Category: Uncategorized

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I exercise sometimes, and that is OK

At the moment my life is too busy, I can admit it. There are way more things that I want and need to do than time available to do them. One of those things that I both want and need to do is exercise. We all know its benefits for our physical and mental health, and for me it also helps my pain and stability.

But I cannot do as much exercise as I would like to do or probably should do. And I have decided it is ok. Giving myself slack is not easy, nor is it the same as giving up. Rather, deciding that what I manage to do is good enough, because there are other priorities in my life that also need attending to.

Last week for example I only managed to formally exercise twice: once in my clinical Pilates class and another late evening session at the gym. If you would ask ‘professionals’ or even google, you will undoubtedly find that this amount is insufficient. But I also am a person who requires a good amount of sleep to function, and my youngest is still awake at all hours. That means that often when the kids are finally in bed at about 8pm, I am usually too exhausted to do the exercises I should do.

Another important factor is that I also want to prioritise things I love doing such as writing, organising things in the house, spending time with my children, or speaking to a friend. With working and trying to finish the requirement for my psychology registration, with managing my business, with writing creatively, with connecting with communities, with keeping in touch with family overseas and playdates, there is not much time left to spare.

A few years ago two exercise sessions in a week would have become a source of self-criticism or even self-loathing. But nowadays I decide to use this as a lens through which to examine my life, to consider what is important to me, and to put aside expectations.

I did not exercise this weekend, but I spent time with my children, I visited a family member in pain, I ate good food, I laughed and I read beautiful words. I also rested, laughed and reminisced about beautiful happy memories. That is enough.

As we say in the disability community, rest is radical.

Until next time,

Liel K. Bridgford

P.S. if you enjoyed or learnt something from this post, please consider supporting my work by clicking this link.

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2022 Summary, 2023 Intentions

Last year feels impossible to summarise, perhaps because living it felt exhausting or all consuming. This was the first year out of lockdowns in a while, and I have also done some huge things, personally and professionally. 

Here’s a very brief summary of 2022, a few things I’m grateful for, and my intention setting for 2023.

Personally, in 2022, I:

  • had another baby (!!)
  • moved house, and set up a home in a new area
  • had overseas family visits
  • became an Australian citizen, then voted in a victorian election

Professionally, in 2022, I:

  • completed a full year of practicing as a Provisional Psychologist. 
  • completed the final project of the ABC top 5 Arts residency and released a radio package about disability representation in fiction through The Book Show. 
  • have produced, created and hosted the second season of the (Un)marginalised Podcast, which included a live, hybrid recording event with an audience, as a part of Melbourne Fringe Festival. What an honour to have a physical and online rooms filled with people who engaged in the conversation I had with Carly Findlay about disability, ableism, intersectionality, and more. 
  • officially became a published author when the book We’ve Got This came out with Black Inc. books (edited by Eliza Hull). I was also lucky enough to have a launch event at Readings, talk about my experience, and participate in a book panel about parenting with a disability as a part of a Mother’s Day event. 
  • spoke at a medical conference for the first time IRL: about disability, ableism inclusion and anti-ableism work 
  • was appointed editor of Writing Place 2022 by Arts Access Australia. What a privilege it was to read the works of disabled creators and curate a magazine filled with talent, wisdom and authenticity. 
  • had my first live radio interview with 3RC, talking about writing disabled parenting. Find it here.
  • was interviewed for 9 News about my experience of anticipating birth as a disabled person during the covid restrictions. Find the article here.
  • Was published in ABC Art. I wrote about disability representation in fiction. It was so great to speak with two disabled authors I respect and admire for the article and the radio package.  

A few things I am grateful for over the last year: 

  • Being supported by family, gifted family & chosen family in the transition to becoming a family of five (Chilli included) 
  • Asking for help when things got hard and prioritising just enough self-care to sustain my health 
  • Visits from overseas family and spending time together 
  • Moving house and starting to make it our home 
  • Having multiple opportunities to write, advocate, educate, train and speak with people and groups or organisations about disability, justice and intersectionality 
  • Getting to know new people, and connecting with people who engaged open heartedly with the content and with us 
  • Growing my Patreon community that supports my website, podcast and advocacy work
  • Becoming a published author

Intentions for 2023: 

  • Focus on completing as many requirements for my internship as possible 
  • Form a new writing group 
  • Create a writing routine that fits with my other commitments 
  • Prioritise self-care and form routines for exercise and sleep 
  • Spend my kids’ day doing enriching activities 
  • Rest 
  • Be present 

Thank you for all of your support over the last year! 

