ANZAC Day — More Than a Date

ANZAC Day has always been deeply personal to me.

Not just because it falls on my birthday, although I’ve often felt that’s more than a coincidence.

But because it lives in my blood, my family, and my life.

My grandfather landed at the Gallipoli Peninsula in Turkey on 25th April 1915.

Years later, he was awarded his medals — and they were later left to me.

I wear them every ANZAC Day. Not as a symbol of history… but as a living connection.

I’ve experienced this life.

As a granddaughter. As a daughter.

As a wife to an Army Officer — moving, adapting, following the next posting without question. As someone who has stood still while the person I loved deployed… not once, but three times.

As a mother. As an aunty.

Watching the next generation step into service — in and out of uniform.

I have lived my life alongside Defence. I’ve seen the pride. And I’ve seen the cost.

As a volunteer, I’ve supported families through some of their hardest moments.

I’ve seen families implode. I’ve seen the impact on children… and how far that ripple travels.

I’ve lost Army friends to suicide.

I’ve watched young men and women come home… and slowly lose themselves.

Disconnected. Lost.

Losing mates to addiction, hopelessness, pain… and suicide.

Not knowing where they fit anymore. Not feeling their life has value or meaning.

That is something you never forget. And something no family should have to live through.

And through separation, I’ve felt a different kind of loss.

The heartbreak of not feeling like I belonged anymore…

Distant from the very world I had been part of, supported, and stood beside for so long.

I’ve known what it is to feel disconnected. To question where you fit.

To carry that quiet pain that isn’t always seen.

And I share that because this isn’t just something I’ve witnessed in others.

I’ve felt it too.

To be recognised with a Military Commendation as a civilian — something that hadn’t been awarded since Vietnam — is something I hold with deep humility.

Not as an achievement, but as a reflection of the community I stand beside.

Our story, captured through the ABC’s Australian Story during the East Timor conflict, is something I will always honour.

I have met the most incredible people and experienced things I will carry with me for a lifetime through this journey.

But this year feels different.

There’s a shift in the mood around The Australian Defence Force.

A divide that I can feel… and one that doesn’t sit easily.

Because from where I stand, this has never been about politics.

It’s about people. Good people. Brave people.

People who choose to serve — and families who choose to stand beside them.

We speak about the ANZAC spirit.

Resilience.

Mateship.

Courage.

But I wonder…

Are we truly protecting it?

Not on the battlefield — But here, at home.

Because behind the uniform…

There are humans. Humans carrying stress. Carrying trauma.

Carrying the weight of experiences most will never understand.

And too often… carrying it alone.

This is where my two worlds meet.

My life alongside Defence.

And my life’s work through the healing of The Pillar Code.

For years now, we’ve supported veterans, serving members, police, nurses, doctors, first responders — people who find their way to us.

Not because they’re told to. But because something inside them knows… there has to be another way.

And there is.

But here’s the truth that sits with me today:

It shouldn’t be left to chance.

Support shouldn’t rely on someone reaching breaking point before they find help. It shouldn’t depend on who you know or what you stumble across.

It should be part of the system that stands behind those who serve.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do have a very clear intention.

To see The Pillar Code working alongside Defence, DVA, Police, and support services

So that those who give so much… are fully supported in return.

Not just physically. But mentally. Emotionally. Holistically.

Because this is not just important. This is people’s lives.

On this ANZAC Day, I will stand in gratitude. I will wear my grandfather’s medals with pride. And I will honour every person — past and present — who has served.

But I will also stand in commitment.

To keep bridging these two worlds.

To keep speaking. To keep showing what is possible.

Because the ANZAC spirit isn’t just something we remember. It’s something we choose to live. And something we must choose to protect.

If you are reading this and something in you feels heavy…

If you’re carrying more than you should…

If you feel lost, disconnected, or unsure where you fit…

Please reach out. To me.

To someone.

To anyone.

You are not alone — even if it feels that way.

And there is support available.

Lest we forget.