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NATALIE WEISZ

It took me hitting rock bottom

By Agent Morphe

July 30^th, 2019

I am worth more than that.

I definitely think the breakdown of my marriage has been a very traumatic experience. I think the realisation that my husband, who had promised to love and support me forever, didn’t, and wasn’t going to. No matter how much I wanted it to be that way, I was completely helpless to change that. I think I had to really hit rock bottom to accept that ‘that’ was the reality of my situation.

It took me getting to that point to realise that this was not what I wanted from my life and that I needed to make changes.

It forced me to realise that you’ve got one shot at life. You’ve got one shot at being happy. It got to the point where I thought to myself, ‘you are an idiot. You’re a complete fool to stay in a loveless relationship and accept that this is your life’. I couldn’t do it to myself anymore. I am worth more than that.

Little by little it chipped away at me.

The actual deciding to end the marriage and leave was quite a liberating experience and came quite easily. But the two years leading up to that point were very traumatic. There were times I found myself feeling completely alone even though I was married with three kids, a great family and friends.

The relationship was toxic by the end. There was no love, there was no understanding, there was no compassion. There was a moment we were lying in bed and I was crying – and there was no response. It was devastating. That was a real wake up call, a real aha moment to say ‘wow, my husband is not my husband anymore’. Maybe not by any fault of his, but that’s the path the relationship had taken. So, I had to accept that.

The idea that only a very few knew what was really going on, made it hard. My sister and a couple of close friends knew, but no one else. To pretend that life was good, to force myself to go out and socialise, to be with friends and put on a happy face and smile; whilst on the inside I was broken, was horrific. Little by little it chipped away at me.

I BECAME A REALLY GOOD ACTOR.

My friendship with my closest friend has been rekindled. When I was happily married, my ex-husband would say, "you have a husband and you have a wife; and she’s your wife". So, I feel like I got my wife back. I couldn’t be true to the friendship when I was hiding this secret.

The last thing I wanted to do was burden her with how bad my life was, so I withdrew and kept everything to myself.

I withdrew from a lot of friendships because I didn’t want to burden anyone with what was going on, so a lot of people were really surprised when the marriage ended. Really close friends never saw it coming. I became a really good actor.

I REMEMBER MY ROCK BOTTOM MOMENT.

I was 38 years old – I was upstairs in my bathroom alone and I was crying, which wasn’t unusual. I said to myself, ‘okay, you’re going to be 40 in two years. If life is the same and nothing has changed, will you be happy’? The thought of being 40 and nothing changing, filled me with dread and despair.

I remember this moment of clarity. I can’t be here in two years; I have to get out of this situation.

I’m worth more. I owe it to myself, I owe it to my children to be happy, to be a good person, a good mother and a good friend. I want to be happy. I decided I was done. Changes needed to be made. Three months later the marriage ended.

I was born in Israel and my parents moved here when I was only one. The plan was to go back, but unfortunately life didn’t work out that way. My parents separated when I was six. It didn’t feel traumatic at the time, until I was a teenager when I became very resentful towards my mother for ending the marriage. I went from living with my parents to living with my mother and stepfather. I think I found that quite hard as a six-year-old – moving into a house with a stranger, particularly a man, overnight.

But what do you know when you’re 16? You know nothing. I’ve come to realise that I’m not angry with my mum anymore because I don’t think I could have lived with my dad either. I think the way that she did it may not have been the right one, but that was her choice. She did what she thought was best at the time.

I had to learn about life, sex, boys, periods and all those things for myself because my mother is not an emotional person. She doesn’t open up about her feelings, so I never felt comfortable talking to her about things. I didn't grow up in a very affectionate house and maybe because of that I parent differently. I love affection and hug my children all the time. I’m definitely a lot more open with them. We talk about anything and I answer honesty.

I found myself again.

