Welcome to our next ‘campfire’ story.
The Campfire for the Heart project is a collection of true, international stories of human resilience. Although every story is unique, they all highlight our ability to adapt positively to bad experiences and showcase our indomitable human spirit.
If you have a resilience story to share, or know someone who does, please contact Natalie Stockdale through www.stockdalewellbeing.com.   

We had 3 children. Stuart began work as an apprentice chef aged 16. Stacey was 14 and Angela was 12.   

Angela and Stuart were very much alike. They were both popular and loved sport and music. Stuart played the piano with passion and sensitivity. They both shared a strong sense of justice and had a wicked sense of humour.

My husband worked full time and I worked 5 night shifts a fortnight nursing. Life was good. 

But then, Stuart was physically, verbally and sexually bullied in his workplace. At first he tried to ignore it, then he tried to tough it out, but eventually it wore him down.

No longer the easy going happy young man with a quick wit, he would lie on his bed in a foetal position, or rage with anger at the unfairness of it. The bullying was reported and he was placed on Workcover.

The downward spiral that swiftly followed into the black pit of depression was frightening, confusing and very confronting. Diagnosed with Anxiety, Depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, his doctor prescribed a cocktail of medications. About this time, Stuart began taking cannabis to mask his feelings.
He also isolated himself and began self-harming. His downward spiral continued with suicide attempts and treatments in psychiatric clinics. 

Meanwhile, he attended meetings with the bully and HR department, each time coming away a little more damaged than the time before. Eventually the perpetrator was offered a package to leave the workplace, which devastated Stuart. In his mind, the bully was rewarded. Workcover then began an investigation with a view of prosecution.

Stuart, unbeknown to us, had confided in his sister Angela, the extent of the bullying. Angela was fiercely loyal. At 14, she became his self-appointed confidant and protector.

We were a family in crisis, barely functioning, definitely not coping.

At times, Stuart showed real improvement and other times, he was back in the black pit. He gained employment and enjoyed interacting with workmates. He began a relationship with a young woman and the birth of their daughter gave us hope.

Then, three and a half years after Stuart reported the bullying, Workcover completed their investigation and were considering whether to take the matter to court. Again Stuart spiralled downward. Again we were all drawn into the nightmare cycle of fear and constant vigilance.

Three weeks later, Angela came home from school and took her life. Stuart blamed himself. One month later, he too ended his life.

After Angela and Stuart died, I went through all the devastating aspects of grief- denial, disbelief, pain, yearning, loss, tears, guilt, questions and fears, and finally learning to live with my grief.

Some things made the journey easier. Among these were:

• Friends and family who were willing to listen, repeatedly, as I processed and made sense of what happened.
• Knowing that my husband, remaining daughter and granddaughter still needed me.
• Many years of counselling and grief workshops.
• Determination that I would not be another victim and that one day I would be ok.
• Knowing that despite death, my Stuart and Angela remained a part of my life.
• Quotes gave me the power to get through the really tough moments. For example: This too shall pass. Just breathe. Accept the things you cannot change.
• Giving myself time limits to feel pain and grief, then pushing the thoughts out of my head until later.
• Diary and poem writing
• Self-forgiveness
• Volunteer work
• A nutritious diet and vitamin supplements
• Exercise, despite not wanting to get out of bed.

I need to be honest and tell you that there were things that made my grief journey more difficult. The worst of these were judgement and blame. All the questions and guilt associated with suicide deaths had me believe that I had not been a good mother, had not done enough to help, had done too much, had not taught them resilience, had not cared enough, and had not loved them enough.

Eventually I learned to accept and forgive myself for my failures both real and imagined. I learned that I had done the best that I could with the abilities and knowledge I had at the time.

I believe a person with a ‘lived experience’ can utilise that experience to instigate changes in the community in a way no professional can.

I hold no blame, nor do I have a vendetta. My only wish is for people to learn from this. I often talk with families after the death of their loved one by suicide. I feel blessed to be able to do this and hope it helps them find a way through the heartbreak and confusion.

I co-founded the Central Victorian Suicide Prevention Awareness Network to help remove the stigma and break the taboo of suicide. The Network brings together people bereaved by suicide in a safe, stigma-free environment where they can openly talk about their deceased loved ones. I continue to volunteer my time in the pursuit of suicide awareness and prevention.

