Ciccone, a federal Senator from Victoria, held his 10-week-old son inside the chamber on Wednesday during Question Time. 

“I had a memorable day yesterday when baby Ciccone spent time with me while I was working in the Senate chamber,” Ciccone said.

“More fathers should have the opportunity to take their child to work wherever possible.”

Ciccone thanked his parliamentary colleagues for creating such a “family-friendly environment” in the Senate. He noted the day was particularly memorable as it also marked the second anniversary of the Set the Standard report, which was instrumental in making parliament a more inclusive place to work. 

Conducted by the Australian Human Rights Commission and led by the former Sex Discrimination Commissioner Kate Jenkins, the report was the culmination of an independent review into commonwealth parliamentary workplaces.

Ciccone also shared a photo of himself, his son and Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, writing: “Great to start the week by introducing the newest member of the Ciccone family to the Prime Minister @AlboMP and colleagues today.”

Ciccone’s milestone as the first father to bring their baby to the Senate follows a precedent set by Senator Larissa Waters, who was the first federal politician to breastfeed their baby in parliament, back in 2017. Prior to that, it had not been generally accepted for babies to enter parliamentary chambers.

Indeed it wasn’t until 2016 that parliamentary rules were changed to enable female MPs to breastfeed in the chamber. Children had previously been banned from entering during divisions.

And while it is still rare for a parent to bring their baby into work with them in parliament, it is slowly becoming more accepted. Former New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern sparked international attention when she brought her child, Neve, to the United Nations General Assembly in 2018.

It’s also significant that it is no longer just female politicians who are bringing their babies to work. Ciccone’s milestone this week will play a role in normalising it for fathers too.

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I called my sabbatical parental leave without a baby. Unsurprisingly, it was nothing like parental leave with a baby. In Canada on school days, between the hours of 9am and 3pm, my time was my own. I had nowhere I needed to be and nothing that I needed to do. That freedom felt every bit as luxurious as my younger-self on parental leave with a baby could have imagined.  

Routine liberation notwithstanding, there was one similarity between my experience of parental leave with a baby and without. I often found myself asking the same question: How do people all over the world do this? HOW? 

Learning the ropes with a newborn for the very first time is a singularly foreign experience that has never been better described than by Esther Walker when she said: “It’s like being asked to sit your A-Level exams. In Russian.”    

In Canada I had no newborns to tend to, and it wasn’t Russian I was trying to master, so why did I find myself flummoxed? Because raising children without a skerrick of a village is HARD. 

When we arrived in Toronto we really didn’t know anyone. We were properly on our own trying to find our feet and even with older children it was a gigantic undertaking. The ages of our daughters meant the travel itself – planes, trains, airports – was (save for the inevitable sibling warfare) civilised. 

There were no prams, nappy bags, naps or bottles to juggle. Our girls could carry their own bags, watch movies, read, cut up their own food and tolerate the travel without much hassle. 

But, taking older children out of their comfort zone and placing them into a whole new unfamiliar world presented challenges that younger children might not encounter. They felt the absence of family, their own friends, their regular activities and the familiarity of home keenly.

Being overseas, away from the comfort and anchor of home, very naturally increased the emotional support our girls needed, at the very same time our own options for support were dramatically reduced. We were without grandparents, siblings, friends, neighbours, our regular and beloved babysitters. We really were on our own. The cumulative pressure on the family unit brought an intensity to daily life in which the highs were higher, and the lows lower. It was alot. 

It reminded me – viscerally – that the adage about needing a village to raise a child isn’t hyperbole. It’s factual. 

Parenting is, easily, the hardest job in the world. The patience, resilience, optimism and strength it requires, daily, cannot be downplayed. 

I maintain that there is nothing as physically relentless as having babies and toddlers; the 0-to-5 window is peculiarly demanding in ways too many fail to readily acknowledge and appreciate. If you are a parent with children under 5, I see you and I promise life will not always feel like a marathon no one really knows you’re trying to complete every day. 

I promise you that fast forward five years you will find yourself inexplicably longing for the opportunity to go back in time for just one more day with those sweet, funny, wild bundles of need. This does not mean you should be soaking up every minute right now. You just can’t. It is a chapter of survival that is filled with affection and joy and boredom and exhaustion and love. Enjoying the moments you do enjoy, however fleeting, is enough. 

I am no longer in that chapter and as a family we are now able to explore and enjoy life in ways that were utterly unfathomable when our girls were younger. But parenting remains the hardest job in the world. 

I have done some hard things in my life but nothing challenges me in the way that parenting does. One reason, I believe, parenting can feel so difficult is that so much of the trickiest terrain is invisible. As children grow older their privacy really matters and their highs and lows aren’t ours, as parents, to share. 

This can create the false notion that raising children is more straightforward than it really is. That belies the conversations I have with parents every single week. Conversations in which the full extent of parenting – in all of its grit and glory – is clear.

From managing illness or a diagnosis, to tricky sibling dynamics, to social exclusion and loneliness, to intense dysregulation, to school refusal, disordered eating, anxiety, relationship breakdowns: the list of specific triggers is endless but the result is the same. Families struggling behind closed doors. 

Parents spending hours and hours of time trying to work out what support looks like for their child or family. Tears. Angst. Heartache. Desperation. From professional intervention, to quick fixes: whether the challenge is health, social, educational, behavioural – there are parents out there hunting down answers to problems many don’t know they’re facing. 