When my marriage ended, my ex-husband and I sat down with my children to explain what was happening. I remember the uncontrollable sobbing from them. It was absolutely heartbreaking. You know when kids are sobbing, begging you not to do this, but at the end of the day, they don’t have a choice or a say – they’re the victims.

My job was to support them during that process. To make it as easy a transition as possible, and to love them. That’s all I could do. We were together for almost sixteen years.

I am a different person now. I found myself again. I’ve become true to myself and realised how important it is to be happy in life, to be at peace with yourself. It took me hitting rock bottom to be able to say that. People noticed the change in me, and it reinforces that I’ve made the right decision. It’s affirming, to know that the pain and suffering was worth it, to get to where I am today and that hopefully my children will benefit from me being a happier person.

IT BROUGHT ME JOY.

Happiness has had different meanings to me in my life. When I was young, happiness meant falling in love, getting married, starting a family. Working towards holidays and a house. That was so important at that time. It’s not anymore. I needed to find happiness within myself. I needed to be able to be alone and be ok with being alone. And surprisingly I was.

I was so much happier being home alone with quiet, with positive energy, no stress, no tension. Able to wake up when I wanted, go to sleep when I wanted, eat when I wanted. Not having anyone else to answer to was really important.

I started putting on music and dancing around the house singing. We never had music playing and it brought me joy.

I overthink and analyse everything.

I even think about how much I think. All the time (laugh). I lie in bed at night because I find it really hard to switch off.

I’m a person that needs to get things off her chest. I cannot keep them in. What I’ve learnt about myself is my tendency to think about things and then explode. I fire off how I’m thinking with no regard to how the other person is receiving it. My partner thinks before he speaks, whereas I speak before I think. I’ve had to learn to process how I feel before I verbalise it. That doesn’t come naturally to me. I am used to yelling and screaming because my family does that. My father and I, we yell at each other, we scream, we get everything off our chest, but then we go and have dinner together like nothing happened, no hard feelings.

My partner's not like that. He doesn’t yell back and he doesn’t get fired up. When I explode unleashing myself, I can’t expect that he will receive it positively. Instead he shuts down and that makes me angry. I want to see a response and he refuses to engage with me when I’m like that. Because he needs to go away and process that. I’ve ripped him to shreds and I can’t expect that of him.

It’s taken me 40 years to realise that you can’t do that to people; and that’s very much how my father is. It might be why his marriage didn’t work because my mum doesn’t open up, doesn’t like conflict, wants peace, and brushes everything under the carpet.

It’s been a revelation to understand that yes I’m upset, yes I’m angry, yes I’m fired up; my feelings are valid because that’s how I feel, but I’ve learnt how to express them in a kind, mature, understanding way without bottling it up.

I had a good upbringing and was very privileged. I went to a private school, family holidays, there was nothing I missed out on. My stepfather was my other father-figure. He was a very loving man. As an adult I realised what a really good decent human being he was. The fact that he took on a woman with two children, supported them and brought them up as his own, demonstrates what kind of person he was. He was in my life for 26 years before he passed away, and I loved and respected him as a person. When he passed away, it was really devastating for me.

It took ten years, but my biological parents became really good friends. As much as I resented my mother for what she did, they both made a conscious decision to co-parent. We were able to have dinners with our parents and their respective partners, they both came to parent-teacher nights, we had birthday parties together, be all in the same room together, which all seemed to be very uncommon for separated or divorced families. I have a lot of respect for that. I’m trying to do that, but it’s not working too well.

I witness horrific things.

My job as a paramedic has shown me just how precious life is. I’ve definitely learnt how important it is to live life to the fullest. I am now able to empathise more with the drastic changes in people’s lives and how happiness can change in a second. I witness horrific things and I see families and think, ‘wow your life has changed forever. It will never be the same. You can never go back’. The happiness they once knew will be gone forever.

It’s so important to embrace life and to do the things you want to do, to surround yourself with people that make you happy, because it can change in an instance.

