Once We Repaired Things — Part 8 - “Honey, Honey, Honey” — And What Was Really Going On

 

People might assume it was just a relationship*.

It wasn’t.

It was hope.

Hope that after everything I had survived, I would not have to spend the rest of my life alone.

That is what died here.

 

 

*Although how easily disposable people and relationships have become - that’s why this story is called “Once we repaired things”.

⸻

By July 2017, things had started to unravel, but not for the reasons Paul believed.

The truth was far more complicated than that, and far more painful.

For years I’ve carried the memory of being patronised with the words, “Honey, honey, honey, that’s why it didn’t work out between us.” Every time I think about those words, I’m transported back to one of the most frightening, vulnerable and traumatic periods of my life.

What stays with me isn’t simply what was said. It’s the complete misunderstanding of what was actually happening to me at the time.

Paul thought he understood why I was upset. He thought he understood my anger. He thought he understood my attempts to communicate with him.

But he didn’t understand any of it.

Back in May, when communication suddenly changed, I genuinely thought something might have happened to him. Yet I could feel a coldness that hadn’t been there before, and I couldn’t understand where it had come from.

What Paul couldn’t see was that I was already struggling long before I discovered the reason for that coldness.

I was burnt out in a way that’s difficult to explain to anyone who has never experienced it. It wasn’t the kind of burnout that follows a busy week or a stressful project, but the kind that settles into every part of your life and slowly drains your ability to cope. I was exhausted before the day even began. I was emotionally worn down. I was trying to hold myself together while feeling as though the ground beneath me was becoming increasingly unstable.

At work, things were already becoming deeply distressing. These were the early signs of problems that would later grow into something much larger and far more destructive. At the time, however, all I knew was that I was struggling. I was carrying unrealistic pressures, trying to maintain my professionalism and dignity, and feeling increasingly overwhelmed by circumstances I couldn’t fully understand.

Alongside that, I was carrying something even more personal.

I was still living with the trauma of losing my father to suicide.

That wasn’t an abstract issue to me. It wasn’t a topic for intellectual debate. It wasn’t a social issue that existed at a “comfortable” distance.

It was my life.

It was my family’s life.

It was my grief.

At that same time, I found myself confronting ignorance and hostility within the Greek Orthodox community when trying to speak about issues that were deeply personal to me. I couldn’t understand how people could be so lacking in compassion toward those who were suffering. I couldn’t understand how people could choose judgement over empathy, particularly when lives were at stake.

I was angry, but not for the reasons people assumed.

I was angry because I was tired of watching suffering being dismissed.

I was angry because I was tired of watching stigma destroy lives.

I was angry because I was carrying grief, exhaustion and fear while being expected to remain endlessly patient with people who showed little understanding of what others might be going through.

——

By July 2017, all of those pressures were colliding at once.

Then I discovered the reason for the coldness.

There was someone else. In the middle of all this, Paul chose to tell me he had a girlfriend, he was in a relationship, and then, in my most vulnerable moment where all this insensitivity and inhumanity collided, he said, “Honey, honey, honey, that’s why it didn’t work out between us.” 

How could a man I trusted to be authentic, as he believed himself to be, come across in a way that appeared so fake? 

What followed was humiliation.

While I was desperately trying to understand what had happened between us, trying to explain myself and trying to correct what were serious misunderstandings, I felt as though I had already been discarded.

I felt as though I had become irrelevant.

I felt as though I had been reduced to a gap filler, a backup plan, something that had been convenient until it no longer served a purpose.

What made it so devastating was the complete disregard for the human being standing in front of him.

I was already struggling.

I was already frightened.

I was already carrying more than most people realised.

And yet the overwhelming impression I was left with was that none of that mattered.

The only explanation that seemed to exist for my distress was him.

The only explanation that seemed to exist for my attempts to communicate was him.

The only explanation that seemed to exist for my anger was him.

My grief didn’t  matter.

My trauma didn’t  matter.

My burnout didn’t matter.

The battles I was fighting at work didn’t matter.

The hostility I was experiencing elsewhere didn’t matter.

Everything seemed to be reduced to a simplistic explanation that revolved around him.

That’s why the words “Honey, honey, honey” have stayed with me for so many years.

Those words weren’t only dismissive.