My stint on parental leave without a baby taught me once again that parenting is the biggest, most-consuming job in the whole wide world for which there is no formal training. 

It is why The Parenthood exists; not just to lobby for positive policy changes like better paid parental leave and access to quality early education, to ensure parents and carers and children are supported, but to ensure that the reality of parenting and caring is recognised and validated. By leaders, employers, government, decision-makers but also? By us! 

It is the biggest, toughest, most important job that we all need to acknowledge and validate as such. So, if you are a parent or a carer you have permission to recognise the work you do every day.    

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“You watch him scream and you have to drive off,” Pauline explained to me. 

His teachers say that he would have had an easier transition to school if he had been able to access early childhood education and care. Pauline and her daughter, Georgie’s mother, spent years calling every centre in town but he was never given a place.

Georgie’s story isn’t unique.

As thousands of young kids across Australia get ready to start school this year, the reality is that one in five will arrive developmentally vulnerable. And in rural areas this number jumps to two in five, with families competing against at least three other children per available childcare spot.

And the evidence tells us that children who arrive at school behind rarely, if ever, catch up to their peers.

While this isn’t the case for every child, it is the case for too many.

The benefits of attending early childhood education are no secret, with research telling us that kids who’ve attended early learning demonstrating not only stronger aptitudes for literacy and numeracy, but for emotional and social skills as well. Often, this discrepancy goes unnoticed until it’s time for children to start primary school, when 90 per cent of a child’s brain has developed.

In 2023, at The Parenthood, where I work as Campaigns Director, we launched our biggest investigation yet into the experiences of families with young children living rurally and remotely in our report ‘Choiceless’. I’ve collected the stories of over 160 parents and educators living outside metropolitan Australia who desperately need better access to early childhood education for their children.

Katherine Durant, a primary school teacher from Rainbow, Victoria, described the difference in students between those who had attended early childhood education and those who hadn’t as “staggering”.

Some children “were unable to sit on the floor, could not follow instructions, use scissors or write or recognise their name,” she shared.

Be it long waitlists, high costs, or the unfortunate but likely reality of living in a childcare desert, compounding barriers to accessing early childhood education add huge amounts of stress and worry to parents’ day-to-day.

Usually the impact of these barriers are felt more by women, whose inability to access childcare leaves them unable to participate in the workforce as they’d like, thanks to the ‘motherhood penalty’. 

But as research tells us, it’s children who are impacted the most.

Socialisation is one of the most important yet overlooked aspects of getting children ‘school-ready’, facilitating the development of soft-skills like negotiation, resilience, patience, turn-taking and making friends. Skills that are increasingly sought-after in today’s job market and are strengthened in the early years through early childhood education and care, playgroups and playdates.

My own daughter is about to start school, and while she can’t write much beyond her own name, I am fortunate enough to feel confident about how ready she is. Having watched her social skills blossom while attending our local early learning centre over the past few years, I know she’ll have no issue leaving me at the school gate to go and join her friends.

In speaking to families for ‘Choiceless’ I discovered that some kids in the bush go months without even seeing another child. It’s crucial that we consider the impact that this level of isolation can have.

Kimberley from the Northern Territory told me that by the time her son, Oliver, started school, he struggled to keep up with his peers, “It wasn’t until he was at school that we started seeing some speech and learning difficulties arise.”

For many families, early learning centres are too far away and they’re not sure when this will change. But even small improvements to access could make a world of difference.

Measures like being able to access occasional services, mobile early learning, or more flexible In-Home Care would better prepare children for the routine and structure of school.

As well as adding engagement and routine to children’s lives, early learning settings hold huge potential to identify kids who need extra support, as was succinctly outlined by the 2023 NDIS Review.

Early childhood education and care may not be for everyone, but access to connection and learning are. So many families living rurally feel trapped in this regard. They deserve more options, more flexibility and a shift away from the current market-led approach, which is clearly failing.

Despite clear paths for change outlined by the South Australian Royal Commission, the ACCC, the Productivity Commission, and the NDIS Review in 2023 alone, families and children in the bush continue to feel choiceless.

These kids, like all kids, deserve the best start in life, and their families more control over their trajectory.

So, as four to six-year-olds across the country don their school hats and oversized backpacks for the first time this February, just like my youngest, I wish that every parent could say they had the same freedoms in getting their kids ready for school.

The post Too many country kids will start school behind this year. Early years investment is the answer appeared first on Women's Agenda.

Sadly, our namesake, Louise, affectionately known as ‘Gidget,’ couldn’t find the support she needed, when she needed it and Gidget’s family and close-knit group of friends experienced a devastating loss when she took her own life while grappling with postnatal depression after the birth of her first child at the age of 34. This heartbreaking event, which occurred 22 years ago, marked the beginning of Gidget Foundation Australia, and set in motion a mission to support others facing similar challenges.

I vividly recall attending Gidget’s funeral, unaware of the profound impact her story would have on my own life, and subsequently parents across the country in the years to come. After her passing, Gidget’s sisters Simone and Jacqui, along with her close friends, Libby, Kim, Lou, Steph and Zarnie convened around a kitchen table to discuss a meaningful way to honour Gidget’s memory and help other mum and dads struggling with postnatal depression—a condition that was relatively unknown at the time.

What emerged from that kitchen table gathering was the Gidget Foundation, initially focused on fundraising for local parenting support services. Over time, fuelled by unwavering energy and commitment, Gidget’s circle of sisters and friends transformed the organisation into Australia’s leading national service provider of free specialist perinatal psychological support services.

