Monwell's Story

Note: this transcript has been edited for clarity, grammar, and flow.

Darcy: Lifeline Australia acknowledges the traditional Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander custodians of the land on which we are based, The Gadigal people of the Eora nation and all of the land across which the national network spans. We pay deep respect to Elders, past, present and emerging.

We acknowledge the lives lost to suicide and recognise those who have survived suicide attempts and those who struggle today or in the past with thoughts of suicide, mental health issues and crisis situations. We acknowledge all those who have felt the deep impact of suicide, including those who love, care and support people experiencing suicidality and those experiencing the pain and bereavement through suicide. We respect collaboration with people who have a lived or living experience of suicide and mental health issues and value their contribution to the work we do.

Darcy: Welcome to Holding on to Hope, the series that shares the stories of everyday Australians that have experienced moments in crisis and found a path to support. Whilst all of the stories shared of hope and inspiration, at times, you may hear something you find triggering; if you or someone you know needs crisis support, please phone Lifeline on 13 11 14, text 0477 13 11 14 or visit lifeline.org.au for Lifeline chat service, which is 24/7.

Ruben: Hello, and thank you for joining me. I'm Ruben, and I'm a volunteer telephone crisis supporter at Lifeline. I'm one of the voices you may hear if you call for support. At the age of 15, I lost my dear father to suicide. Ever since that fateful day, I always wished my father had the opportunity to talk to someone like me when he needed it the most. 13 years later, and four years into my journey with Lifeline, I'm now part of that opportunity. And this is why I'm so passionate about hosting this series. If you're not quite ready to talk, perhaps you'll find comfort by listening to the stories of people who have experienced the value of reaching out for help.

Today, we're honoured to have Uncle Monwell with us, an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander man. From battling personal hardships to becoming a talented musician, Uncle Monwell's journey is truly inspirational. Let's hear his heartfelt story of courage, hope, and passion for change. Uncle Monwell has faced adversity head-on, dealing with ADHD, PTSD, and self-harm during his formative years. Growing up amidst domestic violence, he learned the importance of resilience and compassion. He has also experienced homelessness, struggled with substance abuse, gambling, and suicidal ideation. Through sheer determination and a will to heal, he forged a path toward recovery and self-discovery. Today, he dedicates himself to supporting others, contributing to the National Indigenous Cadetship Program and disability support.

Ruben: Hi, Monwell. Thank you so much for joining me and the Holding on to Hope podcast. You are a proud Torres Strait Islander man. Could you tell us about your ancestral ties and a bit about the country you grew up in?

Monwell: Well, I was born in Townsville, in Bindal country. My parents come from the Torres Straits. My blood ties are with Mabuiag, Gebar, and Tudu, the main islands where my family originated, located in the western and central Torres Strait.

Ruben: I’d like to invite you to share whatever you feel comfortable with about your upbringing.

Monwell: Born in Townsville. My dad was a railway worker, and my mum was a housewife. Seven kids, I was the third youngest, in a small house. Being a kid was exciting; we’d play cricket on the road, rugby in the yard, and go exploring, catching guppies and tadpoles when it rained. It was a good time.

Ruben: Throughout your journey, you’ve struggled with ADHD, PTSD, and self-harm. What kinds of thoughts and feelings did you experience during that time?

Monwell: With ADHD, I was often misunderstood as a child. Back then, parents and society didn’t understand ADHD like they do now. It was hard to stay focused, and I got the cane from grade six to grade twelve. It was tough.

Ruben: How did that make you feel?

Monwell: Helpless. I became the class clown because I didn’t know what else to do—I wanted to make school fun. I was good in sports, but when I got the cane at school, I’d come home and get punished again. As an adult, I’ve come to understand ADHD better. When I researched it, I saw symptoms that described me perfectly. Understanding it made me more at peace with myself, helping me stay calm when I feel angry. I’ve learned to manage my emotions better now.

Ruben: Are you able to share what you struggled with regarding PTSD and self-harm?

Monwell: PTSD came from being disciplined by my father, which was hard. As soon as Dad left the room, I’d punch myself in the head. I’d walk to school, feeling the lumps on my head, just standing in front of the mirror. PTSD has been around all my life, and I used alcohol to suppress it. I remember caring for a young Aboriginal boy who was non-verbal and in a wheelchair. When I took him out of his room, he had tears running down his cheeks, even though he couldn’t speak. He passed away two days later. PTSD is real, and it sticks with you.

Ruben: Growing up in an environment of domestic violence, how did this affect you and your relationships with others?

Monwell: Mum went through a lot. Back in the ’70s and ’80s, domestic violence was common. Dad would come home drunk from the railway, and he’d take it out on Mum. Hearing her cry as a young child brought fear into our home. I tried running away, and some of my brothers did too. My auntie and uncle were like a safe haven for us.

Ruben: Your journey includes homelessness, substance abuse, gambling, and suicidal ideation. What pivotal moments or realisations motivated you to start your path toward recovery?