They were degrading.

They reduced me to something I was not.

They erased everything that was actually happening in my life.

They turned a frightened, traumatised and overwhelmed woman into a stereotype.

Most of all, they denied me the opportunity to be heard.

——

What I needed at that time wasn’t judgement. I needed understanding.

What I needed wasn’t assumptions. I needed curiosity. (I’ve always said, arrogance and ignorance are a dangerous combination).

What I needed wasn’t somebody telling me who I was. I needed somebody willing to ask what I was carrying.

Instead, I felt as though I was being spoken down to by a man whose ego had become larger than his ability to see the person standing in front of him.

That’s a difficult thing to write. It’s even more difficult to admit how vulnerable I was at the time.

I genuinely needed compassion and kindness.

I genuinely needed somebody to stop and ask whether I was okay.

Instead, I felt discarded, dismissed and stripped of dignity at a time when I had very little left to hold onto.

What breaks my heart is how alone I was. I still am.

——

I was fighting battles on every front. I was carrying grief, trauma, burnout and fear. I was trying to make sense of a world that increasingly felt indifferent to suffering, and I was desperately searching for understanding from people I believed cared.

Years later, I would find myself fighting entirely different battles against institutional abuse, bullying, harassment, regulatory failure and the erosion of dignity in workplaces that spoke constantly about values while failing to live them.

But perhaps that’s why my personal story also matters. 

Before those battles began, I already knew what it felt like to be unheard.

I already knew what it felt like to be dismissed.

I already knew what it felt like to have people decide who I was without first taking the time to understand me.

And I’m still carrying that hurt today.

Alone.

To be continued…

——

Now we’re all learning the battle I’ve been fighting. On 60 Minutes, aired 14 June 2026:

Why universities have become one of the most dangerous places to work. People suffering in silence from the dangerous culture in universities. 

It took the life of a husband and father. I was going to fight this battle, no matter what happened. Because suicide prevention is my mission, and having safe workplaces is where suicide can and should be prevented. 

I was suffering, but I was never silent. I’ve been screaming for help. But who was listening all these years? 

I’ve been completely alone. 

All this links right back to the premise of my blog. 

https://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/p/the-premise-of-this-blog.html?m=1

That’s why I’m writing my story, and in this part of my story, three significant areas of my life collided. 

The link below is to that part of my story, describing what was actually going on, when Paul chose to diminish me with, “Honey, honey, honey, that’s why it didn’t work out between us”. 

https://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2024/09/part-2-suicide-and-greek-orthodox-church.html?m=1

To quote one paragraph from the above post, placing in context my justified anger:

“This is the truth why I was distressed at that time. And why I finally took several weeks off work and went to grief and trauma counseling, seven years later. The manager from the library dared to send me a text where she wrote, “I can see you’re in a really dark place right now”. I just yelled back at the phone, “Oh fuck off”! That narcissist and those like her, are never to patronise me again. They must stop interfering and gossiping about my pain that they don’t know anything about, nor my life.”

Other relevant posts relating to working in “one of the most dangerous places” right now : universities. 

https://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2024/07/part-3-bullying-discrimination-and.html?m=1

https://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2024/07/organisational-culture-ethics.html?m=1

——

In case you missed the previous parts to this story… how much more was I expected to tolerate? 

http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/01/once-we-repaired-things-relationships.html

http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/02/once-we-repaired-things-part-2.html

http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/03/once-we-repaired-things-part-3.html

http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/04/once-we-repaired-things-text-that.html

http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/05/once-we-repaired-things-part-5.html

http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/05/once-we-repaired-things-there-is-no.html

http://mystory-myvoice.blogspot.com/2026/06/once-we-repaired-things-part-7-non-e.html

After the Visit - Notice After Notice – Part 14 - May 2022

3 May 2022

“I’ve Never Felt So Afraid and Alone”

By early May 2022, I had already sent notice after notice.

I had reported the psychosocial hazards.

I had reported the discrimination, harassment and retaliation.

I had reported the failures in injury management.

I had reported the ongoing withholding of workers compensation entitlements.

I had reported the impact on my health, my family and my ability to survive financially.

And yet, I was still writing.

On 3 May 2022, I wrote again to Chris Minns and Cheryl Han at the Kogarah Electorate Office.