Our journey started with a simple goal: to improve perinatal mental health support in Gidget’s local area, recognising the glaring lack of accessible resources. Today, Gidget Foundation Australia is a national organisation offering a comprehensive suite of services, supporting parents from conception to one year after birth, providing crucial support during this delicate and pivotal period.

From a single Gidget House in North Sydney, we have expanded to include 25 Gidget Houses across Australia, with 15 more in development. Our services now cover telehealth counselling, an innovative workforce training and education program, a podcast series, group therapy, and Gidget virtual villages, offering online support.

Perinatal Mental Health Week encourages us to take a moment to collectively reflect on the paramount importance of perinatal mental health and the challenges that parents face during this sensitive period. It serves as a stark reminder of the driving force behind our efforts and the persistent need for more awareness, support, and collective action.

The statistics surrounding perinatal mental ill-health in Australia are alarming, one in five mothers and one in ten fathers grapple with the effects of diagnosed perinatal depression and anxiety each year, impacting almost 100,000 Australians annually. These numbers emphasise the nature of the issue, affecting a substantial portion of the population and highlighting the urgency of intervention and support.

Additionally, more than half of new parents experience adjustment disorders, shedding light on the inherent difficulty of adapting to parenthood. This transformative period, filled with both joy and challenge, emphasises the critical need for enhanced supports to ensure all parents have the opportunity to transition smoothly.

Perinatal Mental Health Week is a reminder of the ongoing need for awareness and support for expectant and new parents. It prompts us to reassess existing support structures and advocates for the availability of mental health resources to ensure that no parent faces these challenges alone.

As we navigate this week dedicated to perinatal mental health, acknowledging the work that remains to be done, we also take a moment to celebrate the progress made by our team. This November marks a significant milestone in Gidget Foundation Australia’s journey, with 70,000 appointments delivered free to over 7,500 families across Australia. With a target of 50 Gidget Houses and 230 clinicians by 2027, Gidget Foundation Australia’s ‘family’ continues to grow, fuelled by an unstoppable vision.

By fostering open discussions, promoting understanding, and investing in mental health initiatives, we collectively strive towards a future where perinatal mental health is a prioritised aspect of mental wellbeing, and the journey to parenthood is supported with compassion and resilience.

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All children are prone to being disgruntled and complaining in certain situations. But frequent grumbling can stretch adults’ patience and make them see their kids as ungrateful and unappreciative.

If children are grumbling, they are likely doing it for a good reason. So it is important not to just dismiss it outright. It is also important for kids learn to express themselves in more helpful ways.

Learning how to respectfully express dissatisfaction and call out unfairness can support a child’s mental health, foster respectful relationships at school, and a positive transition into adulthood.

So, how can we support children to have a voice, while turning their grumbles into more respectful communication?

Why are kids grumbling?

Grumbling, whingeing and complaining behaviour is annoying but it means something – children are doing it to communicate. Children are hardwired from birth to cry to get their parent’s attention.

As they grow up, children’s crying often develops into whining and grumbling. This generally reduces with age – although, when stressed, adults can still grumble and cry!

To help reduce grumbling, start by observing the patterns and triggers. Does it happen at a particular time of day or around a particular activity?

Children may grumble because they are trying to share their perspective, express a frustration, or address a perceived unfairness. Children may also grumble to seek attention from an adult, or to test limits and boundaries.

In younger children, grumbling may mean they are tired, hungry, disappointed, frustrated or overwhelmed. They might be responding to changes in their lives, such as a change at school or something different in a parent’s work routine.

In older children, grumbling may also be linked to fatigue, stress and boredom. Teenage grumbling can be particularly aggravating if it is accompanied by eye-rolling or shoulder shrugging – which can really push a parent’s buttons.

A whingey kid is annoying … but

It can be hard to empathise with grumbling. Adults may question the child’s reason to be upset, feel a problem has been wildly exaggerated, that a child is trying to avoid a job or is just being plain irritating.

Because grumbling is so annoying, especially if it is frequent and done in a whingey voice, adults may be inclined to make it go away by giving in to the child.

The inadvertent long-term effect of this strategy is to teach children their needs will be met through grumbling.

In moments of exasperation, instead of responding crossly or giving in, try and give yourself a break and step away. When feeling calmer, think about what your child is actually trying to say.

Model positive communication

Adult-child and adult-teen communication can be tricky, especially if adults focus on the negative tone rather than the message behind. it. But adults can break this cycle.

The key is to listen calmly. Avoid being dismissive, raising your voice, or labelling children as “whingers”.

Give your full attention, nod to show you are listening and check you understand their concerns and opinions (even if you don’t agree).

Listening in this way helps children feel valued, eventually reducing grumbles.

Here’s how you can respond

Having listened – and heard – try to formulate a reasonable response, prompting the child to find a potential solution. This is showing your child how to communicate constructively.

For example, a child might say, “I’m alwaaaaays emptying the bins”. This might mean, “I don’t think the jobs are fairly distributed”, or “I’m getting bored doing the same job”. So adults could ask, “How can the jobs be allocated in a fairer way?” This supports independence and problem solving.

A child might also say, “It took me ages to clean that up”. This might mean, “I want to be thanked and acknowledged”. So you might respond by saying how much better the area looks and thank them for their time and effort.

Or you might hear, “Having those chairs in the hallway is dumb”. This might actually mean “I’ve got some ideas about how we organise our house”.