Life is not so hard these days, though there are still times that the pain returns. I am now able to acknowledge that pain and accept that even though I will always miss Angela and Stuart, I know they are always with me in my thoughts and in my heart.
 
Alannah McGregor
Victoria, Australia
 
 

Welcome to our next ‘campfire’ story.
The Campfire for the Heart project is a collection of true, international stories of human resilience. Although every story is unique, they all highlight our ability to adapt positively to bad experiences and showcase our indomitable human spirit.
If you have a resilience story to share, or know someone who does, please contact Natalie Stockdale through www.stockdalewellbeing.com.   ​

As a child, there was no comfort zone. Perhaps I had comfort in utero, but I wouldn’t know.

My parents divorced when I was young. I lived with my mother and saw my dad who lived interstate, every few years. My childhood was spent on the run from either the government, or my mother’s abusive drug-dealing ex-boyfriend. We lived in tents, sheds and shacks for most of the time - whatever could keep us under the radar. We never had enough money, or food and school was a scary place. I was always the new, skinny kid who didn’t belong.
 
Often I was hungry. I’d go to school with an empty belly and just watch the other kids eat their morning tea and lunch. Sometimes, I wouldn’t eat for days. One day, I was so weak from a lack of food that I fainted in the classroom. The embarrassment and shame that I felt was hard to wash away. The teachers never noticed, or if they did, they never helped me. No one helped me.
 
Thanks to Mum’s drug-using friends, there were some incidents of sexual abuse too. Again, no one helped me.
 
For some reason, Mum became the unofficial carer of dying relatives. Sick people would come and stay with us and I’d watch them die. They weren’t peaceful dying experiences. For a young kid, it was frightening. Maybe I’d be the next one to die!
 
Fast forward 20-something years, I married the wrong woman. A divorce and heart wrenching custody battle soon followed. After the divorce, I was shattered and started seeking help from others. I tried everything from pharmaceuticals and psychologists, to wild alternative healers with magic spells that claimed to be able to ‘fix’ me. I realised eventually, that for me, no external influence was going to help. It was up to me. My life, my responsibility. There was no one to help me as a child, but I was there to help me as an adult- and I was determined.
 
I knew that although most of my life to that point had been crap, crap wasn’t my destiny. I drew a line in the sand. Victimhood was to stay in the past, success was to be my future.
 
Coming from a childhood of lack, I used to see success as wealth, status symbols and lots of shiny things that reminded me that I had ‘come a long way’. As I started to achieve some of these things, I realised that a successful life means more than material wealth. A successful life includes intangible substance such as self-love, gratitude, genuine purpose, a feeling of belonging and service to others.
 
The more I felt good about myself, the more success I experienced and the more I attracted good people into my life. I was particularly lucky to have met Bridget, who is now my fiancé. Bridget was aware of my past and loved me patiently and unconditionally for two years while I was still healing. Had I not drawn that line in the sand and done that inner groundwork to feel good about myself, I wouldn’t have been emotionally or mentally ready for her.
 
Bridget and I now have a pretty blessed life. We have a good business and both work from home (by choice). We live in a safe, friendly and supportive community in one of the best parts of one of the best states, in one of one of the best countries in the world. We have joy, purpose, love and enough money to do most of what we want and buy most of what we need.
 
We see my son every school holidays. While I’d prefer to see him more often, we have quality time together. I don’t mean theme park and fairy floss time. We go fishing, draw patterns in wet sand with sticks and watch the stars. I’m not religious, but the serenity prayer about accepting the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference- helped me to find peace with the custody matter.
 
If your life began from a broken place like mine, or you find yourself broken, you can fix yourself with a mixture of reality, determination and courage. Don’t mask the pain with drugs or alcohol and don’t follow gimmicks. Be honest with yourself and really care for yourself as you would care for someone you love.  Despite what may have happened in the past, how badly you may have been treated, you are a good person, worthy of good people, joy, love and success.
 
In the same way that you know you could have a good body if you ate well and exercised each day, you have to be committed to your emotional and personal development. There is no way around the sit ups if you want abs. Practically speaking, be honest with yourself. Admit what you’re doing to hold yourself back and simply cut it out. Draw that line in the sand and help yourself.
 