I was running out of options.

The reality confronting me by then was terrifying.

I had just spoken with my mortgage broker.

The financial consequences of what had happened were immediate.

I wrote:

“I just spoke with the mortgage broker. I need my entitlements stolen returned including my employment, and compliance in worker’s compensation regulations in implementing the injury management plan, providing the entitlements that had previously been withheld.”

I was trying to explain something that should never have required explanation.

Workers compensation is supposed to exist to protect injured workers.

An injury management plan is supposed to be implemented.

Weekly payments are supposed to be paid.

Support is supposed to be provided.

Instead, I found myself pleading for basic compliance with obligations that already existed.

I was frightened.

I was exhausted.

And I was humiliated.

I wrote:

“I’m completely exhausted and humiliated by all this. I’ve never felt so afraid and alone.”

It was true. The psychological injury itself was devastating enough. But the ongoing refusal to address what had happened created a second layer of harm.

Every unanswered email.

Every delayed response.

Every failure to act.

Every day without certainty.

Every day wondering whether I would lose my home.

Every day wondering whether anyone actually cared what was happening.

I was not asking for miracles.

I was asking for my employer, insurer and those with influence to recognise the gravity of what had occurred and to take action.

I wrote:

“I need my employment returned quickly. I hope ACU leaders finally realised the gravity of the harm caused by a National manager of employment relations and safety they entrusted the community’s safety to.”

What strikes me is that I was still trying to believe somebody would step in.

Still trying to believe somebody would hear me.

Still trying to believe that if enough people understood the seriousness of the situation, they would do the right thing.

The following day was approaching Mother’s Day, and the second email I sent that day reveals something else that often gets lost in workplace injury stories.

The injury never affects only one person.

The consequences spread through families. Relationships become strained. Everyone carries part of the burden.

I wrote about the Greek concept of philotimo — dignity, honour, responsibility and doing the right thing.

I explained that humiliation does not stop with the person targeted.

It affects the entire family.

I wrote:

“The humiliation and indignity affects the entire family. Not just the one targeted…”

By this point, I wasn’t simply asking for workers compensation compliance.

I was asking for my life back.

I was asking for my human right to recover.

I was asking for my employee right to return to my work under the injury management plan that had already been agreed.

I was asking not to be left in the dark.

I ended the email with these words:

“Please update me so I’m not kept in the dark anymore.”

That captures so much of what this entire period felt like.

Being kept in the dark.

Not knowing what decisions were being made, whether anyone was acting, whether anyone understood the urgency.

Not knowing whether I would lose security built over decades of hard work, and my home.

By 3 May 2022, this was no longer simply a workplace issue.

It had become a fight for survival.

And still, the notices continued.

And the institutionalised wage theft continued too..

Source: contemporaneous record of events - Document 313.

 

 The Greek Secret of Philotimo is Missing in our Society

 

The Social Media Post I Saw on 29 April 2022

I still remember the day.

Friday, 29 April 2022.

I was extremely exhausted.

For months I had been trying to obtain help regarding my workers compensation claim, the failure to implement the Injury Management Plan by my employer and insurer, the withholding of my statutory entitlements, and what were serious failures by both SafeWork NSW and SIRA.

I had taken those concerns to my local member, Chris Minns, and his Kogarah electorate office.

There had been indications that something was happening.

And then I saw the social media post.

Chris Minns had visited the University campus at Blacktown.

 

Chris Minns’ social media post, 29 April 2022, following his visit to ACU Blacktown during the NSW election campaign. The statement that workers deserve “a government that listens to their concerns and takes action” would later take on a very different meaning for me.

At first, I was pleased.

In fact, I emailed Chris Minns and Cheryl Han that same day and told them it was “a good idea and great opportunity to visit ACU.”

I genuinely believed it was positive.

The university offered courses in nursing, teaching, social work, paramedicine and allied health. Highlighting those professions during an election campaign was important.

Importantly, I thought the visit might also mean that somebody was finally paying attention to what had happened to me.

I wanted to believe that.

I needed to believe that.

At that point I was carrying a burden that had become unbearable.

I was frightened.

I was financially collapsing.

I was isolated.