A special shout out to Sally Bridgford and Yaron Kenigsman for their Patreon support! Could not have done everything without you ❤️

If you want to get more behind the scenes content my Patreon account is on https://www.patreon.com/LielKBridgford

Until next time, 

Liel K. Bridgford 

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(Un)marginalised: S2, E4 with Zoe Simmons

In this episode of the podcast, I spoke with Zoe Simmons about chronic pain, how weight and gender shapes our experience of the medical system, internalised ableism, changing our relationship with mobility aids, mental health challenges, shame, pride and so much more!

Content note: this episode contains discussions about fatphobia, ableism, Mental illness, suicide, sexual harrasment and assault

Find Zoe:

Connect with Liel & continue the conversation on:

Please note the views expressed by the interviewees do not necessarily reflect my own.

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 37:54 — 69.4MB) | Embed

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(Un)marginalised: S2, E3 with Jess Kapuscinski-Evans 


In this episode, I spoke with Jess Japuscinski-Evans about sex on premesis access, what’s it like to be queer and disabled, public transport, Activism, allyship, emerging and elders in the arts space, disability-related humour, bringing together the physical disability and psycho-social disability communities, and much more. 

  • To support the ongoing making of the podcast, go to Liel’s Patreon account on: https://www.patreon.com/LielKBridgford
  • You can find the complete transcripts of the episodes on http://lkbridgford.com/unmarginalised-podcast
  • If you need support after listening – you can contact Lifeline on 13 11 14 in Australia (24/7). If you’re anywhere else, you can find support here: https://www.befrienders.org

To continue the conversation, go to Liel’s Instagram https://www.instagram.com/lielkbridgford/, Twitter https://twitter.com/LielKBridgford or Facebook https://www.facebook.com/lielkbridgford

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 39:26 — 72.2MB) | Embed

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We’ve Got Pain All Wrong

Our pain and us

Pain is something I’ve been living with my whole life, and I think we’ve got it all wrong. 

Pain can mean many different things for each of us, and can include both physical sensations as well as emotional or psychological experiences. In this post I’ll focus on the physical sensation we get when we say ‘my leg hurts’. We all experience pain during our lifetime – no human can avoid it.

Despite how universal pain is, our capacity to describe and communicate about it is generally limited. Even medical professionals often resort to the simplified and useless request to rate our pain from 1-10 as the only measurement or decipherment of pain. 

This common practice has been criticised by people with chronic illnesses, pain and disabilities. Some of the arguments against its use is the oversimplification of a complex phenomena that includes our physical, social, emotional and psychological world. Our experience and perception of pain are also influenced by our history, genetic makeup and social circumstances, amongst other factors. Also, your 10 out of 10 is different from my 10 out of 10.  

Take for instance the pain a birthing person experiences as they push out a baby from their body. It can include intense pressure, cramps, burning, stretching, sharp knives-like pulses and many other sensations. A number on a 1-10 scale does not do this experience justice. We also know that pain perception is impacted by anxiety, how we label the pain, our attitude to it, and many other factors that are often missed in modern Western understanding of pain. 

This inadequate language, understanding and communication of pain means the way we respond to it can also be inadequate, ineffective or even harmful. Pain is simply labeled as Bad, and categorised as something that is undesirable, unattractive and unnatural, to be cured if possible, or at least halted.

This idea misses how pain helps us avoid injury, recover from previous traumas and indicate our bodies’ functioning. In some contexts pain is thought of as something to ‘push through’ and ignore in order to reach some external goal, like running a marathon. In cases of chronic pain, like mine, we think of pain again as something to ‘push through’ to reach the goal of survival. 

The conclusion many of us get to is that pain is nothing to concentrate on – it is too painful to think about our pain, let alone explore it! What we end up doing is neglecting our pain.

We may dissociate to cope with extreme levels of pain, or use alcohol or drugs to numb it. For me, dissociation is something I have had to do in order to survive recurring, at times intense, and trauma-related pain. Many of us have been told our pain isn’t so bad, or that it will pass by your wedding day, or worse of all – that it isn’t real. No wonder we have such a fraught relationship with pain. 

