Impact Stories

Dear Tanya and Kate, Thank you both for all your work to organise the Healing and Hope lunch today at Scotchman's Hill. It is an absolutely beautiful spot, and we are very lucky that Ruth Vickers-Willis is so generous to let us use the space. It is perfect - fires burning, light rain outside, the peaceful surrounds. I think for many of the people attending, it’s actually hard to get out of the house. There’s an unease - maybe a guarding of oneself, a fear of opening up wounds that can never fully heal. Knowing the event will be in a calm, quiet place, with a delicious lunch I think helps people to get to ‘yes’ - it helps them get out the door of their home. But still, there’s a certain trepidation attending when we fear we will be dealing with past pain. A case in point - for years my darling father has self-medicated by immersing himself in work, because if he even partly acknowledged the pain of my brother’s suffering, it would eat at him, that somehow he had failed as a parent to keep his own son safe. The fourth born child, the long awaited son, the only one who could pass on the family name to offspring - the broken, bruised, damaged son who could never live up to the expectations that had been heaped on his shoulders. Yesterday, my father said to me ‘are you going where we’re going tomorrow then?’ - acknowledging that any of this is hard. Words like ‘abuse’ are hard. It’s the round-about language, the ‘I know that you know that when I say that… ‘ - the words that remain unspoken, even within a family. It was lovely to have had the chance in previous years to have held a mothers event, and then an event for fathers - because I got the feeling that many of the mothers of children who were victims of childhood sexual abuse at school pushed the fathers out the door to get to the fathers event, when it was run a year or two ago. Certainly my father was terribly reluctant to be there initially, despite coming home with a sense of having done something important, of having had conversations he could have never had previously. With those events, and the mothers-and-siblings event in the past, today’s event of having survivors and their families attend together was so important. One person spoke to thank Michael after his discussion, saying ‘I’m not just a survivor, I’m a thriver’ - or very similar words. That is, not intending to be defined by the abuse, but acknowledge it as one part of his history, and that his life is more than his abuse as a child. I cannot imagine how a child copes with suffering in silence of an abuse lasting several years of childhood - not only the physical sexual abuse but the mental anguish of keeping an awful secret, in fear, in constant self-censorship. This carries such a toll, and as I talk to a man, I also imagine the broken little boy who just wanted to be able to be a kid, to muck around and play and do what other kids do. Speaking with him makes me think of my own brother... But still, it was so nice to be able to speak with other family members - siblings and parents - and to hear their stories and talk together. Having a chance to hear from Michael Magazanik assures people of the work being done in the space of caring for victims and of the work being done in schools now to prevent childhood sexual abuse. And hearing from Angela Cannon on her work gives the broader context of development in this space in Victoria. It is heartening to see new faces at these Healing and Hope events, to think that people who might not have been able to attend previously now feel supported to do so. I also thought it was worth mentioning the timing of the event was good. People arriving at 10:30 with enough time to get some morning tea meant that when people are still feeling a bit raw and a bit unsure, walking into a new environment, they can find some snacks and treats, and a cuppa, which helps put them at ease, and before too long, they start mingling and talking with others. I really appreciated the chance to talk with new people, and to catch up with people we had met before. I heard one survivor say as he left ‘I wish they ran these twice a year’. So to come from a position of relative unease at the start of the day, with nervous concern about going back to a part of his life he tried to keep the door shut to, he had finished the day realising there is a lot of restoration and healing that comes from being together, from talking and listening and thinking about things, and from the simple elements of life such as sharing a meal together. Thank you both so much for your work in organising this event. - May 2026