I like to think that we gave them the best shot at living.

As a paramedic, we’re taught that when we’re called to a job, to look at it from a clinical point of view. What does the patient present with, what needs to be done? We go through the motions. What equipment do I use, what’s wrong with them? It’s very clinical. You can’t let your emotions get involved at the time. And unfortunately, sometimes people die no matter what you do. I like to think that we gave them the best shot at living.

We’re often surrounded by family, so it’s not about the patient anymore; the family becomes our patients. That’s something we’re not trained to do – to console mourning family members, particularly those that lost a child, is overwhelming. I remember specifically a job where they lost a one-year-old. To witness their mourning, their utmost grief and despair, was very devastating. I couldn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t eat. I kept playing it over and over in my mind. I don’t think there is a way to be trained in how to deal with that.

Unfortunately, it comes with experience and exposure. There are some things that you can switch off from, but the death of a child you can’t. Especially being a mother, knowing that their lives have changed forever and that they will never recover from that.

Although life will move on, their normal will never be the same. They will learn to live with a new sense of normality.

Am I worthy of that?

I have this internal battle where I feel honoured that I was there during the death of their child and that they called upon me in their time of need to help, to hopefully make a difference. But then when I’m unable to do that, I almost feel like I’m not worthy of being there to witness their grief because I’m a stranger; and this is the most intimate vulnerable time in their lives – ever.

Who am I to witness that? Am I worthy of that? I find that very hard. I will remember them forever, but hopefully they won’t remember me. I don’t want them to.

It’s those types of things that will stay with me forever.

We’re very good at talking, so we debrief. We talk to our colleagues; we have a peer support program that contacts us after we’ve been at a traumatic event. We have psychologists and psychiatrists that are available 24-hours a day. What I find difficult though, is whether or not I should open up and talk to friends or family.

At the end of the day, they don’t want to hear about the one-year-old that died; they don’t want to hear about the fact that she was cold, stiff and that her body was purple. No-one wants to know that. I can see it, I can remember it, what she felt like and what she looked like, but no one else really wants to know that. So, I do talk to family and friends, but it’s a fine line between what to tell them and what to keep to myself.

I remember everything.

I often get asked, 'what’s the worst thing you’ve seen?' I have been to things like hangings. I can still see them. I’m not going to say to someone, ‘I went to a 17-year-old today that hanged himself and then his mother came home and found him, and his brother cut him down.' I don’t even know if you guys want to hear this.

I remember everything. When we got there he’d already passed away. His mother was lying there outside, crying, stroking his head. It is so intimate, so personal.

The dichotomy of what I go through – am I good enough, really worthy enough to share this very intimate moment with this family? But I AM here, the one that is with them, their source of support at that moment. They don’t have anyone else right now.

Unfortunately, things need to be done. Police need to be involved. If it’s a child, their body needs to be transported to the hospital. My job then becomes to transport the deceased child and their family to the hospital.

So, I become their driver, their social worker, and their counsellor.

I need to offer them advice on the practicalities of what’s going to happen, what we need to do now. I need to support them; I need to reassure them. And there is so much going on, so it’s very hard.

I come home and it makes me appreciate my family and children, but I also get scared. I see these things at work and think, ‘what if something happens to them?’ Kids go off to school and they get hit by a car, so I think, ‘what if something happens to mine?' I try and appreciate every moment, every day. The good times and the bad, because you just don’t know when it’s going to end.

Sometimes I have to stop myself when I can feel myself getting frustrated with the kids. I can either lose my shit now because the house is a mess, or I can just go, 'fuck it; it’s late, the kids are running around wild, but you know what, put some music on, let them go'. Embrace it, because the tough times really are just as important as the good.

By nature, I am a control freak.

As I get older, I find myself worrying a lot more about what I’m unable to control. I don’t like feeling out of control. By nature, I am a control freak. I don’t like flying because I feel like I can’t get out off the plane.