Dan
Queensland, Australia 

Welcome to our next ‘campfire’ story.
The Campfire for the Heart project is a collection of true, international stories of human resilience. Although every story is unique, they all highlight our ability to adapt positively to bad experiences and showcase our indomitable human spirit.
If you have a resilience story to share, or know someone who does, please contact Natalie Stockdale through www.stockdalewellbeing.com.   

“There was an animal in the room, who made a hideous and loud roaring howl.         That animal was me…” 

 I had all that I ever wanted – a family. I had a loving husband and four precious children who, at the time, ranged from my eldest son, Adam (19) to youngest son Joseph (11). Life was good and I felt blessed.
 
Valentine’s Day 1997 was to change our world forever.
 
I woke with a weird feeling, but kept it to myself. We all went to school and work as normal. I worked in a bank. On this day, I received a call from a son to say Adam had been involved in an accident! I told him not to worry, whilst feeling the blood drain away from me. I excused myself from work and made several calls to police and hospitals in the area. None of them had any information.
 
I then called the coroners’ office. I gave my son’s name to the man who took the call, saying he may have been in an accident. The man put me on hold and when he returned, he casually replied “Yeah, he’s here.”
 
There was an animal in the room, who made a hideous and loud roaring howl. That animal was me and I felt like I had electricity going through my whole body.
 
The bank manager called the police who drove me home – to face what was left of my family. What greeted me was one hysterical son asking me to tell him it wasn’t true. Another son was bewildered and frightened. Surely, I must have landed on another planet! This isn’t real. It must be a mistake.
 
In those early months, I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to wake up to my new hideous world. It seemed the rest of the world around me was surreal.  I felt like an alien on another planet. My children struggled also, but I could barely be there for them, other than go through the motions, on auto.
 
I couldn’t be the wife I was to my dear husband either. I hated the world, God, life and everyone who had all their children. I struggled to find a purpose for living. Whilst that sounds selfish, my pain was great. I was frightened that my life was going to remain like this forever and I couldn’t bear it!
 
About six months later, I found a bereaved parent organisation, ‘The Compassionate Friends Victoria’.
I was trembling when making that first call, but immediately felt ‘connected’ to the lady who took the call and gently welcomed me to an organisation that no one wants to be a member of.
 
This gentle woman explained that all who work there are themselves bereaved parents or siblings. She told me that my feelings were ‘normal’ and that eventually, with time, the pain would ease. This was such a relief and my fears of remaining in that surreal and very dark space, were alleviated. They became my lifeline to my new world!
 
It was about this time, however, that I noticed my physical health decline, starting with pain in my soft tissue and muscles. I put it down to age, although I was only 39! It turned out to be fibromyalgia and continues to this day. My iron levels became extremely low, affecting my energy. I ached just to pick up my    toothbrush!  I later developed serious pain and limited movement in all my joints.
 
About eight years after we lost Adam, I noticed my hearing on one side deteriorating. After investigative surgeries, they discovered I had a rare form of cancer in my middle ear, the third case in history. After 18 hours of surgery, I lost my middle and inner ear and a balance nerve. I had to re-learn to walk and am totally deaf on that side.
 
I now also have bursitis in most joints and when asked by an osteo therapist, “When did all this start?”
 
I replied, “Over 20 years ago.”
 
His next question fascinated me. “What was the trauma you suffered back then?”
 
I know many bereaved parents through Compassionate Friends and can honestly say almost all parents’ health, mainly mothers’, had been severely affected within two years after their loss.
 
After about five years of focusing on family and work, I became a volunteer at the centre. I took grief calls and spoke publicly about my experience on behalf of the organisation. I actually started to ‘live’ again, rather than just being alive. Through speaking, supporting and giving other bereaved parents hope, I had found a new purpose.
 
I continue to volunteer in honour and memory of my precious son. Whilst life gives you tragic events, you have the opportunity to use them in a positive way- eventually.
 
My life is precious, and I use it to be the best I can be for myself, my family and for others who are struggling though this tragic nightmare. I have always tried to find a positive in the negative. It is usually there, but only when we come through the other side of our pain do we see it.
 