Why is this wrong? 

Having a fraught relationship with pain has an ironic impact on our body, mind, and may I even say, soul. 

Because we fear pain, we often get a stress or even a stress-survival response in our body when it happens. The fight/flight/freeze response that gets triggered by pain in many of us, generates stress hormones that are damaging to our body in the long term, and prevent us from using our complex thinking capacities. Basically this means that in that moment we cannot access the parts of our mind that reminds us of who we want to be, what kind of life we want, or what is important to us. Our brain is yelling DANGER DANGER DANGER at pain signals that may not by themselves be so dangerous. 

When we’re so distressed, we struggle to regulate our feelings. We may lash out at others we care about, or use substances, gamble, or smoke – or do anything that distracts or numbs our intense emotional reaction and our physical pain. In short – seeing pain as something catastrophic and Bad, leaves us less choice over our actions when we’re feeling it. 

Another way our problematic relationship with pain impacts our lives is a sense of isolation. Have you ever had the thought ‘No one has ever experienced pain like this before’? I have. 

Many people who feel pain tend to also feel that they’re the only one going through that. Because we don’t talk about it, it seems like everyone else is living pain-free, which isn’t the case. This isolation can make us less likely to engage with others or in activities that will help us deal with the pain, or to live the meaningful life that we deserve. This is often exacerbated by real physical need to rest our hurting body parts, which often means we’re alone. 

Ignoring the pain, something that many of us are told is a tough, cool, or even necessary thing to do, means that we actually end up trying to push it down. We spend so much energy, conscious or unconscious, telling ourselves something like ‘it’s fine, this too shall pass’ or ‘it’s not that bad’. Although in some contexts this may be useful (like for athletic training), generally this ends up damaging us also. We spend a lot of energy blocking out pain signals from our body, or gaslighting ourselves. This creates a lot of exhaustion, dissociation and trauma. 

The alternative

I was dissatisfied with the way my pain and I were relating to each other. I was tired of feeling angry, frustrated, and on the verge of tears when pain would flare up. I was sick of feeling like I wasn’t good enough because of my chronic pain. So I thought about an alternative – of more helpful ways to cope with pain. 

Instead of seeing myself as a failure when I couldn’t walk, I gave myself permission to listen to my body. I changed the way I view mobility aids, and now see them as something to help me live the life I want, alongside my pain. 

This is not to say that pain should be dismissed by ourselves or others – quite the contrary. Pain should be listened to, attended to, just like any other part of us. Acknowledging that we’re in pain, and giving ourselves kindness through it, can be our first step towards a better life. 

Beyond personal growth that we can all pursue to improve our quality of life, we need to change the way we treat and respond to each others’ pains. Instead of viewing people as either ‘normal’ or ‘abnormal’, what if we agreed that we all experience some pain, at some points in our lives, albeit our vast differences? What if we choose to treat others who are in pain with kindness, curiosity and empathy? Instead of letting pain get in the way of connection, what if we embraced it as a connecting link? 

When your friend is in pain, instead of offering to just reschedule your catch up, what if you offered to help in some way? What if we held spaces for each others’ pain? You could pick up medications from the pharmacy, or hold their hand, or remind them that they are still them. Help them listen to their bodies and practice being kind to themselves. 

We all benefit from transforming the way we relate to pain through increased compassion. Compassion towards ourselves and our fellow humans helps us cope with the most difficult times, and authentically connect with other people.

Where to from here

Here are a few steps to start reflecting on your relationship with pain – applicable to use with yourself and with another person: 

  1. Ask about pain – for example ‘How’s your body been feeling lately?’ or ‘How’s that back pain going at the moment?’ 
  2. Validate the pain – for example ‘That sounds painful’ or ‘I believe you’ 
  3. Ask how you can stay connected through the pain – for example ‘How can we change our plans to still include you?’ or ‘How can I stay connected to my loved ones through this?’ 
  4. Ask what may help – without the assumption that you or a particular drug can ‘fix’ it. For example ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ or ‘What might help me feel more grounded through this?’ 

Practicing these steps with myself, and with people I care about, has helped me transform the way I experience pain. Now I sit down, focus on my breath, and listen to my pain like it is music. 

