I have been on a bit of a journey of late
I've been on quite a journey lately—one of transformation, growth, and unexpected twists. As an artist, I'm expanding my creative horizons with bold plans for the coming year. At the same time, I’ve officially closed the chapter on my teaching career. A while back, I said, “The Pat teaching in high schools project is done,” and now, that statement has fully come to life. The past few months have been filled with a rollercoaster of emotions—letting go of a role that defined me for so long, grieving the parts of it that I cherished, and, at the same time, embracing new opportunities with an open heart. There has been a lot of picking up, experimenting, and experiencing.
As this post goes live, I’ll be gearing up for Mardi Gras—an exciting yet daunting journey from Millicent to Sydney. It involves my now semi-regular stop in Melbourne, navigating the joys of Tullamarine Airport, and then tackling the chaos of Sydney. I was stunned to learn that I had won a grant from Qantas to make the trip possible—an incredible opportunity that still feels a little surreal. Of course, life has a way of throwing in logistical hiccups, and unfortunately, a flight from Mount Gambier to Adelaide doesn’t quite connect in time for me to catch Titanique: The Musical as planned in Sydney. But even with that hiccup, the adventure will be nothing short of amazing.
Mardi Gras will be overwhelming in all the best and most exhausting ways—a feast for the senses bordering on absolute gluttony. There will be moments of joy, moments of overstimulation, and moments where I’ll need to step back, breathe, and recalibrate. And, of course, glitter. Glitter everywhere. The herpes of the art world—once it’s on you, it’s never really gone. I’ll probably be scrubbing it off with a loofah sponge, channeling Sophia Petrillo from The Golden Girls and her experience with Picasso’s fingerprints, for days.
Beyond the sparkle and celebration, there’s also been a deep and personal reckoning. A fundamental part of my identity has shifted—I am no longer a school teacher. Teaching is more than just a job; it’s a full-body, all-consuming vocation. The phrase “teaching is all-encompassing” gets thrown around a lot, but there’s truth in it. And for me, it took a spectacular and costly toll. Nearly a decade in education, mostly in small rural and regional schools, came with immense challenges, triumphs, and lessons.
Looking back, it’s surreal to think that in 2005—when I was a Year 9 student myself—I could pump out 1,000 words in an hour, blitz through task requirements, and confidently walk away knowing I had dazzled my audience. Fast forward to today, and I see students struggling to produce even a fraction of that over weeks or months. The contrast is stark, and it speaks to deeper systemic issues. The students of 2025 have faced a turbulent, disrupted education, compounded by conflicting and often self-undermining messaging. The barriers they face—many unnecessary—chip away at their autonomy, dignity, and self-respect. These barriers weren’t built by them but by adults who themselves are products of an outdated societal framework.
I did everything I could to give my students the best opportunities possible with the tools, resources, and knowledge I had, including two Arts trips to Melbourne. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t set up for success, and no one person can be blamed for that—not even me. It took me too long to realise this, and by the time I did, the damage had already been done. Continuing down that path would have been destructive—to my wellbeing, my safety, and my future. So, I stopped. I had to stop. And in stopping, I’ve been able to reclaim something essential: myself.
And so, dear reader, you get to meet the refreshed, recharged version of Pat—someone still deeply passionate about making the world a better place, breaking down barriers, fostering inclusivity, and building meaningful connections. My journey has always been about creating spaces where people can feel seen and supported. I’ve tried to build those communities before—some more successful than others—but burnout has been a constant challenge. This time, I’m learning how to pace myself, to protect my energy, and to channel my fire into something sustainable.
If you had told me six months ago that I’d be here, in this moment, doing what I’m doing now, I would have laughed—or just been utterly confused. The dance of my ADHD and autistic traits keeps things interesting. A heavy ADHD day might mean churning out a new painting (or two), writing another chapter of a project, designing a dozen more cards for an upcoming game, brainstorming fresh ideas for TownBrands, or any number of creative endeavours. The ideas come in waves, and sometimes they crash all at once. A heavy autistic day, on the other hand, slows everything down to a near complete stop. That’s when the laundry piles up, and I suddenly find myself staring down a daunting laundromat trip to tackle 15 loads of washing. There’s only so much online shopping for AussieBum and Teamm8 underwear one can do before realising that, at some point, the washing has to get done.
People often ask me why I share so openly—why I put my journey, my struggles, and my reflections out into the world. The answer is simple: because I want to. Because if even one person reads this and resonates with it, if even one person feels a little less alone, then it’s worth it. Life isn’t linear. It’s full of unexpected turns, potholes, and bumps. Late-diagnosed autism, followed by an ADHD diagnosis, and then a complete career shift—it hasn’t been an easy road. But as the Snoopy musical says, if just one person believes in you, deep enough and strong enough, believes in you, maybe even you can do it too.
Looking ahead, there are exciting things on the horizon. In the coming weeks, I’ll be launching new products and services—some of which I can’t wait to share. The future holds new creations, new collaborations, and new ways to connect with the world.
Ironically, as I wrap this up, I realise this is over 1,000 words, and yes, it did take an hour. Some things never change.