My partner has gone away, and I ask him to text me as soon as he lands, because I can’t sleep otherwise. He explains that he will communicate via WhatsApp, but if he doesn’t have Wi-Fi straight away and I don’t hear from him, it doesn’t mean he’s dead. Because that is my first thought – you’ve died. It’s a horrible way to think.

I developed a little bit of anxiety as a result of my job. I never had that before. I could fly, I could go away, I could not speak to people for a long time and it didn’t bother me. Now if I can’t get onto someone, I start to worry. I like to know where everyone is. I’d like to know that I’m in control of things.

It’s the unknown, what I can’t control that terrifies me.

The likelihood that something bad will happen is really really small, but there’s that 0.01% chance that it will. I’ve seen it first hand, I’ve seen that kids die, people cross the road and get hit by a car – it happens to someone. And I’ve met those someone’s.

Who's to say it’s not going to be someone in my family. And that’s what I find very hard to deal with. That sometimes you have no control over these things and when your time is up, your time is up.

It’s this fight or flight.

16 years ago when I was first accepted into the ambulance service as a paramedic, I started out on the road and suffered quite severe anxiety.

I was scared of what I would see, what I couldn’t control and whether or not I would be able to make a difference.

Prior to that I had never been an anxious person. What if I’m overwhelmed by it? What if I don’t know what to do? What if I can’t help? What if what I do isn’t good enough? What if I freeze? I became really nervous about not being able to do my job properly and I’d never experienced that before.

I ended up having to see a psychologist and go through cognitive behavioural therapy to learn how to change my way of thinking. I had to say, ‘Are you trained and competent to do your job? Yes. Will you ever be alone at a job? No. I’m not alone. I have an instructor with me who is there to support me through this transition period. Are you a student and expected to know everything? No. Will you find something confronting? Yes. Is that ok? Yes. Are you nervous? Yes. Does this ever translate into you not being able to manage? No.’

I could feel the anxiety building, but I had to talk my way out of it. My body was firing off this adrenaline. It’s this fight or flight – my heart would be thumping but it was an irrational response to something that I was trained to do.

It took a long time to get there, a year of therapy and working really hard at it.

I’ve always got the support of my WORK partner.

It took me two years of doing my job to feel comfortable that I would be able to cope with what I was exposed to. Every now and then I get little twinges of anxiety. I went to a patient only yesterday who looked and presented as really unwell. It’s scary because they are sick and there’s a possibility that they will die – in front of you.

I could feel my heart pounding and I had to tell myself, ‘you’ve got this, you know what to do’.

That’s why we work in a team. I’ve always got the support of my work partner. Knowing that someone’s got my back also helps to reassure me that it’s ok.

I have been hit twice in the job.

Unfortunately, verbal abuse is common and you do get sworn at; usually by people that are under the influence of alcohol or drugs.

If someone tells you to fuck off, you fuck off. You do. I’m not here to negotiate to that. You want me to leave, goodbye, I’m gone.

We’re very good at leaving when we’re told. The verbal abuse doesn’t bother me anymore. I know that people under the influence of drugs or alcohol unfortunately do say things that they may not necessarily mean. I know it’s not personal and it’s usually a reflection of what’s going on in their lives. It’s not about me.

I have been hit twice in the job. I’ve been exposed to physical abuse. I’ve also learnt from those experiences. First time I was still a student, so it was very early on in my career. I got too close to an intoxicated patient. I got her into the back of the ambulance when I shouldn’t have, because she wasn’t in control at the time and I should’ve realised that it wasn't safe to bring her into a small enclosed space. What we need to realise is that the ambulance is our work space. So that’s MY workplace. People forget I have a mobile workplace. So, if I bring someone in there, I need to make sure that I am safe first.

