I fell pregnant with Josh at 15 and gave birth to him just after I turned 16. I was a teenage mother and this little boy was with me through every one of my repeated toxic cycles of neglect, mental abuse, physical abuse, and domestic violence.
I will never, ever forget the day I was at work and got a phone call from a teacher.
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When I arrived I was whisked into a room where a counsellor and a teacher were waiting. I was told the school principal had walked into a classroom and found Josh trying to hang himself. He was eight years old.
All I remember is bawling my eyes out and using my beautiful dress to blow my snotty nose on. I took Josh straight to a specialised counsellor, but he just shut off. And even though I knew Josh was feeling suicidal, it didn’t stop me from keeping in touch with a violent partner – the man Josh was begging me to stay away from. My other children also implored me to stay away and I promised I would. But I kept going back.
The suicide attempt was Josh’s way of telling me he’d had enough and if I kept making him live this life, he would do something about it. He’d kill himself.
In the end I didn’t need to make the decision; the Department of Human Services (DHS) made it for me.
One night, after yet another violent argument with my partner, I found myself at the Royal Children’s Hospital in Sydney. My 4-month-old son had been admitted after being physically hurt. It was 2am and there I was, crammed into a little room with my three children, officers from the DHS, Federal Police and hospital staff.
They questioned me for a very long time about my relationship, and how my son was hurt. I was grilled about why I was staying in this abusive situation and why I was putting my children through it all.