Oftentimes this music, like your neighbours’ party, is out of my control. I cannot always turn it off, so I lay back and listen. Sometimes the tunes are nostalgic, like Britney Spears over the gym’s speakers. Other times the music is unfamiliar and surprising, like a new single. Other times the music is partly familiar, partly new, like being at your favourite band’s concert. You have probably heard this song before, and if you haven’t, it is almost a guarantee to strike your chords. 

All I want is for there to be seating, so I can sit down and concentrate on the music – outside and within. 

And before you go, check out: 

Where you can join me next month!  

Listening to my pain and my body has brought me more than internal peace, it has been a source of inspiration! With that in mind, here are some important Life Updates you may want to know about: 

  • The (Un)marginalised Season 2 Launch is coming next month!!! Check it out here! I have been working tirelessly on producing this event – the biggest one I’ve ever done. The Launch will be an in-conversation event with Carly Findlay OAM, and you can attend live in Naarm (at The Motley Bauhaus) or through the live stream. I cannot wait to share this event with you, that will include the story behind the podcast, your questions answered live on stage and more.

TO BOOK TICKETS visit melbournefringe.com.au or call (03) 9660 9666. 

This event is supported by the City of Melbourne Arts Grants.

  • I have been appointed as the Editor of this year’s Writing Place magazine, published by Arts Access Australia. What an honour it has already been to read others’ works, be inspired and think about my vision for this publication. 

Writing Place is published annually as a part of Meeting Place, Arts Access Australia annual forum on art, culture and accessibility. The magazine showcases the writing of d/Deaf, disabled and neurodivergent writers and poets. 

Submissions are still open until 11.59pm (AEST) on 11 September 2022. I would love to read your work! Find all the details on how to submit here.

Until next time, 

Liel K. Bridgford 

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Taste a Star

Have you ever been told to ‘reach for the stars’?

It feels in a way, like I’ve reached one star at least. This isn’t to say that I’ve achieved everything I’ve ever wanted or that I don’t have more dreams, but a few big dreams have recently come true. Thought I’d reflect on how it feels.

A few weeks ago a piece that I pitched and wrote was published by the ABC. It was a huge thrill to see my words (and picture!) on the main news website. This isn’t even a dream I dared to express to anyone until it actually came true.

[Image description: an open laptop on a timber dining table. On the screen is the main page of the ABC news website, with Liel's picture under the title 'Featured'. The title under her photo reads 'Our literary world still has a long way to go for disability representation in fiction.']
On the front page.
[Image description: an open laptop on a timber dining table. On the screen is the main page of the ABC news website, with Liel’s picture under the title ‘Featured’. The title under her photo reads ‘Our literary world still has a long way to go for disability representation in fiction.’ Next to the laptop is a mug with a teabag, and beyond the table are children’s toys and laundry.]

When it came true, on January 4th, I wasn’t just thrilled, but also shocked by seeing myself on the front page of the news website and by all the lovely messages people sent me (“You’re in the news!”). I was also petrified of the responses to my piece (that you can find here).

I was scared for a few reasons. Firstly, the location of the piece meant many people would see it (not necessarily read though). I’ve never written to such a large, diverse audience before. Secondly, the topic I’ve chosen to explore is pretty taboo – ableism and other barriers to publishing isn’t something I see discussed often, and certainly not in mainstream media. And of course – aspiring to be a part of the publishing/writing community and industry means that criticizing it could be a dangerous, some may say foolish, act.

It was reassuring to have interviewed two incredibly talented disabled authors in preparation for this piece. Both Kay Kerr and Jessica Walton have been so generous with their time and perceptions – it has made the piece possible to write. Their input has provided very necessary context and support for my ideas. I’m so thankful to them both for agreeing to talk to me about such a personal and important topic.

The day of publication was filled with butterflies in my stomach and hastily reading people’s reactions to it. Of course I knew this was a huge thing, and a dream come true, but still I couldn’t quite taste the star that I was so grateful to be near. It was like touching the end of sparkles on a birthday cake – I was too scared to get my fingers close, whilst barely feeling the bright, captivating light.

Two months later another huge dream came true, when the book We’ve Got This – Stories by Disabled Parents came out. A piece of my writing is published in this anthology, and unlike the ABC article, I’ve known the day would come for a while.