She got upset and lashed out at me. Just whacked me across the face and jumped out of the ambulance running into traffic. She was now unsafe. My work partner, who was very experienced at the time, ran after her, grabbed her and got her off the road. I was gobsmacked. First time in my life where I had no words! (laughs). I didn’t know what to say.

I stood there going, ‘oh my god I’ve just been hit across the face’.

That had never happened to me before. It was a delayed reaction. I couldn’t even call out to my work partner that she’d run out. I learnt very early then to make sure that the ambulance was a safe place and never to put someone in the back until I felt comfortable.

We have the full backing of Ambulance Victoria.

Unfortunately, the second time I was hit on the job was in a bar and I was actually four months pregnant with my second child. I tell her that it’s the reason she is the way she is – which is wild (laughs).

We attended a young male who was intoxicated lying on the ground of a bar. I leant down and got close to speak to him and he punched me in the stomach. Just lashed out and punched me. I remember I stood up and said, ‘I’m done. I’m not going to treat you anymore. I will not tolerate that sort of behaviour!'

That was probably 10 years ago now. Since then, I have made sure I don’t get too close to someone, that I keep my distance and make sure that the ambulance is a safe space. We have had to walk away from scenes where someone is unwell because we are otherwise putting ourselves at risk.

We have the full backing of Ambulance Victoria, not to enter a dangerous scene or to leave a scene that we find unsafe.

It’s sad that we do find ourselves in situations where paramedics are assaulted physically on a regular basis – I think it’s at least 1 every 50 hours.

So, I’m very VERY vigilant now, very careful about what I expose myself to.

How do we do our job without a man?

My experience is that as females I am a bit more cautious, probably because I tend to be smaller and not as physically strong. I don’t want to find myself in a situation where I’m overpowered by someone who is bigger and stronger than me. I’m not as willing to enter a scene that may be potentially unsafe. We often wait for police. And if I am working with another female of similar stature, we make sure that we are not going to put ourselves in that situation.

I even think that sometimes people find it unusual that two females work together. People are surprised as though we need the safety of a tall man with us. How do we do our job without a man? How do you lift someone off the ground and how do you treat someone bigger than you, unless you have the support of a big strong man there?

let me show you how it’s done.

The best is when we get called to a job where someone needs assistance up off the ground. We have lifting devices and machines, sliding sheets and sliding boards. We’re very good at getting people up off the ground without lifting them. We don’t lift anyone anymore. We’re not expected to.

So often when we walk into a job where someone’s fallen and they’re on the ground, whoever’s called will say, "but I asked them to send two strong men?!" They expect these two men to walk in, to pick them up and the job is done. They look at me wondering how I’m going to get their husband off the ground. And I’m like, ‘let me show you how it’s done’.

It’s really true. Caller's request two tall strong men and are upset when they get two short women.

Then when we are able to do our jobs really competently, they look at us in amazement, thinking that was incredible – 'how did you do that?' (laughs).

The fact that women were not employed prior to 1988 is quite inconceivable.

Thirty years is not such a long period of time. You couldn’t apply to be a paramedic if you were a female. Because we did a lot of lifting back then, women were not considered because they were not strong or big enough. Women couldn’t possibly drive an ambulance or reverse a truck. They weren’t smart enough. Women couldn’t work shift because they should be home with their families.

There were all these preconceived ideas of what a woman should be doing, and it certainly wasn’t doing what was then considered to be a man’s job.

So, women weren’t allowed to apply. Then 1987 came around and they realised that women were all these things. Just as competent as men. So, they accepted women paramedics into the workforce, but it’s taken thirty-two years to reach almost 50% equal male to female ratio of paramedics – which isn’t a long time. That’s actually really good.

I love my job. I absolutely love it.

I am what they would call a dinosaur as a paramedic. The average lifespan of a paramedic is only about seven years. People burn out. The shift work, the exposure, it’s very much a lifestyle choice. You miss out on weekends, you’re gone during night shifts, you miss holidays, parties and family events. You’re just not around all the time. You make this decision to do this with your life and unfortunately you have to sacrifice a lot. I think it takes a toll on people. So, having been doing this for 16 years, people look at me like ‘woah you ARE a dinosaur, you’re a fossil’ (laughs).