Parents could say they are interested in alternative ideas, but only if they are expressed with respect. Once they speak politely, if a small change is reasonable, you could ask the child to help adjust the space using a mix of both of your ideas (teaching teamwork). This helps them learn they have a right to be heard, but it is their responsibility to speak politely.

Parents could also say something like, “It’s tricky, but using kind words means people are more likely to listen and respond to you”.

Times and places

It’s not possible for adults to respond reasonably to every random grumble. We can teach children and teenagers there are times and places to raise complaints and concerns.

For example, your child might say, “We never get enough TV before dinner” right as you are taking the roast out of the oven. In response, you could say, “I can see this issue is really important to you” (acknowledging their concerns). You could add, “It’s late, so let’s chat about this for ten minutes over breakfast tomorrow” (making a time and setting limits).

Grumbling is a fact of life with children. But shutting down grumbles without addressing the underlying cause is likely to provoke more grumbles, and do little to teach children about useful communication.

However hard it may be for a tired, harassed parent, taking the time to deal with complaints and whinges constructively can be beneficial in the long run.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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With equal parts frustration and resignation, the dad explained he’d been retrenched and wasn’t certain employment was on the horizon in his near future. So he really didn’t have any spare money for cinema tickets.

Rather than being scary or upsetting, as rather clueless teenagers this felt like something of a lightbulb moment.

Many kids learn about their parents’ financial difficulties this way. Something they’ve always been able to have is suddenly denied them. The penny drops.

But it’s not easy talking to your kids about the cost-of-living crunch. Many fear worrying their kids or leaving them with a lifelong “scarcity mindset”, where a person is forever cursed with a feeling spending money is always wrong.

So how can parents communicate the financial realities to their children? And how might the messaging be different with younger kids versus teens?

For younger kids, keep things calm and simple

Most primary-aged children are oblivious to macro conditions outside their home and immediate community. They haven’t yet developed the ability to put sudden changes into perspective.

The key here is not to have your own anxieties rub off on your kids.

Children this age look to their parents as beacons of information and will very much mirror any fear or anxiety you express. They may even blow things out of proportion.

Keeping things calm and simple is key.

Provide a basic explanation that things cost money, and you don’t have as much money as normal right now, so as a family there are certain things you just can’t afford.

Very young children can be relentlessly narcissistic in their outlook – this is developmentally normal.

They might even demand you work more or harder so they can afford their desired items and activities. The best you can do is laugh it off and offer to try – but explain that for now, the kids will have to come up with something else to do.

Consider a plan to substitute their previous activities with free ones. For example, explain they can’t play their usual sport this season, but you are going to head to the local park every week to kick the ball around and have a picnic instead.

Ask teens for their opinions and ideas

Depending on their intrinsic interest in the news and understanding of maths, finance and economics, a sudden and unexpected drop in finances may also come as a shock to teenagers.

But at around 12 years of age, children undergo somewhat of an explosion in frontal lobe function. Their capacity to comprehend and process even complex information increases quite markedly.

So teens may not only understand your current situation, but be able to help out.

Giving teens a “role” to play in assisting the family builds a sense of competence and offers a team-based problem-solving approach to the emotional concerns they may be feeling. In other words, they’ll feel less powerless.

This approach is underpinned by what psychologists and researchers call “self-determination theory”.

This well-studied concept posits that most humans have an innate need to:

• experience and demonstrate autonomy (making your own choices, acting on your own volition)
• competence (feeling like you’re good at something, have achieved something worthwhile)
• relatedness (working well with others, especially people important to you).

So working as a team towards a common goal is a great way for a family to pull together and help each others’ mental wellbeing.

Discuss with your teens what activities, events and items might need to go on the backburner or be discontinued.

And don’t forget, teens have a very well-honed hypocrisy radar – there’s no point suggesting they cut back on recreational activities, for example, if you are not willing to do the same.

Use this as an opportunity to discuss the difference between “wants” and “needs” and ask them to sort family spending into those categories. Discuss points of disagreement calmly.

Ask your teens to brainstorm ways to improve your financial efficiency – and help you in doing so. They might enjoy coming up with ideas such as grocery shopping with a strict meal plan in cheaper stores, looking for specials, riding or walking to school where possible, getting a part time job or helping out with childcare.

Rather than fixating on what we have to go without, work with your teenagers to come up with proactive ideas on what you can do differently. Frame it as working together to achieve the same aim.

Teach your kids there can be challenges in life, but how you go about managing them is the key. This will help them develop into resilient adults.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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This was the sobering statement shouted by my husband as we snorkelled from the boat over to the reef. In disbelief, I looked at my daughters and swam over to see for myself.

The sight of the dead coral is a moment of reckoning. Over the past 14 years we have regularly dived this reef delighting in soft and hard corals, seeing reef fish and other marine life including turtles. Throughout this time the reef has survived floods, cyclones and other weather events. Then all of a sudden following three large floods in 2022 the coral cover has reduced by 50% and the seagrass meadows decimated.  

It’s like some kind of tipping point has been reached. Our youngest daughter was born only kilometres from this reef. A reef that was alive when she was born, a reef that is now largely dead before she is an adult. 

The decline and death of coral reefs and marine eco-systems has long been predicted as an impact of carbon pollution warming our ocean, of land based practices that degrade water quality and the increase in severe weather events such as floods and cyclones.

I now find myself a mother in the midst of this decline and death.

But it’s not just the dead coral.
It’s the sick and dying turtles too. 

