BERNADETTE BLACK AM

Dear Friend,

I sit here on a very ordinary Wednesday afternoon. Snow is forming on the Mountain, Kunanyi, and I have just finished my day’s work. I’ve just turned 50, and my blonde hair, even when foiled, has a shine of whitey grey.

Last week, I convened a meeting that I am still pinching myself about. The reason I am in awe is because I felt like I belonged. I felt valued… yes, that means heard and seen… and I even enjoyed the meeting. Something changed, and I saw myself as a peer to the people in this room, rather than a woman who was asking for permission. I sat, I stood, I spoke, all in my own skin (even when the room set-up was a surprise!). It felt so good.

I grew up as a good girl in a very poor home; we had holes in the wall and buckets everywhere to stop the leaks. I was truly loved, although loud arguments were all too frequent. We ate chops, a lot. It was often my job to cook them as a teenage girl, then as a mum - many would say too young. I taught myself, from the earliest age of responsibility, to take on even others’ responsibilities or consequences that weren’t mine to hold, especially as my young brain formed. I practised a well-worn path, always led by compassion to help others when they couldn’t help themselves, and I was rewarded for it. A beautiful and tumultuous juxtaposition in one: on the one hand, they appeared better from my humble fix; on the other, I had reinforced that other people’s burdens were mine to carry, that I was responsible.

I have always loved people, which is why I went into nursing and later started two national charities, following the golden thread of compassion, but with a heaviness that never seemed to fit. The needs and the people grew, in complexity as well as number, and in my last decade, I knew these burdens were not mine to hold… and more than that, they were holding me back.

I think I can name it as insufficiency… that I lacked… well, until last week’s meeting. Thoughts that I might get in trouble for being too bold (which I had, many times in public), for not communicating perfectly, or for fear of offending someone with my story.

I was never responsible for all of that. I can hold what I have been gifted to steward, as I learn, listen, and consider the thoughts of others. I don’t have to agree with them, and I can change my mind, but I can hold a space that clothes the people around me in dignity and curiosity so we can all learn and grow together. And how that looks for another, that is not my responsibility. What is mine is that I turn up as Bernadette Black, aligned to my values, loving others, and taking the next step in front of me.

Responsibility revised. Yes, it took me to 50, and I will celebrate this revision with quiet confidence and wide smile.

That convening last week was jubilant. I was me, not responsible for everyone and not perfect at all. There was space. There was perspective. Hope. Joy. Momentum. 

Oh, the rush of momentum. 

We are on our way to creating what will be called a National Future Generations Office that ensures all families get the greatest shot at flourishing. I am proud that my name is at the top of the policy proposal, the only policy proposal of its kind to be created by civil society in the Globe.

I’ve learned compassion has grace, for others and for me towards me.

That fits.

I am about to head home now, put the Tassie puffer jacket on, and ease into the night.

It is strange these days; my kids are 33, 25, and 22. Only the 22-year-old lives at home, and he gets married in 3 months. Oh, how I am enjoying these moments with him! I have two grandkids too, how full life is for this young nanna, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My knees are slightly sore too; I love to run, and interval training was last night.

Well, all my love, dear soul.

We need you, in all your destined goodness.

Bern