I was also scared about this chapter being published, but somehow less so. Maybe because I’ve had longer to digest the idea that this will be published, or maybe because my words are printed in between words of others – and it somehow made me feel protected. The wisdom and humor of many talented writers and advocates surround mine in this anthology, and I feel privileged to be a part of it. (You can buy the book here).

Seeing my words printed in a book is like getting right into the centre of a star I’ve been dreaming of for decades. I’m so thankful to Eliza Hull for creating such a wonderful collection, and for Black Inc. books for believing in the importance of our stories.

[ID- Liel holding the book We’ve Got This: Stories by disabled parents in their hands. They’re wearing a flowery shirt and has a wide smile on their face.]
[Image description: 1- Liel reading the book We’ve Got This whilst holding a baby. She is wearing a blue top and black glasses. 2-Liel in a bookstore pointing to the book We’ve Got This. She’s wearing a black top and mask.  3- Liel holding the book We’ve Got This: Stories by disabled parents in their hands. They’re wearing a flowery shirt and has a wide smile on their face.]

Reflecting on both of these huge milestones leaves me feeling like I’m floating near the stars- those I’ve been told to reach for. I’m trying so hard to taste it, savour the feelings and sensations this place brings in me.

Imposter feelings still linger – that I’m still not a ‘real’ writer, or that this will be my ‘last shot’ and other similar statements float in my mind. I choose to let those thoughts go, and focus on what’s in front of me: I can see the shimmer of the star right here, and feel the beating of my passion in my heart. And that’s ought to be enough.

Liel K. Bridgford

P.S. if you’re around, there’s a book launch event on March 31st. I’ll be speaking with Eliza Hull about We’ve Got This and my experiences at Readings Hawthorn (Woiworung Country) at 6.30pm. The event is free and there’ll be time for questions and get a book signed. Book a ticket here.

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Podcasting Reflection and a big Announcement

In lockdown last year while getting into podcasts, I felt like I was traveling a huge gap in societal understanding of intersectionality. I wanted to build within it – to create sign posts around the darkness and shine a light through it, so that others can understand.

That’s how the idea of the (Un)marginalised podcast was born. Within a few weeks, I had the generous help of a few people – friends, acquaintances and even a couple of strangers. 

I didn’t know much about podcasting, but I had a vision – of telling stories of lived experience of intersectionality, in a way that was authentic, engaging and moving. The vision grew and materialised with the help of many including Matt McCleish (the first co-producer and editor), Lior Kenigsman and Gilad Etzkovich (who created the perfect logo), and my guests – Emily McIntyre, Sue, Pascha, Julie G., Jennifer Hankin, and Shira. 

One day in December 2020 we started. Sue connected and we pressed ‘record’. Sue and I chatted and untangled the complexities of living through intersectionality, of what it means to belong, don’t belong and partly belong. It was a beautiful couple of hours, where we talked about many interesting subjects including Mothers Day, mental health, racism, and more.

[ID: a photo of Liel sitting at a wooden desk in front of an open laptop and a large microphone. She is smiling, looking down at the laptop and is wearing a black top, brown glasses and a white watch.]
First Podcasting Interview!
[ID: a photo of Liel sitting at a wooden desk in front of an open laptop and a large microphone. She is smiling, looking down at the laptop and is wearing a black top, brown glasses and a white watch.]

Matt did an initial edit, while I orgniased more recordings. The next recording I did alone, with just my anxiety about technical issues. With each interview, I learned more about my interviewing skills and podcasting goals. Holding space, asking questions and expressing curiosity were already parts of my toolbox from counselling work. But I needed to learn other skills like when and how to disagree, and how to keep the conversation entertaining. I needed to find the light and shade, and I wanted to tell multiple stories simultaneously. 

Exploring and telling personal stories through an intersectionality lens has been a reflreshing, invigorating, at times tears-inducing process. Subsequent interviews went well, with thought-provoking conversations which I slowly got more comfortable to direct.

After sourcing out music and helping me find the right tone and structure to the episodes, Matt had to leave the project. He gave me a crash course in editing and soon I’ve spent nights editing. The whole thing took a lot more time than I’d anticipated, but I enjoyed every minute of it. 

