As a proud Noongar-Yamatji woman, I’ve come to understand that my mental wellbeing is intertwined with culture. It’s not just something I practice; it’s something that flows through me, grounding me every single day. When I think about strength, I don’t imagine something loud or aggressive. For me, strength is quiet, steady, and deeply rooted, much like the gum trees that have stood tall on my Country for thousands of years. In First Nations culture, connection is everything.
Connection to Country, to community, to ancestors, and to self. When I’m feeling overwhelmed or disconnected, it’s often because I’ve stepped too far away from those roots. Going back on Country bare feet on the red dirt, listening to the wind move through the trees, reminds me that I’m part of something bigger. That sense of belonging is one of the most powerful antidotes to stress and anxiety I’ve ever known.
Science now shows what our mob have always known: spending time in nature reduces stress hormones, boosts mood, and improves overall wellbeing. For me, it’s not just about nature, it’s about my relationship with it. Every bird song, every river, every starry night sky carries stories from generations before me. When I tune into that, my nervous system calms and my spirit feels held.
Mental wellbeing isn’t only about what you do in solitude; it’s also about how you share and connect with others and Storytelling is one of our oldest practices, and it’s still one of the strongest medicines for the mind. When I share my experiences, whether that’s through social media, speaking, writing, or sitting in circle, I’m not just telling my story. I’m weaving myself into a collective healing process. There’s something overwhelmingly regulating about being seen and heard, and something equally powerful about listening. It teaches us empathy, patience, and perspective.
For me, storytelling turns pain into purpose and challenges into lessons. It’s where strength grows. Mental wellbeing isn’t built on grand gestures; it’s built on small, consistent rituals that keep me steady. Some of mine are ancient, some are modern, but all of them are cultural in their own way. Lighting a candle for an ancestor, practising deep breathing, sitting with my journal, walking along the coastline at sunrise - these are daily acts that anchor me. Food and nourishment are also part of this.
I’ve been taught to see food and nourishment as more than fuel; it’s ceremony, it's self-care, and it's community and healing. Preparing meals and nourishing myself with the right medicine that connects me back to traditional ways of eating and healing reminds me that wellness isn’t a trend; it’s something we’ve carried since time immemorial. For a long time, I thought being strong meant being unshakable. But culture has taught me that true strength isn’t about suppressing emotions, it’s about expressing them in healthy ways. Vulnerability is woven into strength. When I cry, when I ask for help, when I let people in, I’m not weaker. I’m more human, more connected, more alive. In my community, we’re reminded often that healing is never done in isolation.
Just like trees in a forest share nutrients through underground roots, we thrive when we share, support, and uplift one another. My culture doesn’t just fuel my wellbeing; it gives me a responsibility.
To honour those who came before me. To embody the resilience that has carried us through so much adversity. To pass on strength, wisdom, and connection to the next generation. When I root myself in culture, I don’t just survive I flourish. And in a world that often feels chaotic and uncertain, that rootedness is everything. It’s the reminder that no matter how strong the storm, I’ve got deep roots to hold me steady.
