‘I’d be cruel’: Thi tried to push J.Y. away, then the reason came out

Partners in business and life, J.Y. Lee, 39, and Thi Le, 40, have helped each other cope with neurodiversity and lingering trauma while running Anchovy, their Melbourne restaurant.

Partners in business and life, J. Y. Lee (left) and Thi Le opened their Melbourne restaurant Anchovy in 2015.Credit: Simon Schluter

J.Y.: We met in 2012 on Pink Sofa, the lesbian version of eHarmony. We were both workaholics: me in market research, Thi in restaurants. In the first year of our relationship, I’d work from 7.30am to 7pm, go home, have dinner, sleep till 11.30pm, get up, catch a taxi to pick up Thi from work, go to her place, have dinner with her, then go back to sleep at 2am. I’d wake at 6am and do it all again. I liked her. It felt logical in some twisted way.

She’s the risk-taker, I’m the goody two-shoes. For my birthday, she took me to Yarra Bend Park. She had a camp cooker. I was nervous: this was so illegal. Her dog was off-leash, too. She fried blood pudding, put it in a lettuce leaf with pickles and chilli. It was genuinely life-changing: the heat, cold, crunch and pungency.

She told me early on that she’d been sexually abused by her stepfather. I was quiet for a long time; I admired her grit and resilience. There were triggers that would cause her to shut down. We’d be driving, I’d get angry and honk my horn. She’d have a meltdown, we’d go back to her place and she’d go to bed. Nothing would happen for the rest of the day. This morning, we were going past a pedestrian crossing. Thi was triggered by the abbreviated sign, “Give Way to Peds.”

I grew up in Brunei and came to Australia when I was 18. Being Asian wasn’t a focus, but Thi would talk about identity and I became more conscious of my roots. Both of us thought Asian dining in Australia needed to be higher-calibre. We talked about opening a restaurant. I thought, “How hard can it be?”

‘I still find social situations tiring, but I have a different energy reserve for Thi. When she’s around, I calm down.’

J. Y. Lee

We opened Anchovy in 2015 and Thi’s serious side came out. She’d yell, “Don’t run in the kitchen!” And I’d be like, “What is happening? I’ve always run through the kitchen!” In the corporate world, all communication was written but, as a restaurant manager, I had to talk to people; I couldn’t put my headphones on and work. My flaws became apparent.

Thi and I had horrific fights. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t sit down with the team at the end of the week. I actually couldn’t: I had nothing to give. We were losing a lot of staff and I was the common denominator. She made me get professional help. I was diagnosed with high-functioning autism. Now I see a psychologist and I’m working on communication, emotion and anger management.

There’s pressure as partners in business and life. Where do we strike the balance? Thi piles her plate full and complains she’s tired, but it’s a common trauma response to avoid an idle mind. Part of why I see a counsellor is to get tools to help. In the past, she’d have an idea – “Let’s spend a really long time making fish sauce!” – and I’d be, “Oh, please, not again!” Now, I’m more, “OK, how can we do it together but preserve my wellbeing, too?”

I still find social situations tiring, but I have a different energy reserve for Thi. When she’s around, I calm down. She’s the only one who has that impact on me. I hope it’s the same for her.

Thi Le: “She says if the restaurant shuts tomorrow and we’ve got a huge debt, nothing matters as long as we’re together.” Credit: Simon Schluter

Thi: J.Y. saw that I was a chef and messaged me online. She had a list of restaurants she wanted to hit: they were pretty good, so we started as dining buddies. My housemate said, “J.Y. is everything you want in a person: smart, strong, grounded.” Our relationship blossomed; I fell in love. We could have conversations about anything. I’d always had to be independent, but I found someone who challenged me. I wanted to be a better person, not just for myself but for the relationship. I come from a family where you don’t talk about emotions.

It’s a lot to move from “Thi, my partner, who’s a chef” to “Thi, who’s head chef and my business partner”. She saw a whole other side of me and she was shocked. For me, everything was about the restaurant: the relationship came second. My upbringing was so repressed that I thought I was OK, but as we felt the pressure of running a business, I started to unravel. I tried to push J.Y. away because I knew she deserved better. I’d be cruel, hoping she’d go. But she stayed.

I don’t remember the exact point I told her about being abused. I would’ve been triggered by something, lashed out, and with J.Y. being so calm and wanting to talk, it would’ve come out. I remember sitting on the plane to Sydney, watching a father pick up a little girl, probably his daughter, to go into the toilet. I shut down. I became really cold to J.Y. My brain was working overtime: what’s happening in there?

‘I said, “I’m thinking about working in Antarctica for six months.” She’s like, “Go. I’ll be here.” ’

Thi Le

I knew my partner shouldn’t be the punching bag. In 2019, I said, “Either we break up or we find a way to work through this together.” I booked a random trip to Corsica and we went on a hike. I remember being on a mountain looking into a valley. We couldn’t see a single person. I thought, “I’m this little speck. Wow! There’s so much to see. And I’m with an amazing person: I actually want to do this.” There was a point in my life where I didn’t want to be on this earth any more; it was easier to go to sleep. That was the turning point. I started taking on creative hobbies. I severely decluttered. Now she sees a different side of me, happier and calmer.

Writing a book about Vietnamese cuisine made me anxious because my upbringing was sad, not the typical chef story of grandmas and sunshine. I was burnt out, I couldn’t think. I’d open The Age and, every day, some woman was either being killed or beaten. It made me think that I should tell my story. If our book, Viet Kieu [out now], helps one person, it’s worth it.

It scares me to think about my life without J.Y. – would I still be here? I’m the luckiest person. I said to her, “I’m thinking about working in Antarctica for six months.” She’s like, “Go. I’ll be here.” I trust her with my life. And when she’s in the dining room and she talks about my food, I think, “Oh, my god, she understands me.” She says if the restaurant shuts tomorrow and we’ve got a huge debt, nothing matters as long as we’re together.

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