I was trying to survive the consequences of raising concerns about workplace safety and then finding myself trapped in a workers compensation system that seemed determined to ignore its own obligations.

When I saw the post, I actually felt relief.

I wrote to the electorate office that seeing the photo had made me feel as though a burden had lifted.

For a brief moment, I felt hopeful.

Then I read the words.

One sentence in particular stayed with me.

Chris Minns wrote that workers deserved:

“A government that listens to their concerns and takes action.”

At the time, I wanted to believe that statement.

I wanted to believe somebody was finally listening.

I wanted to believe somebody was finally prepared to take action.

After all, I was his constituent.

I lived in his electorate.

I had repeatedly raised concerns regarding workplace safety, workers compensation, injury management, regulatory failures and the impact those failures were having on my life.

I had explained that I was struggling.

I had explained that my entitlements remained withheld.

I had explained that I was trying to save my home, protect my health and hold my family together while navigating a system that seemed increasingly hostile toward an injured worker.

I thought those concerns mattered.

I thought they would be heard.

But what followed was not listening.

What followed was silence.

And the action that ultimately affected my life was not action that protected me.

The employer had already failed to provide a safe work environment after I raised concerns.

The insurer had continued to withhold entitlements.

The insurer had failed to implement the Injury Management Plan.

The insurer had failed to provide effective case management.

The insurer had failed to ensure safeguards that should have existed under the scheme.

The insurer had failed to cooperate in ways that would have supported recovery and a safe return to work.

And now I found myself facing something else.

Not advocacy.

Not transparency.

Not communication.

Silence.

The result was that I increasingly felt abandoned not only by my employer and insurer, but also by the elected representative I had approached for help.

That is what made this period so frightening.

People often look at correspondence and government processes and forget there is a human being living through them.

At that time I was trying to manage overwhelming financial pressure.

I was trying to save my home.

I was trying to maintain my health.

I was trying to preserve relationships with my family.

I was trying to survive, and I was doing it largely alone.

The imbalance of power was extraordinary.

On one side stood:

• An employer.
• An insurer.
• Lawyers.
• Government agencies.
• Regulators.
• And increasingly what felt like political indifference.

On the other side stood one injured worker.

People often confuse vulnerability with weakness.

They are not the same thing.

I was vulnerable.

I was frightened.

I was exhausted.

But I was not weak.

If anything, the fact that I continued documenting events, writing letters, lodging complaints and demanding accountability despite everything that was happening proves the opposite.

What I didn’t  understand at the time was how significant that social media post would become.

It now stands as a reminder of the gap between public statements and private experiences.

A worker deserving a government that listens.

A constituent asking to be heard.

A promise of action.

And then silence.

The issue was never that Chris Minns visited ACU.

Politicians visit universities during election campaigns.

That is normal.

The issue was the timing.

The issue was that I had been led to believe advocacy and support were occurring regarding matters that directly affected my employment, health, entitlements and future.

The issue was what happened afterwards.

Nothing.

No update.

No explanation.

No clarity.

Just growing uncertainty.

As the days passed, my confidence in the Kogarah electorate office began to disappear.

My trust began to erode.

My instinct told me that something was wrong.

On 3 May 2022, after still hearing nothing, I wrote again.

I explained that a friend had contacted the office seeking an update regarding the Friday meeting with the university.

I explained how important that information was.

I explained that my mental health depended on knowing what was happening.

I explained that TAL, my mortgage broker and the conveyancer all needed answers.

I explained that I wanted healing with my family before Mother’s Day.

I was asking for communication.

I was asking for an update.

I was asking for honesty.

This was one of the first moments I began to feel unsafe communicating directly with my elected representative’s office.

Because of the uncertainty.

Because I no longer knew whether what I was being told privately matched what was actually happening.

By May 2022, I realised that the people and institutions I had trusted to help were not helping at all.

The employer had failed me.

The insurer had failed me.

The regulators had failed me.

And now I was beginning to fear that political representation was failing me too.

At the time, Chris Minns had not yet become Premier.

What happened after he entered government, and what that would mean for my attempts to seek accountability, is a story for later posts.

But by early May 2022, something fundamental had changed.

I began to question whether the office that was supposed to represent me was actually listening at all.

Source: contemporaneous record of events - Document 312.