Accessibility has always been a top priority of this project – I wanted to make sure the show reached as many people as possible, and made people feel safe and welcome. One of the ways to do this was to provide full episode transcripts, and it took me several hours per episode to transcribe. 

Becoming a podcaster has been such a learning curve. It was challenging to balance the funny, positive or entertaining content with the serious, heavy and sometimes even traumatic aspects of the storytelling. It’s not a balance that’s easy to achieve, and especially not in real-time interviewing. I had to get in touch not just with my curious self and the part of me that wanted to connect, but also with the content-consumer part of me that knows what an engaging episode sounds like. There were many different things to think about all at once! 

As I listened and moved tracks around on the screen, the importance and power of stories cemented in my mind. There is nothing quite like hearing from someone who has lived experience. To become an ally, to be an effective health professional, an advocate, or a good world citizen, one must engage with lived experience. 

My favourite part about the process was connecting with fellow humans. Although everyone has a unique story, there were many similarities. Validating isn’t a strong enough word to express how it feels when you realise there’s another human who shares your thoughts and feelings – it is more like anchoring my body into the ground. The season spoke to the fact that struggles I face are often struggles others face, and highlighted how many of those are avoidable, or at least could be mitigated through social justice. I can’t think of a better way to improve society than storytelling – and so I hope that by listening to those stories everyone can learn something and work towards a more just, equal world.  

The responses to the show have been incredible. It has received top ratings and excellent reviews. A couple of highlights were when Jennifer Hankin contacted me wanting to get interviewed, and when (Un)marginalised was ranked as number 3 in the top intersectionality podcasts of the year. 

The wonderful responses helped me feel that the work was worthwhile. Another aspect of podcasting that surprised me was how much money it cost. I’ve been using my personal savings for this, and due to the ongoing financial and time commitment, the season ended at episode seven. Finishing the season was sad, as I felt it was a job unfinished – there were so many more voices and perspectives I wanted to have on the show. 

With this in mind, I applied for grant funding, unsuccessfully. With the support of amazing and generous people I tried again a few months later – which brings me to the news part of this post:

A new season is coming, supported by the City Of Melbourne Arts Grants 2022. I am incredibly grateful and excited that the project was selected, and that I get to return to podcasting, producing and interviewing real people who navigate intersectionality.

Season Two Is coming!
[ID: a colourful background and white text. The background is made of small colourful shapes in shades of red, orange, yellow, green and purple. The white text reads ‘[UN] MARGINALISED PODCAST SEASON 2’]

The second season will be even better, with a similar format. A couple of small changes are a focus on artists connected with the City of Melbourne, and one live, IN PERSON recording event in Melbourne (crossing all fingers!). So, if you haven’t yet listened to the first season, now is your chance. If you have listened and enjoyed it, please remember to rate, review and subscribe. Most importantly, tell your friends!

Until next time, 

Liel K. Bridgford 

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Becoming Comfortable With Being Uncomfortable

Content note: this piece contains mentions of military violence, military occupation and indoctrination.

By the time I leave this earth in my current form, I hope our societies have changes somewhat – to become more just and equal. With time and learning, my understanding and knowledge of global and local injustices only increases. This can come with an increasing sense of doom, as the load of a just world feels heavier by the day.

Change does not spontaneously happen – it happens only when we bring it about. This is why I consider speaking out, learning and trying to do better – as moral obligations. Trying to figure out the most effective ways to create change is the hardest part. There are many questions that come to mind. Recently I’ve mulled over this one – Do we have to publicly explore the trauma we’re working to prevent in order to create justice?

Recently I finished reading The Mother Wound by Amani Haydar, and it has convinced me of the answer to this question. In The Mother Wound, the author explores the various personal implications of her own and her family’s trauma. She shares specific violent incidents, occasionally in graphic details, but always in an empathetic way that leaves the reader no choice but to feel the experiences, to step into the shoes of her mother and herself. The details around the lives of her family in Lebanon, and the way her grandmother was killed, were vivid. The pastoral village life, her grandmother’s love and resilience become crucial in my understanding, as the reader, of their motives, wishes, values and aspirations. I related to their extremely common human needs for safety, love, community, and purpose.