For fourteen years, I've been alongside my partner as he navigates the long-term effects of trauma from his time at Geelong Grammar, where he was exposed to years of systemic bullying. I've come to learn that living with trauma isn't something that sits in the past. It shows up in everyday life - in emotional volatility, in self-doubt and in the constant push and pull between wanting connection and feeling unworthy of it. It shapes work, relationships, health and even the ability to want to engage with life at all. When so much energy is consumed by simply getting through each day, there isn't always space to live, let alone thrive. Over time, in our life together, I've had to become the steady one. The emotional anchor. The one absorbing, stabilising and keeping things moving when everything feels uncertain. There have been periods where I've carried the financial responsibility, reshaped my own life to create flexibility and quietly put parts of myself aside to hold space for someone I love. It has also meant taking care of the day-to-day life that still needs to keep moving - the practical things, the life 'admin' - when all of his energy is being used just to get through. What people don't see is how isolating that is. Trauma creates distance - not just for the person living with it, but for those around them too. There's a vulnerability and a loneliness that comes with it. Over time, I've found myself holding things in, not sharing with friends or family because it's difficult to explain, or because it feels like too much for others to understand. So, a lot of it stays close. Quiet. Carried. And for me, that has felt like a real burden at times - not in a way that takes away from the love I have for my partner, but in the sense of the weight I carry day to day, often without a place to put it. When my partner was first introduced to Healing and Hope, there was hesitation. A level of uncertainty. Trust doesn't come easily when it's been broken early and often. But over time, through consistent and genuine connection, that started to shift. What Healing and Hope has created in my life is something small, but incredibly significant - a space where this experience is seen. Through the support of Kate and Tanya, my partner has been able to access therapy that is helping him make sense of what he's been carrying for so long. That support matters more than I can fully express. It creates moments of calm where there would otherwise be overwhelm. It creates the possibility of change. But what has mattered just as much is the way Healing and Hope shows up in the small, human moments. It's in the thoughtful care package waiting in our accommodation after a long day of driving interstate so he can access treatment. It's in the check-ins, the practical support and the quiet understanding of what living alongside trauma actually looks like. There's a level of care, consistency and genuine compassion that's hard to describe unless you've experienced it. "For a long time, I felt like I was carrying this alone - Healing and Hope has created a space where I no longer have to." For me, that has made a real difference. It's eased the sense of carrying this alone. It's created space to breathe, to feel supported - not just as a partner, but as a person. And that shift, even in small ways, has had an impact on our relationship. When support is shared, the weight feels different. There's more space for understanding, more capacity to navigate the hard moments and a sense that we're not doing this on our own. The impact of trauma reaches far beyond the individual. It touches partners, families and the wider support systems around them. Healing and Hope recognises this in a way that feels both practical and deeply human. We're still on the journey. Healing isn't linear, and it isn't quick. But with the right support, it feels possible. If sharing my experience encourages someone else to reach out, or helps others understand the importance of this work, then it's worth it. Because what Healing and Hope provides isn't just support - it's the possibility of a different future. - May 2026

Our brother was Fred Gray. Fred was in Allen House at Geelong Grammar School in year 10 and then for one day of year 11. Six months after leaving GGS and refusing to go back, Fred took his own life. The impact on our family was devastating. We had so many ‘why’ questions. Many years later the Allen housemaster was put up on charges and the horror was revealed. It was then we realised as a family what the ‘why’ was. Anger, shock and an indescribable sadness overcame us. Having Kate Parsons from Healing and Hope and Renee Handsaker as the GGS Liaison there to listen to our story and guide us meant that we could meet with GGS Principal Rebecca Cody and give Fred a voice; a voice that hadn’t been heard in over 30 years. Discussing with GGS the impact the past regime had had on not only our brother but countless others was a hugely moving experience. Being given a chance to show who Fred really was and how loved he was was so important to us. The original rose arbour that was installed after his death and then removed for no apparent reason was both disturbing and upsetting. Healing and Hope enabled us to express this and share Fred’s story with GGS. Subsequently a beautiful American Oak bench has been made by George Chirnside in Fred’s honour. This bench represents not only Fred but the countless others who have a story that they either wish to share or do not. It is hugely significant in the healing process and reminds all of us that these atrocities must never happen again. Janet Seccull, Amanda Wallace, John and Allan Hardie (Fred’s siblings) - May 2026

Over the past year my physical condition and mental health have become more troubled than before, while the uplifting support received from Healing and Hope has been constant as always. Kate and Tanya maintain a level of care and practical help that are heartening at bleak times. Their unfailing concern has given back a personal trust in representatives of Geelong Grammar School through Healing and Hope, that had been lacking in me since schooldays in the 1960s. I am very grateful for their energy and initiative on my behalf, and for the patience and sensitivity in their approach to someone undergoing acute as well as chronic difficulties. The reliable generosity of Healing and Hope in provision of this care and for the financial support to receive specialist treatment in recent weeks, gives a truthfully relatable aspect to the abiding values of GGS as an exceptional institution and community. - May 2025