I still miss and think of my precious Adam every single day, but with a loving warmth, not pain. I am who and where I am today, because of where I’ve been.  
 
Sue
Victoria, Australia

“If you get knocked down a thousand times, get up a thousand and one times.”​
​

My life was at a crescendo. I had been married for two months to Deborah who I had lived with for eight years. We were very much in love. We had built up a business to the point she would give up work and we could start a family. I was a senior staff nurse and we had a health food company that was thriving. We were both very much into health and fitness and we were as perfect a couple as I could have ever imagined.
 
On the morning of the August 1, 2005 I came home and got into bed with Deborah after a night shift. Later that day, we drove to the post office, then to the beach to have lunch.  I have no memory of what happened next.
 
A police officer driving to an emergency call, hit Deborah’s side of the car and killed her instantly. I was left unconscious for about a week and had no memory till about two weeks later.  I awoke to be told what had happened and forgot. I had to be told again and again until I remembered.
 
The police were in the hospital, trying to talk to me. The story was all over the papers and I found myself and in the middle of a huge mess and completely unable to cope. 
 
My body was broken. I had a brain injury which left me with memory problems, affecting my ‘executive functions’, such as logical thinking. My speech centres were also damaged, but over time recovered. My right clavicle was broken and all the ribs on the right side of my chest.  My right radius and ulna were broken and had metal plates put in place to fix them.
 
I went to Deborah’s funeral from hospital by ambulance with an MRSA septicaemia. It took every bit of my will and strength just to stay upright. After three months, I was discharged from hospital to the home of a close friend, physically, mentally and emotionally destroyed. 
 
So, I started making a plan, to find something to look forward to. Looking back was not pleasant. I needed a future. 
 
I decided to go to Cuba and study Spanish. My language centre was still healing and it felt like a good way to stimulate it. I studied at the University of Havana, while my mother and stepfather kept an eye on the business as they had been doing anyway.
 
As I was leaving from the airport, my case was overweight. As my mother helped to unload my case, she found some of Deborah’s clothing. I am only just remembering this now as I write this. It must have been obvious to her and the others seeing me off, how messed up I was then. 
 
There were lots of strange experiences and adventures in Cuba where I laughed and cried. I continued to spend time getting away, running away. Of course, as much as I tried to escape from the pain, it followed me everywhere.
 
I am not religious and found no relief from prayer and I had lost the ability to meditate. So, I did a three- word search “luxury Ashram India” and went to India to find myself. 
 
I dived into meditation, day and night, working very hard at relaxing and letting go. After two weeks, I felt a bit better and returned home. 
 
Of course, the journey had only just begun. I was not at the end. I was not even at the beginning of the end. I had barely even started. 
 
I would often think about and talk to Deborah. I recall a pivotal moment for me in letting go. I found myself getting angry at her.

“How could you leave me? How dare you do this to me. It's easy for you. I am still here!” I allowed myself to have a fight with her. I cried and collapsed.
 
This is part of my strength, of my new strength. I allow myself to collapse sometimes. As I got the ability to allow myself to collapse, I got the ability to hold myself together. 
 
I will always collapse from time to time, even typing this now makes me well up.   I will always get back up and continue. It is not collapsing that makes you weak, it's not getting back up again. 
 
Well, I’ve since met a new woman and we are married with a four-year-old daughter. I can't even begin to tell you how afraid I was of getting married again. 
 
I am a businessman and give about 10% of my time towards helping other victims of trauma. My wife is a politician. I am physically well, though with residual physical problems from the crash, including my executive memory, though nobody knows. 
 
My main advice to anybody in a crisis is just keep getting back up again. If you get knocked down a thousand times, get up a thousand and one times. 
 
Let yourself collapse with people around you. If you have someone to talk to, you can collapse with the best, and then get back up again. The more often you make that journey of getting back up again, the easier it gets. 
 
I had a minor melt whilst writing this down for the first time, dipping into old emotions I have not recalled for a long time. And then I get back up.
 
David Sachan Gardiner
Jersey, Channel Islands
​

Welcome to our first ‘campfire’ story.
The Campfire for the Heart project is a collection of inspiring true stories of human resilience. Although every story is unique, they all highlight our ability to adapt positively to bad experiences and showcase our indomitable human spirit.
If you have a resilience story to share, or know someone who does, please contact Natalie Stockdale through www.stockdalewellbeing.com.   

