First Week in Perth: Gratitude and the Weight of Needing Help

We landed in Perth and went straight to my cousin's house.

She had a spare room. She had already bought groceries. She had already thought of everything we would need — bedding, towels, food for the kids, tea for me. She had made space in her life for five people and five suitcases.

I was grateful. I was also ashamed.

I had spent 15 years building a career. I had worked for Pampers, Coca-Cola, Always. I had founded an NGO. I had walked into boardrooms and people knew my name.

Now I was sitting at my cousin's kitchen table, unable to find a job, unable to buy my own groceries, unable to do anything except watch her take care of us.

Every morning she would leave for work. Every evening she would come home and help. She never made us feel like a burden. That made it worse.

I remember thinking: Not everyone has this. Not everyone has a cousin who opens their door. What would we have done without her?

I was grateful and broken at the same time.

That first week taught me something I didn't want to learn: pride and survival are not compatible. Sometimes you have to choose survival. Sometimes you have to let someone else carry you.

I am still grateful. I will always be grateful.