My daughters have been alive for the hottest summers on record. Extreme summer heat that has made sand so hot that turtle hatchlings have been cooked in their nests. I’ll never forget my daughters’ faces as we watched rangers unearth the tiny dead bodies. And this year record numbers of sick, injured and dead turtles have washed up near our home.

It’s distressing to see your children witness these events and ask: ‘but why, mum? Why is this happening? Why aren’t the turtles even making it out of their nests? Why are so many washing up this year? Why is the coral dead?’

What do I say to them now? They are old enough for the truth, they are aware of the recommendations made by climate scientists. And yet, how can I look my children in the eye and tell them – we have failed you? Our society has decided that short term profits are more important than taking care of the turtles and the coral reefs, more important than ensuring that you will have a safe future. 

Guilt is one of the many uncomfortable feelings I grapple with being a mum in the midst of a changing climate. I ask myself why haven’t I done more? What if I had spoken up 20 years ago when I first learnt about the risks of carbon pollution? Would it have made a difference? What if I’d tried harder to reduce our emissions, our carbon footprint? Anger and frustration arise too. I know this is bigger than me, so much bigger than my family. Why have our politicians failed us? Why have they wilfully ignored the science? Why did they not take more precautions at least? 

And yet hope and gratitude exist too.

That day in the water – I could see that all is not lost. We swam with fish, we marvelled at sea snakes, we drifted above an adult turtle – all finding shelter and food in the skeletons of the coral and structure of the reef. Nearby we encountered a patch of soft corals – still very much alive, vibrant like a beautiful garden. It made my heart sing. This life in the ocean, this beauty is precious, it lights up our children’s faces and brings a squeal of delight out of their snorkels. This is worth speaking up for and protecting. 

I don’t know what my daughters will face in the coming decades. I don’t know what loss or destruction they may grieve. But I do know that I will keep showing them the beauty that is here, while it is here and I will honour my duty of care to them by speaking up on climate change and doing what I can to protect what is precious.

And you can join me too, being a parent is challenging as it is – you don’t need to take climate action on your own. I’ve joined Australian Parents for Climate Action and it’s been one of the most supportive things I’ve done in recent years.

You can connect with other parents who care about a safe future for our kids here https://www.ap4ca.org/join

The post The guilt I feel being a mum in the midst of a changing climate appeared first on Women's Agenda.

In the midst of a harrowing breakup, Collier returned to her hometown of Melbourne after spending more than a decade in New York City. She left her long-term partner because he told her he wasn’t ready for a child. As a woman in her late thirties, Collier’s options were limited, but she was determined to play her cards as best she could.

In her debut book, “Inconceivable” (which comes out today), Collier takes us through her journey of finding love, losing love, and ultimately, getting pregnant upon her first attempt using a sperm donor. Today, we sit down with the author of this extraordinary book and ask her about the process of diving into this awe-inspiring story.

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The story you tell about your logistical path toward becoming a mother who used a sperm donor is still relatively recent. And yet you write in the book about those days with the tone of someone who has had years to reflect on it. How did you retain so much of what you felt during those times, speak with such wise hindsight, yet still make the writing so immediate and vivid?

I obsessively keep journals (I brought boxes of them home from New York at ridiculous expense). They’re fragmented and not really diary-like but I was able to create more vivid detail by using the atmosphere of those journals. Also, in the lead up and during and after my pregnancy, I was writing everything down with a kind of mad compulsion, as I had the sense that this would be an important story.

You encountered many judgemental people during your journey towards parenthood without a romantic ‘partner’. How did you overcome these judgments? How did you stay strong in the face of these critical opinions?

My desire to have a baby was so fierce – it was like being possessed, I think that’s what kept driving me forward. I think because outwardly I’ve always been a fairly dutiful and diligent eldest daughter, underneath I have a simmering, rebellious, ‘fuck you’ spirit. So I stubbornly pushed back against any judgement I encountered about solo motherhood.

Also, the women I met along this path were role models for me – my dear friend Sam, another solo parent who I write about in the book and all the women I connected to online and through a support group. It really illustrated that cliché to me that when you see it outside of yourself (an example of your future-self), you can be it.

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Why, in 2023, is society still so biased against single people? Why are women still seen as ‘less than’ when they don’t have a romantic partner? And what can we do to change these perceptions?

Romance is a kind of mythology that we live by – it’s almost our contemporary religion. It’s very powerful still, this romantic notion that we’ll find one singular uber-human who will be our “person” – preferably via some kind of movie-style meet-cute where we lock eyes through a fish tank or bump into them on the street while carrying our shopping.

I think part of the reason coupledom is still mandatory is that it’s important for the patriarchy to uphold the hetero family structure (where women basically do most of the child-rearing and emotional labour for men) and single women are threatening to that structure. The married ideal is so strong that it’s arguably better to find anyone at all than be alone and single.
How can we change that? The only way I know how to do things is through words and writing. So I’d say by presenting more stories of single women who aren’t slumped at their kitchen benches pouring their chardonnay up to the rim of the glass and looking miserable (not that there’s anything wrong with a large glass of wine).

Are you still in touch with the women you met in the Facebook solo parent group? I understand the group is continuing to expand throughout Australia? Are the women there still a source of support? 

The women in my solo mum group on Facebook and the women I met through VARTA’s now-defunct support group are still at the end of the line all the time. We text, we go away on group holidays, we talk on the phone. They are a constant source of support and good humour and are true allies in this unique experience.