Then when the violent and inexplicable attack on civilians is described in the most details available, I could not help but feel outraged, shocked, angered, and extremely sad. Soon many other feelings surfaced, including hopelessness, desperation, and a deep desire to translate the work to Hebrew so that every Israeli can read it. 

Because Haydar shared her family’s trauma, a significant shift has occurred in my mind. Despite being aware of the occupation by the Israeli government of Palestine, until reading this book I thought the majority of methods used by the military were genuinely necessary, and executed with high care for human life and international law. This idea, that has taken roots in me via years of informal and formal education, media and cultural beliefs, was at once shattered.*

Suddenly, the military ‘protecting’ my country of birth and citizenship, was painted with a completely different brush. The military I was taught was essential to protect the Israeli people and that was the most powerful whilst humane in the world, the military every Israeli citizen must join at 18, the one I served in for nearly three years – was not what I was always led to believe it was.

This military was suddenly exposed as the one who sends secret agents that brutaly kill Lebanese civilians simply because they identify with the liberation of Palestinians. The same army we were told always considers human life at their highest priority, was suddenly exposed as the army that bombed a clearly marked civilian line of vehicles. Those vehicles carried women, men, children. The youngest victim of this attack was only a year old. An innocent baby. There were no military targets in the area. The traumatic implications of this violent attack naturally reverberates through generations and continents, yet no government or military personnel have taken responsibility. This cannot be described in lesser terms then the unjust act of cruelty by a hating, racist oppressor. My entire worldview has shifted.

This book immediately challenged not only everything I thought I knew about my country, our soldiers, our ‘safety and security’ policies, our governments, but it also completely challenged my perception of who we are as people, and by extension, of who I am, who I was, and many of the decisions I have made in the past. I’ve always struggled with integral aspects of the culture I was raised in. But this book brushed my already non-favourable perceptions with a metallic, bloodied red.

If the author would have left this part of her story out, this perception change would not have happened. Shaking our beliefs, looking at people, ideas, values and actions from a different angle is difficult. It is challenging and can make any of us feel uneasy. We have a psychological bias to search for information that confirms what we know and believe, and experiencing anything outside of that is always a conscious, effortful choice. Without this discomfort though, we as communities and humans will never progress. Stepping out of our comfort zone to read an opinion we disagree with, or watch something we wouldn’t normally choose, is how we learn, develop, and grow.

As long as we remain living in unjust, unequal and unsafe communities, trauma must be explored, expressed and revealed to the public. This is certainly not to say that we should trauma dump**. Nor do we need to constantly or carelessly share our and our people’s traumas. Care and consideration is key, but the sharing is crucial. By sharing how a traumatic oppressive system, relationship, event or person has affected us, we help others understand. We can help someone else step into our shoes – feel, relate and perhaps even shift their perspective. This is essential if we want to see any social change. Change will not happen on its own, but by the power of people choosing change. Only with opening our eyes, our hearts and our minds, will we ever progress towards a just, equal world. 

If you believe in the pursuit of justice, if you believe that every human deserves to live their best life, to have access to safe communities, welcoming spaces, equal opportunities, and to be free of harm, then you must become comfortable with being uncomfortable. Tuning into others’ experience to understand is our duty to our fellow world citizens.

Until next time, 

Liel K. Bridgford

*Note that although even the recent war in Israel/Gaza involved killing of children, the Israeli government and army officials have insisted on the care and importance of the military targets behind the attacks. Furthermore, Israeli propaganda tells citizens that families are always warned and given opportunities to keep safe. My levels of belief in these messages were shaky but still somehow intact until I read The Mother Wound.

**trauma dump refers to the exercise by which one shares unedited traumatic experiences without warning, structure or purpose beyond personal unloading.

P.S. note that I don’t advocate to trauma dump or disregard your own right to safety when engaging with others’ lived experience. Rather, healing is a communal responsibility. As the sharer, it is one’s responsibility to make apparent what it is you will be covering (for instance through trigger warnings or content notes) and provide sources of support. As the audience, it is our responsibility to always look after ourselves before, during and after we engage with others’ stories. This will mean different things to different people, but can include engaging with material in safe spaces and times, or reaching out to others for support, encouragement or debrief. 

