With another Australian summer approaching, anxiety is growing in communities already carrying the impacts of previous disasters. We prepare our homes, properties and emergency plans, but how well are we preparing ourselves? Through Capacity Before Crisis, I explore why mental and emotional preparedness deserves greater attention before, during and after disaster.

We spend a lot of time encouraging people to talk, stay connected and ask for help. But for someone struggling to find the words, feeling disconnected or unsure where to turn, those messages can be easier said than done.

Drawing on my own experiences and the conversations I have across rural, regional and remote Australia, I've developed five practical frameworks through my Capacity Before Crisis work. They are designed to help us move beyond awareness and give people something they can actually use in everyday life.

Nine months after the bushfires, there are encouraging signs of progress across Murrindindi and Strathbogie.

Fences are being rebuilt, homes are taking shape and communities are finding their feet. But behind that progress are people still carrying enormous emotional and practical burdens.

Following four days of conversations across the region, I have been reflecting on what it really means for a community to be heard, and why listening must lead to action.

Sometimes the difference we make in someone's life has less to do with what we can give them and more to do with who we can connect them with.

What began as a concern about the loss of purpose and independence in a bushfire-affected community became something much bigger, thanks to one introduction, a willingness to listen and people prepared to turn connection into action.

When you’re busy keeping everything going, it’s easy to miss how much it’s taking out of you. I know because I’ve lived it.

In this blog, I share the Capacity Reset: five practical questions to help you recognise what’s draining you, work out who can help and find a manageable place to begin.

There are days when I get back in the ute or board a plane and wonder whether anything I’ve said or done has made a difference.

Mental illness and suicide are complex, and even when people care deeply, someone can still miss out on the help they need.

Through my own experience and recent conversations across country Australia, I reflect on what keeps me doing this work and the questions we need to keep asking about how we support each other.

The most downloaded blog I’ve written this year asked whether we were starting to accept suicide as normal.

This Mental Health Month, I’m returning to that uncomfortable conversation, drawing on my own experience of losing the farm, losing my identity and rebuilding my life. Because encouraging people to speak up comes with a responsibility to listen, help them find support and take seriously the pressures they’re carrying.

Some conversations finish when you shake hands, walk away and get on with your day.

Others seem to get in the ute with you and come home.

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve had plenty of conversations with people doing it tough. These are only a few of them, but for different reasons they are the ones I’ve carried home.

Different people. Different stories. Different pain.

But they have left me thinking about just how much people are carrying that the rest of us know absolutely nothing about.

We tell people to ask R U OK? and it sounds simple enough. Four words. But there is another part of the conversation we probably don’t talk about enough.

What happens if they say no?

Because if we’re truthful, a lot of us would shit ourselves.

We worry we won’t know what to say, that we’ll have to fix something we don’t understand or somehow become a counsellor on the spot. We don’t. Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is stay, listen, ask another question and help someone find the support they need.

And sometimes we need to ask a better question in the first place.

Queensland recorded 421 suspected suicide deaths in the first six months of 2026. Behind every number is a person, a family and a community. Drawing on conversations from across rural and remote Queensland, I look beyond the statistics at isolation, access to support, community connection and why suicide prevention has to begin long before somebody reaches crisis.

Leadership has always fascinated me, particularly the leadership that happens quietly inside communities without titles, recognition or fanfare. As I travel around Australia, though, I am also seeing how quickly leadership can move from service towards ego, especially when communities are under pressure. In this article I explore altruistic and egoistic leadership, grassroots community capacity, burnout, division and why I believe unity, kindness, connection and understanding are going to be critical to the way we lead into the future.

The Victorian Parliamentary Inquiry into the 2026 bushfires makes for important reading. But while reports capture evidence, they can never fully capture the emotion, exhaustion and hope found around kitchen tables, in community halls and on farms across Murrindindi, Strathbogie and other parts of the state..

These are my reflections after reading the report and walking alongside communities for the past six months.

As I travel through Queensland's Gulf Country one thought continues to occupy my mind.

Isolation.

Not just the obvious isolation that comes with living hundreds of kilometres from the nearest town, but the quieter forms of isolation that exist in every community, every workplace and sometimes even within our own homes.

This journey has reminded me that loneliness isn't always measured by distance. More often, it's measured by connection.

Sometimes the most powerful moments in disaster recovery don't happen in recovery meetings or government offices. They happen in community halls, over a shared meal, during a genuine conversation and through the simple act of laughing together. After spending Sunday at Comedy & Conversations in Yarck, I was reminded that rebuilding a community isn't just about repairing what was damaged. It's about reconnecting people. This is why laughter, conversation and wholesome country hospitality are essential ingredients in mental health and long term recovery.

Stress and anxiety are something most of us will experience at some point in our lives. Yet when they become overwhelming, they can impact every aspect of our wellbeing, our relationships, our work and our ability to see a way forward.

As someone who has lived through droughts, floods, financial pressure, the loss of a family farming business and my own mental health struggles, I understand what it feels like when the weight becomes too much to carry alone.

In this blog, I share some of my own experiences, observations from working alongside communities across Australia, and practical strategies that can help when stress and anxiety begin to take control. My hope is that these insights remind you that you are not alone, that what you are feeling is valid, and that there are steps you can take to move forward, one conversation and one day at a time.

Disaster recovery is often measured in weeks and months.

The reality is that for many communities, recovery is measured in years.

After recently spending time in flood affected Taree, New South Wales, and continuing to work alongside bushfire affected communities across Murrindindi, Victoria, I have been struck by the remarkable similarities in the conversations taking place.

Different disasters.

Different communities.

The same exhaustion.

The same uncertainty.

The same questions about what comes next.

Six months after a disaster is often when the hidden impacts of recovery begin to emerge. Recovery fatigue, financial pressure, relationship strain, delayed rebuilding, compounding disasters and the feeling that the rest of the world has moved on.

In this article, I share my observations from both communities, alongside insights gained from some of Australia's most respected disaster recovery practitioners, to explore why recovery often becomes harder, not easier, as time passes and why connection remains one of the most powerful recovery tools we have.

Thousands came to Alexandra for the trucks, but what stood out most had nothing to do with horsepower.

In an industry where many people spend countless hours alone on the road, the Alexandra Truck, Ute & Rod Show provides something far more valuable than a display of machinery. It creates opportunities for connection, conversation and community.

This year, the event carried even greater significance as the town continues its recovery from the January bushfires. While visitors enjoyed the spectacle, they also supported local businesses, strengthened community spirit and reminded a region doing it tough that it is not alone.

As an ambassador of the event, I witnessed firsthand the power of people coming together and why the most important thing at the Alexandra Truck Show wasn't a truck.

After every fire, flood or disaster, we talk about resilience. But what if resilience isn't the whole story?

In this article, I explore the hidden layers of grief and trauma that disasters often uncover, and why building capacity before, during and after crisis may be one of the most important conversations we need to have.

When disaster strikes, the damage we see is often only part of the story.

We rebuild roads, repair buildings and restore infrastructure, but the emotional and psychological recovery of the people affected can take far longer. In this blog, I reflect on the aftermath of disaster and why long-term investment in mental health, community connection and resilience is essential if communities are to truly recover.

Because while rebuilding places matters, communities don't recover unless people do.

A confronting reflection on homelessness, empty shops, emotional exhaustion and the growing pressures facing Australian communities. I explore the human impact behind the struggles appearing in our main streets.