“They say horses can’t cry, but what I saw broke my heart.“
​

Prior to 2002, we lived a wonderful life on a magical, 20-acre property in rural Victoria with three children. Being on land, we filled it with a few horses, rescued sheep, chickens and even guinea pigs. Hubby supported us all, working hard in the dental industry and life was great. I was outgoing, learning karate and living the country dream.

Then my world stopped. Our eldest son, eight years old at the time, disclosed horrific abuse that he endured by close relatives. As the details came out of his mouth, my head was racing with thoughts of tearing these people apart, limb by limb. We took our son to a trauma psychologist and she suggested I ask our other two children whether they had been abused. I was mortified, as I hadn’t even considered it possible. 

I dutifully took the two girls aside and asked non-leading questions. Their responses were horrifying. We immediately banned the abusers from ever having contact with our children and began a long journey of healing. 

I had studied shamanic healing in the US and applied every ‘trick’ I learnt to help the children work their way through their rage, grief, anger, denial, the whole lot. Meanwhile, I put my own healing on hold.

In 2006, I became a volunteer fire-fighter. I think I needed to know I had the courage to “fight fire”, just as I needed courage to deal with my kids’ abuse.

As we slowly came out of the fog in 2010, we joined a horse rescue organisation. I was   trained to inspect neglect cases and enjoyed being a voice for the voiceless and making a difference for these beautiful animals. 

Then, in 2011, an atrocity occurred. 280 starving ponies.  The authorities who discovered the ponies gave the owner a year to fix the problem, then suddenly changed it to one week!  All ponies remaining on the property would be shot. My daughter and I joined a small group at the property and rescued as many of the ponies as possible. 143 ponies were taken to safety. 

Then came the four days of killing. We couldn’t stop the massacre, but we recorded it. I remember running from tree to tree with my camera, as the shooters drove around in utes, shooting out their windows, with the poor ponies on the run. Some ponies took four shots to drop them. I ran to as many as I could, without being seen, to take photos of the random bullet placement. They say horses can’t cry, but what I saw broke my heart. Mares aborted their foals, and we desperately tried to save a blind foal, but young hired guns saw her and rounded her up on horseback, with her following the noises of hooves, into the killing pen. 

These four days nearly broke me. I knew that I could either let part of me die, or rise above it and make good from bad. From that moment, I vowed to start my own horse rescue organisation and honour the memory of the massacred ponies.  
In 2013, the Winged Horse Equine Welfare was founded and is still going strong. Among the herd of rescued horses is a little mare who survived the massacre, forever safe and protected.

I tell people to make a difference from awful events they witness. Turn your pain to healing.

I gained 25kg since discovering the kids’ abuse, subconscious protection from the world. It took 16 years before I was ready to shed the protection. I began running. My peace returned as I began caring for myself, honouring my mind and body.

What have I gained form this journey?

The knowledge that forgiveness is vital. In forgiving those who do awful things, you free yourself from being bound to them energetically and you can harness your energy to do great things. I founded a sanctuary that is a public stand against abuse, so I not only help animals, I make it public that abuse in any form, is not ok, ever. I also model to school kids that you don’t have to be anyone special to make a huge positive difference in the world.

Resilience is a fantastic word to use. To me, it conjures up an image of a tough Amazon Woman with armour, yet soft underneath. Resilience is about finding your inner warrior woman (or man or child) and calling on your inner strengths to guide you through your own, healing, and then others. 

For anyone stuck in pain, reach out. This is so important. Reach out to someone you trust, who can be your anchor. I was lucky as I had all my animals to ground me and support me emotionally.

Find your inner strength and record your journey. You may surprise yourself if you look at journal entries during or after trauma and see how much you change over time.
​ 
I am at peace now. I am more confident and I don’t hold back in stating my views. I run and I love it. I buy bright coloured running clothes and have my sights on ultra runs! I am ageing in reverse I’m sure! The weight is peeling off and I look in the mirror and see bright, glistening eyes looking back at me. I am a warrior woman and you just need to find your warrior too. 

Carolyn Bischof
​Victoria, Australia