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The Meaning of No and Big News

I’ve written ever since I can remember – early notebooks of my childhood are scattered with poems, short stories, magazines and even multi-chapter stories. Writing has always been an outlet through which I expressed feelings, thoughts, experiences, and shared them with others. I prided myself on my rhymed Bat-Mitzvah speech and on poetic cards for every occasion.

Thinking of writing as a career though is only something I’ve seriously considered in the last few years. Although I must admit to a childhood dream to write a book about my experiences growing up. It was a kind of comfort at hard times – imagining that at least I could write about what happened, to make the future world a better place. 

But taking writing more ‘seriously’ and submitting pieces to places inevitably led to receiving rejections – the No’s. You often hear stories of writers who became famous immediately. But for a lot of people, the road is more complicated. Trying to publish my writings in the Australian literary world has been a challenge, and that’s partly because I’m inexperienced, and don’t know the industry well, nor the people in it. But it’s also because there are still a lot of preferences in the industry for writings by Australian-born, Christian and non-disabled people.

My writing style is different to my peers, I know that because I can read their stuff, and I’ve been told I use English in unusual ways. I also write of ‘unusual’ subjects like the realities of being a disabled, immigrant parent or what it means to be a female in our patriarchal world. Writing for me is about many things, one of them is a tool to inspire change – for the better. And it’s also who I am – I write truthfully, because it’s how I like to live life. 

Receiving multiple No’s when sending out my writings has been hard, although I got used to it! At first, the meaning of No was a potential indication of the value of my craft or ideas. Slowly though, I’ve learned to re-assign meanings to the No’s. Recognising privileges helps, although it also enrages me at times. I know I need to work harder than some in order for my pieces to be considered for publication. (although I still have privileges that help me, like being white and at a socially acceptable body weight). 

I’ve reassigned the meanings for No’s by listening and reading other writer’s journeys, and deciding it’s ok that some places don’t want to publish my pieces. It also helps to think of the industry as a business – which it is – and realise that at that point in time, a particular person or people, didn’t think my piece was going to sell enough.

Expectation is another huge factor in how we react to life events, and so I changed my expectations rapidly since the early days of sending out my material. Although holding onto hope is useful, tampering my expectations and looking at the statistics help me feel grounded and deal with the No’s better. I have received many more No’s than Yes’s, thus far, so I now expect a No, and just feel pleasantly surprised when this expectation is proven wrong. 

Recently there have been a few Yes’s which I’m very excited about. A few aren’t yet announced in public, so you’ll have to wait a little longer. In case you’re not following me on social media (which is a loss for you), here are a few Yes’s that you can check out:

  • I’ve written several blog posts for SANE Australia, which has been enjoyable and fruitful. I’ve learned a little more about the industry in the process, and loved combining my writing skills together with my mental health knowledge and lived experience. Here is a summary of the blogs: 
  • As for the biggest Yes I’ve ever received, I have been honoured to be selected to the TOP 5 ARTS Residency by the ABC. I will be working with and learning from some of the best in the media and publishing industry, and I cannot wait to commence in September. You can find out more here. This is by far the biggest Yes I’ve ever received, and I feel privileged and humbled to be selected among a group of talented people to this unique program.  

As for the No’s, they keep coming. Slowly though, their weight decreases, while I focus on the writing itself, and the beautiful Yes’s that come in other forms to formal publications: when someone clicks their fingers during my poetry reading, or comes up to say they enjoyed it, or laugh while I perform. A Yes can look like a comment on a social media post or a new subscriber to my blog. Although those Yes’s don’t pay the bills, they fill my heart with hope that my words are valuable – at least sometimes, at least to some. 

Until next time, 

Liel K. Bridgford 

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Besties Chat About Immigration – TEASER

The first season of (Un)marginalised has already finished, but lucky for you, I’ve produced a special, bonus episode! In this episode I am chatting with one of my best friends, a fellow immigrant and book lover, Shira.

We talk about immigrating to Australia, slang, accent, making friends, and so much more. We had so many laughs, and I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.

This episode is released only to my supportive patrons who help make sure this website exist, the podcast to be available for free, and my writings to continue.

For the price of one coffee per month, you can access the full episode, as well as support the ongoing making of the podcast: https://www.patreon.com/LielKBridgford

You can also connect with me, and find more of my writings and art on my socials: Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lielkbridgford/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lielkbridgford or Twitter: https://twitter.com/LielKBridgford.

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