Survivors.

This is a series dedicated to people and their stories of survival.

Kate.

Kate is the epitome of resilience.

I met her a few months ago when she decided to take a dip in the sea - it’s a practice that she’s been doing recently to feel refreshed and revitalised.

The amount of trauma that Kate has been through and how she has coped is astonishing. She’s lived through and has walked away from two domestic violence relationships, as well as a near death experience.

The Kate that I have met is thriving - a thoughtful, kind and caring woman who looks after herself with ongoing therapy, exercise and dips in the sea. She’s also a registered ED nurse.

Kate - thank you for taking part in this series and for being so honest with me. It was a pleasure to meet you and I am very humbled by your story.

Jenny.

Jenny suffered a stroke in 2013, and these are her words:

“13/8/2013, I got up early, struggled to get out of bed, dragged right foot, and then couldn't pick up a pen.

Waited for my Dr. surgery opening, my dr told me to go to the hospital.

I 'fiddled and faddled', like doing dishes, making bed, having a shower, etc.

I limped into Mt Barker hospital at 0900, and the nurse said,'I think you're having a stroke'.

Never had i heard of slowly having a stroke.

By the time of getting to RAH, no movement at all on right side, my right side of face was numb, unable to void,no gag reflex....and changes of loss of memory, aphasia, dysphagia.

I was in hospital for 3 weeks, then over 3 months in rehab.

In rehabilitation, I regained gag/swallowing, my face numbness is only minor now, learnt to walk short distances.

My marriage fell apart, my daughter stopped seeing me so I don’t see my granddaughters (I haven't seen the younger one).

My son is amazing who I live with.

I can use my powered chair to get around, trying to be independent but I need help with all personal care, shopping, cooking, housework and yard help.

I inherited my family's holiday house in Victor Harbor, that my Grandfather had built. With my marriage breakup i lost that house, which was/is completely unfair and hurtful.

I always knew that was where I'd retire.

I have just shifted into my new home 3 weeks ago.

No one will take it away.

I need to stop falling over because I broke a bone last time, broke my hip and smashed my elbow!

My stroke was such a catastrophic event but also very liberating.

The evening of my CVA, I said to myself ,'fuck this is bad, I have to just move on, I can't change anything'.

I'm only now realising how young 50 is.

I have friends that are turning 50 and they're so active.

Well, it's not worth looking back, not looking at the things I can't do.

My mantra:

Look at the little things I can do, not what I can't.”

Thank you for telling me your story, Jenny xx

Nicole.

Thank you to Nicole for taking part.

These are her words:

‘The trauma of my childhood abuse didn’t stay locked away in childhood.

It followed me into adolescence, it followed me into my first relationship at 16 with an older man who abused and assaulted me violently, it followed me into a violent attack on a train

that nearly took my life.

And it followed me into a religious organisation that swallowed up 15 years of my life and it separated me from my family and friends.

Even in adulthood it followed me into my marriage and the birth of my children, manifesting in Complex PTSD (CPTSD), creating struggles with self-worth, and affecting my ability to form relationships.

For years, I carried the emotional weight of shame, anger, and confusion—always trying to make sense of a past that didn’t seem to belong to me, and the physical weight that was ever increasing in direct correlation with my need to

feel safe.

When I became a parent, something shifted. I wasn’t just responsible for my own safety anymore—I had these beautiful children, both girls, that needed me to protect them.

As an older teenager I had found out that my own mother had been a victim of horrific childhood sexual abuse. I was the second link in the chain of intergenerational trauma, and I was determined that my children wouldn’t be the

next.

After my first daughter’s birth in 2012, I was engulfed by postnatal depression. It wasn’t just the exhaustion and overwhelm that many new mothers feel—it was a deeper, darker heaviness. My unresolved pain from childhood resurfaced, leaving me emotionally distant.

I felt trapped behind a wall of fear and sadness, terrified of failing her or being unable to protect her from the world’s dangers.

For a long time, I didn’t leave the house. That same dread returned when my second daughter was born. I wanted to be present and emotionally available for my girls, but my trauma

made it hard to connect with them in the way I dreamed.

One of the hardest truths I’ve had to face is how my trauma shaped my view of the world as a parent.

From the moment my first daughter was born, I lived with a constant fear that the world was unsafe, that the same horrors that my Mum

endured, and that I endured could happen to my children.

I’ve always been overly cautious, sometimes keeping them from experiences that I thought might pose even the smallest risk. Playdates, sleepovers, or school trips—all these typical childhood moments triggered an overwhelming sense of fear in me.

In my attempt to protect my daughters from every possible danger, I now realise that I may have also limited their freedom to explore, take risks, and grow into their own independent selves.

Raising my girls under the shadow of my past has been a daily struggle. I’ve worked tirelessly to ensure they feel safe and loved, but I know there have been moments where my overprotection and anxiety held them back.

My deepest fear was that what happened to me could happen to them. But in trying to protect them, I sometimes prevented them from fully experiencing the world’s beauty and joy.

It’s something I continue to work through, and as I heal, I hope to allow them more space to explore life with the freedom and confidence they deserve.

For them, I wanted to break the cycle. I took myself back to therapy, diagnosed with

CPTSD and an eating disorder, I embraced the challenges of healing my trauma, and every day I am learning to be kinder to myself.

Through that process, I discovered that being a parent didn’t just mean protecting them—it also meant showing them what it means to confront hard things and to rise above them.

Surviving childhood sexual abuse has informed every aspect of how I parent my children. I won’t ignore that all my decisions are made through the lens of my experiences, and I won’t apologise for it.

There have been many times when my

childhood abuse has been used by others to manipulate and tarnish my decisions, a

quiet “I wouldn’t make that decision” or “if you hadn’t experienced that, then you would see this my way”, but I will not let people tell me my experience is dangerous anymore.

It has taught me the importance of open communication, boundaries, and trust. I’m intentional about creating safe spaces where my children and I feel seen, heard, and valued spaces where they know they can come to me without fear or shame.

I’ve also learned to give my children the freedom to express themselves, to make mistakes, and to explore who they are. My youngest is fierce and creative, and my eldest is strong and passionate.

My journey of healing led me through many types of therapy. Through my work in play therapy, I’ve come to see how vital it is to help children heal and express their feelings safely.

Today, I stand as someone who has been through the fire and is emerging with a deeper understanding of herself.

My journey of survival, from childhood abuse to

healing as an adult, has defined who I am. It has shaped my career as a social worker and play therapist, giving me a unique insight into helping children with trauma.

Most importantly, it has informed the way I parent my girls—with love, patience, and understanding.

I’m still healing, still growing, but I’m no longer defined by what happened to me.

Instead, I’m defined by the choices I make every day—to shed the physical weight that has barricaded me in, to rise above, to love fiercely, and to show my girls that I am the parent I always had but was told didn’t exist.

I make magic every day for my girls, and that magic now runs in the family.’