If in the past you’d suggested to me that having your house cleaned once a fortnight could change life, I might have raised a dubious eyebrow. But for the last 10 months, since Healing and Hope began covering the costs for a cleaner to come to the home my parents now share with my brother, I have learned that it can be genuinely transformative. It’s not easy for people of my parents’ generation to accept this sort of help. Still less for people who have always been the givers, not receivers, of support. My parents were always the sort of people who helped other people – active in our community, providing foster care to kids at risk, my mum doing values-based work, dad an elder in the church. But that got harder over the years. My brother was a beautiful child. My grandfather’s favorite mate, my adored little brother, always in a pack of cousins or neighbourhood kids. Extroverted, funny, clever. Until, too often, he wasn’t. Inexplicably, he began to change, and no-one could understand why, despite the many professionals my parents took him to see. Several years ago, he moved in with my parents, now in their 80s. By then, they had already raised two of his kids. The life they had imagined for themselves had long since evaporated. When I first learned, about ten years ago, of the abuse my brother had suffered, it all made sense. And as someone who has worked for decades in community organisations, including on sexual abuse, I wished that we had known earlier. We could have done so much if we had understood what was driving my brother’s behaviour. As it was, the process of sharing what had been done to him, and negotiating the compensation process, was harrowing. My brother had what he describes as a breakdown. Through all this, my parents continued to love and care for my brother, and to stand in as grandparents to their four great-grandchildren. While their friends have enjoyed long retirements, they are still taking kids to school and picking them up, their financial reserves long since gone, along with their energy, and, too often, their faith in the world. Last year, my mother had a number of falls, incapacitating her. The demands of family continued, and their home became more and more out of control. Living and working hundreds of kilometers away, I could not be there to help them. My brother continues to strive to overcome the hardships that beset him, and for this and many other reasons I continue to love him deeply, but he can rarely contribute to the order of the home. My parents could no longer keep up with housework. They were ashamed to have people over, becoming even more isolated. We tried to organise help, but in their small regional town, it was all just too hard. Then, one day, Tanya from Healing and Hope, asked me how, really, things were going. It was one of many communications I have had with Tanya over the years. She said Healing and Hope could help with a cleaner. I couldn’t believe it. We found a wonderful cleaner, and the house was transformed. And with it, my mum. ‘It’s such a relief’, she says to me. And I know she doesn’t just mean having a home she isn’t ashamed of. It’s not just having someone coming to the house who she knows really cares about her. It’s not just that she doesn’t feel like such a failure. It’s partly because there is some part of this school that sees my family as human, as deserving of compassion, that understands how much we have tried not to be defeated. This is what donations to Healing and Hope can do – facilitate vital practical support but so much more than this - hope and healing. - May 2025

My contact with Healing and Hope has been both positive, and, as the name suggests, healing. Financial compensation is an important piece of reconciliation with victims, but recognition is as important. Money means different things to different people, but acknowledgement is universal and life changing. Healing and Hope’s contact with me has been driven by them. A constant and (for me wonderful) reminder that someone cares. It’s a healing medicine that has bankable efficacy for me. Healing and Hope keeps me in contact with the school (something I treasure) as a restored and protected person. As a result, I’ve been emboldened to invite (and welcome) my GGS experience back into my life. Plus… they’re lovely and capable people. - May 2025

Dear Kate and Tanya, Thank you both so much for organising the Healing and Hope luncheon and catch up for mothers and siblings. I feel incredibly lucky to have been able to attend. This was my second time attending a Healing and Hope event for family members of students who suffered abuse while at Geelong Grammar School. It’s difficult, hard, depressing – and also really rewarding, worthwhile and reassuring to attend these events. As some of the mothers have now seen each other at previous H&H events, you can see that while walking in with a heavy heart, some of the mothers look forward to catching up with others who are living the same experiences. It is a nice opportunity to speak about our heartaches with others, who know the background and because of their shared experiences, can understand these things so much better. I felt I could speak freely, without judgement or the risk of shared confidences escaping. I felt heard and understood. For years, I felt silenced. I couldn’t talk about my brother’s abuse, because he couldn’t talk about it. He doesn’t want to acknowledge what happened; he doesn’t want to engage with the school in any way. And yet for years, it was the elephant in the room. My brother would talk about things that had happened at school almost every time we met, as if his time at school were the only lived experience of his life – and yet he was over 40 years old. My parents said we couldn’t talk about the abuse he suffered at school, because it is his story, not ours, and because he was not, is not, ready to talk about it, or willing, or able to. And so we have carried the silent shame, the weight of silence, as well as the weight of caring for him in what became an increasingly heavy workload for me as a sister in the years before I moved overseas. It was only when my brother spoke the classic suicide type thoughts that I snapped, and called the school, and said they had to know, that he had to be one of the boys who was counted. I am so grateful for all the help you have both given me since then, and for the work you have done to support others in our places. We might not have spoken up during the Royal Commission 10 years ago, but we knew it was happening. My mother followed it closely. It would be years before we could talk out loud. It was so helpful to hear Michal Magazanik speak of the history of litigation, of the engagement of the school at different stages and the changes that have occurred over the years. In the discussion that followed Michael’s talk, I spoke of my realisation that it is only because of the work that all those around the table had done before, that my family could be there now. They say that we stand on the shoulders of giants, but I prefer to think that my family and I follow those who have walked ahead of us in deep snow. The effort, the loneliness of being the one in front, each footstep pushing down through the fresh, untrodden snow – it takes so much longer, it takes so much more effort. And with that effort, we see both the path to follow, and that we are not alone. We are reminded of those who have gone before us. When you speak with other mothers and siblings, please give my heartfelt thanks for their bravery, their honesty, their support and their openness. I appreciate so much the opportunity to meet with them all, and I also want to thank them for looking out for my mum, who has shouldered so much over so many years. It means a lot to me to know you are all caring for her, while she continues to care for my brother, as I do too. With my love, and many thanks. - May 2025