Your dreams of NYC was something I related to. Where do you think your love of NYC, and this belief that you had to be in that city to ‘make it’ come from, do you think? What do you think about that dream now?

New York (and London) are the ultimate destinations for Australians trying to make it – especially as artists – perhaps it’s because we still suffer from cultural cringe and laud art from overseas as being more important than our own. I was intoxicated by New York in my early 20s and I moved there with a naïve and delusional optimism that it would be easy to start a theatre career there. I made the mistake that so many expats make – I thought I would have the same magical experience as I did on a brief, previous holiday-like visit.

In reality, it was very gruelling – those were some of the toughest years of my life and I was often incredibly homesick. This is encapsulated by my favourite article from the Onion titled ‘8.4 Million New Yorkers Suddenly Realize New York City A Horrible Place To Live’. Now I look back at New York with a kind of detached fondness. If I did my 20s again, I wouldn’t punish myself by being so relentlessly ambitious and thinking I could somehow conquer New York.

For each achievement I had in New York, the bar just raised a notch. It’s a relentless place. And my ambition started to eat away at me. I left there heartbroken and ready to return home so I don’t miss the city at all but I do miss the friends I made – the extraordinary intelligence and talent of those people I connected with, their drive, their enthusiasm for culture and creativity. I miss that. But I never want to live in that rat-infested city. Ever. Again.

Other than books and theatre, what other forms of art inspire you? What have you been consuming (books, movies, podcasts etc) recently that’s spoken to you?

It’s an endless list (I read voraciously and have read a million memoirs these last few years as I’ve written my own) but here’s a few that spring to mind (not all about motherhood)…

• My Wild and Sleepless Nights by Clover Stroud is an incredible book about motherhood that is visceral and punches you in the gut in the way she describes mother-love
• Small Animals by Kim Brooks – she writes about leaving her child in the car for a few minutes, then getting prosecuted for it and how we live in an age of anxiety and fear around parenting like never before.
• Overwhelmed and Dying and Overwhelmed and Living – both podcasts by Judith Lucy that address climate change and also manage to be funny
• Inferno: A Memoir of Motherhood and Madness by Catherine Cho – a very raw account of a descent into a post-partum madness that sent Cho to a psych ward, it’s as though she wrote this from inside the belly of the beast.

Alexandra Collier’s debut book, Inconceivable, is out now through Hachette.

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The first signs were the half-eaten lunches coming home from high school. This was in stark contrast to the primary school years, where the box looked as if a demolition team had run through it with only a few crumbs left.

The problem was finally disclosed over a quiet chat before bedtime when we did our routine of “best, worst, funniest” thing that day. My child confided they really didn’t like their new maths class and because they were so anxious about it, they’d stopped eating lunch.

Irrespective of whether it’s daycare, preschool, primary or high school, the news your child doesn’t like their new school, teacher, class – or all of the above – is always tough. Research also shows a child’s sense of belonging at school affects their motivation, engagement and wellbeing. So it is important not to dismisss your child’s concerns.

How should parents approach this situation?

Try debriefing and reviewing

Many businesses and organisations use after action reviews to debrief after an event or project and learn from them.

A modified version of this tool can help you take an objective approach to the news your child is very unhappy with an element of their school life. You can adjust the level of your language and discussion based on the age of your child.

1. What is happening?

Asking your child to describe what is going on prompts them to think through what is actually happening and gives you some useful context. If, for instance the class is happening late on a Friday afternoon, that may go some way to explaining why people are not their best selves at this time.

2. What went well?

This can tell you what your child can continue doing or what they are enjoying at school. Perhaps it was mat time at primary school, or they liked the person they sat next to in history class.

3. What went wrong?

This helps identify the area for improvement or what specifically needs fixing.

Perhaps your child is still getting used to changing classrooms and classes at high school. Or the can’t keep up with what the teacher is saying. Maybe there was a miscommunication.

What not to do

Unless there is a safety or serious wellbeing issue, it is highly unlikely changing your teacher and/or opting out of certain lessons will be your answer.

While avoiding might seem like a straightforward answer, like many things with anxiety, this reinforces a reward pathway in the brain that simply makes the anxiety worse and often harder to resolve down the track.

Generally it’s useful to take a watch-and-see approach. This is particularly the case at the start of the school year where so many things and people are new.

Also think about these things

Think about making time to talk to your child’s teacher (not to say your child doesn’t like them, but to note they are struggling to get into the school year). A nicely-worded email is another way to approach this.

It is helpful for teachers to know if one of their students isn’t happy or at ease in their class. If the teacher doesn’t know about an issue, they can’t work to fix it.

Also consider encouraging social events after school or on weekends with other kids and parents (depending on your child’s age). Building social networks outside school can ease anxiety in school.

In rare instances, there may be a serious issue that needs significant intervention. If that’s the case, your school has senior teachers – such as year-level coordinators or the principal – you can contact. It will also have other support processes, such as access to school counsellors.

In the case of my child, it turned out some well-timed group activities over the next few lessons helped them make a new friend. The lunchbox starting coming home empty again.

In most cases, simply listening to and not dismissing your child’s concern will go a long way to help them through this time. As American education writer, Parker J Palmer notes:

The human soul doesn’t want to be advised or fixed or saved. It simply wants to be witnessed — to be seen, heard and companioned exactly as it is.

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In the wild leadup to Christmas and over the holiday period we jumped from party to party, catching up with old and new friends, near and far. 