I love my job. I absolutely love it. I look forward to going to work every single day. And I’m not a morning person, my kids cannot drag me out of bed in the morning, but I will get up at 5am to go to work – willingly.

It’s the only thing that gets me out of bed at 5am in the morning.

They’ve found that there are increased chances of marriage breakdowns, anxiety, depression and suicide amongst emergency service workers, particularly paramedics. So, it does come at a cost. There’s a lot of people that suffer PTSD. It usually happens after many years of exposure. I have well respected colleagues that I looked up to, who mentored me and were excellent operators and clinicians, but are now unable to work because of PTSD.

16 years is a long time in the job, so I’m always taking note of how I’m feeling. I don’t want to get to that point. If I ever feel like things are getting too much, I’m more than happy to take a step back and say I need a break. I don’t want to miss those warning signs and then not be able to work, because my job is my passion in life.

I think it’s really important to love what you do. I couldn’t imagine doing a job that I didn’t love.

Being a paramedic was a childhood dream of mine. I always imagined myself in the back of an ambulance and was determined to get there. I studied, I worked, and I sat interviews, physicals and medical assessments; and I did everything in my power to achieve my goal.

EVERYONE HAS A STORY.

What I love most about my job as a paramedic is the unpredictability. The fact that every day is completely different.

That’s unusual because I’m such a control freak. I get so excited going to work and not knowing what I’m going to see, who I’m going to meet, what skills will be required of me that day, who I’m even going to work with, what I will learn about myself – it’s exciting. There aren’t many jobs that change on a daily basis. There are no two days that will ever be the same. No two patients that will ever be the same.

I love the fact that I get to talk to people and they are so very open. It’s very touching and special how they feel at ease talking to me about themselves and their personal lives. It could be anything from what’s going on in their home and families, to relationships. I love finding out about them – everyone has a story.

I’m filming this TV show Paramedics. Every job we do for the show is a story. Then we need to find the story within the story. That’s the patients’ story within the story of the job as a paramedic. I’ve become really good at doing that. When I’m not filming, I find myself asking people to tell me about themselves. I see my work partner driving and giggling away, laughing, because I’m having a full-on conversation in the back about something completely unrelated to the medical problem. I’ve become really good at looking for the story within the story – and I love it.

AS LONG AS I’M THERE IN THEIR TIME OF NEED, THEN I’M DOING MY JOB.

Not all jobs we attend are life-threatening and not all of them are medical emergencies. What a patient deems to be an emergency for them isn’t necessarily what I would consider an emergency, but I need to respect that it’s what they are feeling. As long as I’m there in their time of need, then I’m doing my job. If every job was stressful, I wouldn’t cope. I really wouldn’t.

I often work around the Caulfield area. The way we rate pain with patients is on a scale of zero to ten. Zero’s nothing and ten’s the worst. We have this thing amongst Jews where we say they have an ‘Oy’ factor. The number of ‘Oy’ is how bad the pain is. If it’s just one ‘Oy’, it’s minor. If it’s ‘Oy Oy Oy Oy Oy Oy’, it’s bad pain. I love it. It’s so true, it is really true (laughs).

I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of driving lights and sirens.

I still get a kick out of it, 16 years later! Although after ten minutes, the noise of the siren does start to grate on your nerves. On a serious note though, what I love most is being there in someone’s time of need. Making a difference. Getting to a situation and using my skills and my knowledge, hopefully for a positive outcome. I get so much job satisfaction from that. I find that very rewarding, making a small difference in someone's life. It means something to them and therefore it means something to me.

On the other hand, what I hate most is the unpredictability (laughs). The not knowing. And the night shifts.

