state am realising what an arse I have been. For four days I’ve been in the darkest “woe is me” bubble while I wait for the lab results to see if I’ve got the big C.

Every hour feels like an eternity of anxiety and impending doom and I thought to myself: f--k, is this what some people feel like everyday? This is torture. Yes, I’m in physical pain but honestly it’s the anxiety that feels worse.

Luckily for me, I received good news and I will live on. If I hadn’t, God knows how I’d have coped. Plus, how would you have you coped without your fortnightly: “what your activewear says about you” column?

Secondly, we had a family friend take themselves off the planet recently and it’s desperately sad and has left a little family behind. Thirdly, someone I know is campaigning to introduce a national mental health version of triple-0, a number you can call in a state of mental health crisis.

Nikki Osborne. Picture: Peter Wallis

It’s called Triple 1 (111). A simple, three digit number. A number you don’t have to search for when you can’t even find a stable thought. Just dial triple 1 and you could save yourself as well as all those who rely on your being here.

It’s not about replacing any of the amazing services already out there. It would consolidate and connect the hundreds of incredible support services we already have in this country.

I honestly think it’s a brilliant idea and I back it 1000 per cent and I put it to Albo that he makes this a reality.

The reality is, shit happens, we can’t predict it and we can’t predict how we’ll react to it so wouldn’t it be nice, especially for our teenagers, if there’s a safety net in place?

Originally published as ‘What an arse I’ve been’: Why I’ve completely rethought my approach to mental health