We spoke about holiday plans, new jobs, who’s been sick and who’s recovered, and the usual yarns about what the government got wrong and got right.

But amidst the expansive conversation, not once during this period was my partner of I, or anyone else I could hear, asked about our experience of parenting. What had worked for us over the past year, or what had inevitably pushed us too far, what we had mucked up along the way. The topic was possibly off limits. Possibly too dull to venture on. Perhaps, the topic is both.

I’ve found such comments not only go missing over the holiday period, but at other crucial times.

I recall being asked plenty of questions about when I was taking leave from work and, with a wedding only weeks prior, I was asked plenty about that too. But when it came to the very serious stressors of child-raising, sleep deprivation, motherhood and co-parenting – I’ve found there is radio silence. 

As a 35-year-old woman among friends and family, it’s safe to say that we weren’t the only ones navigating parenting experiences over the past few weeks.

The absence of parenting conversation left a hell of a lot of our work and struggles unseen. After a year of feeling ample pressure to have paid work and be an income earner to help feel valued and relevant to our community, it was both validating and disheartening to clock this absence in conversation. 

Over the past year, my partner and I had both juggled professional and carer duties, have felt burnt out as we worked to take on career progressions, managed interrupted sleep, and all the while angling to raise the securely-attached, confident child.

My lord, has the pressure been high and close to breaking point as we pulled ourselves to the end of the year.

Diving into the works of others on this dilemma, from leading gender and motherhood academic Professor Andrea O’Reilly, anthropologist Dr Sophie Brock, and Australian author, Amy Taylor-Kabbaz, I’m conscious that these competing pressures on mothers are common in western neo-liberaral communities. 

And in this, it gave me the language and permission to consider what pressures I had absorbed in microdoses on what it meant to be a good mother, a valued member of society and whether the work of ‘mothering’ would ever be seen as merely enough.  

When we don’t discuss domestic and parenting work, explore the approaches and theories around it, and pay interest to it as a community, we, in practice, don’t value it. 

As my partner reflected at the end of our third Christmas lunch (yes, there were many), not everyone has the language to discuss matters of childbearing and childraising in an accessible and inclusive way. 

Given the pressure-cooker in which we put new families, it’s no wonder we avoid the subject altogether. Not wanting to press someone’s buttons or place any further pressure on an already over-judged and oppressive subject.

If we are to truly start understanding the full pressures that parents face, and importantly the barriers women face re-entering or excelling in the workplace, we need to have a language to discuss motherhood and what it entails. 

It’s no wonder systems to support parents and carers through their experience are so often lacking. It’s no wonder we don’t have the childcare quality, affordability and flexibility that parents and children need, or the conditions and cultures in our workplaces to support mothers to excel, and fathers to fully invest in the caring and domestic space. 

It’s no wonder that our systems and professional cultures fail to see the interventions that our mothers need when our society and social spaces don’t see or have language for them either.

So next Christmas or social celebration with friends and colleagues, ask parents and carers what that work involves. Ask what the challenges and stressors are. Find a language to explore the grief of losing past expressions, and the joys of finding new ones.

And through this, let’s put mothering and its value firmly on the social agenda. 

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With better awareness and acceptance, approximately one out of every 50 children is receiving an autism diagnosis. More and more families are deciding when to share this information with their child. Some parents worry that doing so will “label” their child, or make others treat them differently.

Autism is a neurodevelopmental disability that presents as differences in socialising, communicating, and processing information (including thinking, sensing and regulating). The earlier a child is identified as autistic, the earlier supports and services are provided. This leads to better outcomes for the child and family.

These benefits also flow from talking about the diagnosis. But what’s the best way to start that conversation? And what does your child need to know?

Getting in early

Children are receiving diagnoses as early as 12-18 months in our program, which helps maternal and child health nurses screen for autism during regular health checks.

Early identification of autism allows parents and professionals to learn how their child communicates as early as possible. Then they can match that child’s communication style to help them learn important, everyday life skills.

Rather than a focus on “changing” or “fixing” an autistic child to suit others, it’s better to encourage acceptance.

While some parents may worry about stigma and labelling, those within the Autistic community report that labelling happens regardless of whether parents discuss diagnosis or not. It can instead take the form of harmful labels like “weird” or “strange”. In fact, others are more likely to form negative first impressions when they do not know someone is autistic.

Parents may also think they need to wait until their child seems “ready” to understand a diagnosis. But this can lead to people not knowing they are autistic until many years after their diagnosis, and fuel feelings of shame.

An empowering truth

Telling children they are autistic as early as possible has several benefits.

Research shows teenagers talk about themselves in a more positive way when their parents have had open conversations with them about being autistic, compared to those who did not. When this conversation is had earlier, autistic people have better quality of life and wellbeing in adulthood.

By understanding themselves at an earlier age, autistic people can feel empowered, advocate for themselves, and potentially gain access to supports and services earlier.

An open discussion around diagnosis also provides an earlier opportunity to “find a community”. Some autistic people say they feel understood and accepted when they connect with other autistic people. This can increase positive identity and self-esteem.

Having the chat – 3 ideas to guide parents

1. Check in with your own feelings

First, identify where you are at with your feelings around the diagnosis. You may still be coming to terms with this new path for your child and family – and this may make it difficult to have a discussion without becoming distressed or emotional. Wherever you are on your journey to acceptance, it’s important you are in a positive frame of mind when raising this topic with your child.