The fact that I miss out on family time, on birthdays and religious holidays. I have to choose between my family and my job sometimes like all shift workers. My night shifts are 5pm to 7am the next morning. So, it’s 14 hours. I do find shift work very hard and the older I get the harder it is to recover. Now that I’m 40 and five days (laughs), it takes a lot longer to recover than when I was 25.

I am a superhero with my superpowers ready to take on the world.

When I put on that uniform it’s like I take on a different persona. It’s like my alter ego. I feel quite invincible – like I could cope with anything that's thrown at me. I feel like I can manage situations at work that I may not necessarily be able to cope with, without the uniform. I really do. Normally I would feel very nervous about walking into someone’s small apartment, especially if they are under the influence of drugs or alcohol.

I put that uniform on and I have no issues walking into those environments.

That’s not to say that I’ll ever put myself into a dangerous situation – I feel like I can because I have the means to manage it.

My uniform is like a superhero costume. It is my power. My superpower is my bag of drugs. I can put you to sleep (laughs), sedate you if I need to. Out of work, people often feel that if anything goes wrong, all will be okay because ‘Nat’s around’. But my power is in my toolbox and equipment because without my toolbox I’m useless. Yes, I can provide first aid, but I have a whole bag of tools that I really need to be able to apply my skills.

So, when I put on my uniform and I go to work with my bag of tricks, I’m comfortable. I am a superhero with my superpowers ready to take on the world.

And I’m at peace with that.

It’s so important to make the most of it. I want people to know that if they find themselves in a situation where they are unhappy, they can make changes and don’t have to settle. That they may need to go through those really bad times to realise that that’s not what they want. To find the strength to say, ‘I deserve more and I want more from my life’. I definitely wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t had those bad times. If my marriage hadn’t have broken down and I hadn’t felt completely worthless, I wouldn’t be where I am now.

If you don’t like your job, find another. I’m lucky that my job is my passion but if your job isn’t, then find something that you are passionate about. We all need something that gets us out of bed in the morning.

I’ve explained to my kids that I can’t be everywhere and I can’t do everything. I’m a mum and I’m a partner. But I’m also a paramedic and my job is a really important part of my life. There are going to be things that I’m going to miss. And that’s ok. It’s important for them to understand that there’s only so much of me to go around. And I’m at peace with that.

I learnt what was truly important to me and what wasn’t.

I turned 40 five days ago. Two years ago, when I had my ‘Oprah moment’ I knew I had to make drastic changes because I couldn’t imagine myself at 40. I didn’t want to turn 40. To be at that place two years ago and then to find myself excited and embracing it, has just been incredible. It took a lot of work, but life is good.

It didn’t just land on my plate.

I had to go through a lot of shit. Without that I wouldn’t have learnt the stuff that I had to learn. I wouldn’t appreciate the little things. I learnt what I wanted from a partner in my life. I learnt what was truly important to me and what wasn’t.

Over the past two years my family have been incredibly supportive of me. They provided me with unconditional love and support even though they haven’t agreed with the choices I’ve made. I’ve had friends who’ve stepped up and treated me like family, going above and beyond; and my partner who came into my life eight months ago, has turned my life upside down.

It felt like a rebirth.

Those that had seen me at my worst, hitting rock bottom, lying on the floor crying and stuffing chips down my throat, for them to turn around and say they hadn’t seen me this happy in years and to want to be there and celebrate my 40th birthday at my party with me, was amazing.

It’s like the weight has been lifted, the shackles have been taken off, and I’m free. It’s almost like I failed at life on my first go, and I’ve got a second chance now.

Photography by Maya Sugiharto | Written by Aviva Minc

THANK YOUs

Natalie Weisz – for trusting us and allowing our lens to capture your truth; for your generosity, honesty and openness in sharing your personal story to inspire others to speak their own truth. It's been a real pleasure and honour to have been welcomed into your life, and to have been a part of your journey.