Monwell: Homelessness was tough. I stayed with a mate who had a couch smaller than me. I eventually went to Centennial Lodge, run by the Salvation Army, Ozcare, and Mission Australia. At that point, I didn’t care much for myself—I was just a lost soul. Being there helped me start looking inward, figuring out why I was the way I was. Gambling and alcohol were major struggles. I started drinking young, and I used it to suppress my feelings. I gambled on poker machines for 20 years, which led to my homelessness. A Uniting Care counsellor came to Ozcare, and that was my turning point. I realised I needed help.

Ruben: Can you share more about your experience with suicidal thoughts?

Monwell: When I gambled and lost all my money, the low hit hard. At one point, I lived in a unit on the third floor, and every time I walked up, I thought about jumping. It was a dark period, and every fortnight, the thoughts returned. On payday, I felt good, but when the money ran out, I’d be back to feeling worthless. Depression would creep in, I’d close the blinds, sit in a dark room, and stand in front of the mirror, putting myself down.

Ruben: What was the first step you took to get help for the issues you were struggling with?

Monwell: I started seeing a counsellor who taught me tools to help manage my feelings. One of the tools was connecting a happy memory to a depressive one. It actually worked. Every time I heard Toto’s Africa, it took me back to my childhood, reminding me of simpler, happier times. The counsellor explained that with alcohol or gambling, you experience highs and lows. Paydays feel like highs, and then it all crashes. Understanding that cycle helped me break free from it. It was like an awakening—I finally felt steady, like I’d stopped merely surviving and had started living again.

Ruben: What self-care practices have been beneficial for you, and how have they impacted your overall wellbeing?

Monwell: A turning point for me was forgiving my dad on his deathbed in 1997. I told him I forgave him then, but it was only last year that I truly felt it. I reflected on our history—being just a few generations removed from blackbirding and the struggles my family faced. Forgiving him lifted a weight off my chest. It helped me begin to love myself and practice mindfulness. Being present and aware of my surroundings quietens the noise in my mind and allows me to live more peacefully.

Ruben: How do you maintain hope during difficult times and inspire hope in others?

Monwell: I focus on what to keep in my mind and what to let go of. It’s like decluttering a room; you get rid of things that don’t serve you. Memories tied to strong emotions like anger or hate, I let those go. Being resilient and having a never-give-up attitude helps. Learn from mistakes, understand them, and keep moving forward with positivity.

Ruben: You dedicate so much of your time to supporting others, especially within the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community. Can you tell us more about your work in anti-gambling organisations?

Monwell: Through my gambling counsellor, I was introduced to a group called Three Sides of a Coin, based in Melbourne. They use theatre to advocate against gambling, and they invited me to share my story. I even performed my song, Poker Machine Blues. Now, I see people gambling on their phones, spending money on pokies and groceries. It’s everywhere. My vision is to help communities understand gambling's effects, especially phone gambling, which is growing fast. I want to keep telling my story and help others overcome addiction.

Ruben: You’ve also been a dedicated carer for your mother on Moa Island. How has this role impacted your life, and what have you learned from it?

Monwell: Caring for Mum is like returning the love and support she gave us as kids. She was our rock, enduring domestic violence and raising us with strength. It’s only right to give back now. Caring runs in the family. Although I’ve cared for her for two years, I had to step back recently because she needs more help than I can provide alone. My sisters and nieces assist her now, but I’ll always be there, caring for people regardless of their background.

Ruben: How has music influenced your healing process and helped you spread a message of hope?

Monwell: Music has been a constant for me. I’ve had a guitar since it was first given to me, and songwriting has become my journal—it’s how I express myself and remember my journey. My songs reflect where I’ve been, what I’ve felt. I can’t imagine my life without a guitar.

Ruben: I’d love for you to share one of your powerful pieces of poetry or lyrics. Feel free to choose any that resonate with you.

Monwell: I have two that mean a lot. One Day is about not giving up on yourself or others. I’ll share the second verse:

"If the fight is willing, battle hard, seek for redemption
Release the tension inflicted by your past, reignite the light in you.
Reach for that second wind that will carry you through
Because we are all drops in the ocean. And together, we make waves
So don't give up on me, my friend.
I'll come good, I'll come good, one day."

The other piece is Living Out of a Suitcase, which reflects on my struggles:

"Living out of a suitcase, staring at four walls
Not sure what the future holds. I'm hanging on to hope
Gotta find the answers, why I'm meant to be
Living in and out of consciousness is not surely helping me
Another bad decision, corrupting my intentions
Making the same mistakes all over again is not in my true nature
But I have to find its cure. My heart is sincere, but my actions overrule."

Ruben: Thank you so much, Monwell. Your words and your story are deeply moving. Thank you for joining the podcast and sharing so openly with us.

Monwell: Thank you.

Darcy: Thanks for listening to Holding on to Hope, the podcast. Lifeline is grateful to all holding on to hope participants for choosing to share their personal lived experiences openly and courageously. In order to offer hope and inspiration to others. Your act of kindness makes for a better world. And remember, you don't have to struggle. Visit toolkit.lifeline.org.au today.