If you’re not ready, you may choose to wait while you process your own emotions. But don’t wait too long, given the importance of knowing about an autism diagnosis early – especially if your child starts asking about their differences compared to other children.

2. Build awareness into everyday talk

We recommend parents or carers start by talking about autism in everyday life. If your child is very young, not yet talking or communicating much, you could use autistic figures on TV, such as Julia on Sesame Street. For example, you could say: “Did you see how Julia needed to have some quiet time, like you need sometimes? Julia is autistic, just like you.”

Older children and teens already know the world is diverse. They may have classmates or neighbours from different cultural backgrounds or have friends or family from the LGBTQIA+ community. You can start discussions about autism as part of neurodiversity. For example, you could say: “There are different types of brains, just like there are different cultures and ways people express their gender.”

3. Choose a good time

For younger children, it’s best to incorporate everyday talk about autism during times they are calm and alert – for example, in the morning, after a nap, or during calming and wind-down routines like bath time or reading books before bed.

When explicitly telling your older child or teen they are autistic, you might want to do this during “low-demand” times such as during the school holidays. It may be easier for your child to take on new information when they are not busy with school and other activities.

Many autistic children may not have the privilege of fully understanding what being autistic means. This could include autistic children who also have a significant intellectual disability, who may not yet be able to communicate using speech, or who are not able to use assistive technology. However, parents of these children should not assume they have no understanding at all. Such conversations should be part of everyday life for all autistic children.Julia is an autistic character on Sesame Street.

Looking for more information

We recommend resources which describe autism using neutral language (such as “differences” and “challenges”) rather than those which use negative language (terms like “deficits” or “symptoms”). As well as reading material developed by professionals, parents can learn a lot from the lived experience of autistic people.

Our colleague Raelene Dundon’s book is a good example. The Brain Forest by Sandhya Menon (also a colleague) is about different types of brains.

There are free online resources to help you and your child learn about neurodiversity. Reframing Autism has developed resources on next steps after a childhood diagnosis and ways to talk about it.

For older children and young teenagers, this self-help guide is by autistic authors. And this video by the Autistic Self-Advocacy Network, covers many of the traits, challenges and strengths of autistic people.

Ultimately, we want all children to accept themselves and their differences, and be happy about who they are. But this is a two-way street – society also needs to accept that being different is OK. This begins with parents and carers and their early conversations with children about their differences, and acceptance of themselves, regardless of their neurological make-up.

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As a single mum, it would be much easier in Adelaide than in Melbourne for me to afford the rent on a home for my daughter and provide for us both. As she grew up I’d slowly build up my work hours. 

By now, I thought I’d be past living paycheck to paycheck. I’d hoped my planning would set us up for the future.

But this winter, as my bills have roughly doubled, it’s become incredibly difficult just to get by on a regular income.

Winter was already rough, with illness knocking us both around and, as a freelancer, not having the security of sick pay. But the bills have really pushed me over the edge – paying my last gas bill pushed my bank account into overdrawn on more than one occasion.

And I know I’m not the only one. When I talk to other parents at school, or my colleagues, or my friends, everyone is trying to balance skyrocketing prices on everything from petrol to groceries.

A survey published by Australian Parents for Climate Action this week found that 95% of families had made changes at home like spending less on food, driving less and not using their heaters during winter. It also found that nearly 10% of households had taken on debt to deal with rising costs.

This report, coupled with my own experience, highlights just how far some people are falling behind. 

Every time I see news stories about energy prices continuing to rise, or about insurance premiums and food prices rising with the risk of extreme weather, I feel quite anxious.

I worry about how I’m going to afford Christmas presents in a couple of months, or new school shoes in January, or next year’s winter heating bill.

And I feel frustrated because we have solutions that could help so many families like mine live a better life, if there had been better planning and foresight by our leaders.

As a renter, I have really limited options in the kinds of things I can do to keep my power bills down. I’ve recently had to wait on my landlord to arrange a tradie to come and fix some leaky tiles, where heat was escaping. 

I hear the success stories of other parents who haven’t paid a power bill in years because of their solar panels, or those who save hundreds of dollars by driving an electric car instead of paying for petrol.

But for a lot of Australians like me, those options are out of reach and we’re left to pay the price for Australia’s reliance on fossil fuels.

Even if I had the money, I couldn’t install solar panels on my rented house, which would reduce my power bill, and I certainly couldn’t just switch our gas stove or heating system to electricity.

Like many Australians, I rely on my car for transport, and have also struggled with the cost of petrol going up. I work too far from home to cycle, and my daughter is still too little to ride her own bike to school. 

And while I love the idea of those electric cargo bikes I see other families zipping around on, carrying their kids and groceries easily, there’s no way I could ever afford thousands of dollars to buy one, especially not with so many other cost pressures.

With a coordinated approach, Australian governments at all levels could provide incentives for landlords to make our homes more affordable to live in, by upgrading appliances and increasing minimum efficiency standards. 

They could help lower-income families afford electric cars by introducing measures to encourage a second-hand EV market.

And by investing in clean energy to go into the power grid now, we know that energy prices will come down for everyone in the long run.

What’s more, making these changes will help reduce Australia’s greenhouse gas emissions, helping keep the environment safe and healthy for us and our children.

Our governments have largely failed to plan for us to be able to rely on clean and affordable energy. But now is the time for our leaders at all levels to step up and put in place good policies that support families now and well into the future to make clean and energy efficient decisions in our homes.

Liz Cahalan is an Adelaide mother-of-one and a member of Australian Parents for Climate Action.

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