Defying the Enemy Within

by Joe Williams

  The same year, I was asked to be a keynote speaker at the World Indigenous Suicide Prevention Conference at Rotorua in New Zealand. Part of my speech was to highlight and concentrate on the importance of how connection to culture has helped in my recovery, and I played a short clip showing the power of connecting to culture through dance.

  Like boxing and other physical exercise, connecting to First Nations dance and culture has enabled my mind to be free. When I connect to other people, our ancestors, the land, spirits and our ancient lore through our songlines and dance, I feel much more settled and safe.

  I have travelled to many different nations and continents and would invite any non-Indigenous brothers and sisters to learn about our culture to help close the reconciliation gap, but also to learn a truly beautiful way of life. I learned recently that, out of more than 350 different First Nations languages and dialects spread across the country of Australia, traditionally there was no word for ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. That tells me that our people never had to ask for anything, because it was expected that all possessions and belongings were to be shared. In fact, I believe our First Nations Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture is the most giving, caring and sharing culture in the world.

  Lately, I put out a challenge to all my non-Indigenous friends across Australia to learn about the local area they live in. I wasn’t talking about their states and cities but the traditional names and areas, the language that was spoken, how the local people lived off the land and the resources they used that were local to the area.

  I believe that once broader non-Indigenous society learns about and embraces our Indigenous way of living, we will see a reduction in racial prejudice and a more harmonious country.

  My close friend Deanna Ledoux (right) is a native Cree woman from Canada. We met at the World Indigenous Suicide Prevention Conference in 2016 and have stayed in touch ever since. It is amazing how the native cultures around the world are so connected.

  19

  THE FIGHTING SPIRIT

  Towards the end of 2016, Dad received the tough news that he had Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The specialist said that his PET scan had ‘lit up like a Christmas tree’, showing a cancerous tumour behind his sternum, along with cancerous lymph nodes from his neck down to his groin.

  Dad was knocked for six. But true to his fighting spirit, rather than sit and wallow in his disappointment, his first words to me after his diagnosis were: ‘I won’t change my lifestyle. If I sit still or slow down I will die — and I won’t let that happen.’

  Dad went through nine months of treatment with chemotherapy and radiation, before new scans revealed he was in remission. Throughout it all Dad didn’t tell many, because he didn’t want people making a fuss. He went about his daily routine, went to work, spent time at the gym most days and ate the best he could.

  During his treatment he lost a bit of weight, along with his hair and eyebrows, but the courage, strength and willpower he showed each day made me realise how much I’d learned from both my parents, just by watching them deal with their different struggles. In my eyes, my mum and dad are both modern-day warriors and they’ve inspired me to keep fighting my own health battles, both mental and physical.

  With Dad before a fight night in Dubbo. I’m smiling, so clearly after weigh-in.

  That includes a health issue I’d been gradually becoming aware of — my worsening memory. I’d been noticing for a while that it was getting worse and I’d find myself missing appointments, or forgetting to return phone calls, even missing picking up my kids when they had their bags packed to spend the night at my house. Things like that smash me emotionally inside. Writing this book at only thirty-four years of age, I sometimes can’t remember what I did yesterday — including my interactions with family members and other people. It was a constant worry, and I wondered whether playing league and boxing had anything to do with it.

  Then, one day at a suicide prevention conference I met the late Jackie Crowe, a commissioner with the Australian Mental Health Commission. I introduced myself and handed her my card.

  ‘We met yesterday, Joe,’ Jackie said. Apparently, the day before I’d also introduced myself, apologising that, if I forgot her name, it was probably because during my time as a boxer and rugby league player I’d copped the odd hit to the head and my memory wasn’t great. We’d then had a conversation about Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE), a neurodegenerative brain disease caused by repeated concussions or brain injuries, and commonly found among boxers and footballers. Two of the symptoms are loss of short-term memory and extreme depression.

  Jackie began to educate me about CTE and its effects, and told me about the effects of traumatic brain injuries (TBI) such as concussions. Studies on retired footballers in the United States, and autopsies of those who had passed away by suicide, had revealed signs of CTE. It appeared that repeated knocks could have serious impacts on a person’s mental health.

  It turned out I was a prime candidate for CTE, though it can only be diagnosed during a post-mortem.

  During my NRL career, I was between 78 and 82 kilograms. Often, though, I had 110–120-kilogram players doing their best to steamroll over the top of me — which is where I believe some of the damage to my brain was done. After many attempted tackles, I’d drag myself up from the ground feeling dizzy and with stars in my eyes, but the expectation was that you’d shake that off and continue with the game. There’d be times when I’d make or attempt two or three tackles in a row with my head already completely rattled and dizzy from previous knocks.

  Then there was my boxing. During boxing training, we’d often go hell for leather at each other, getting knocked to the ground, but shaking it off to continue because it’s ‘only training’. Though boxers

  Repeated knocks could have serious impacts on a person’s mental health.

  are rarely knocked unconscious during training, we might get a little dizzy and see stars and still be expected to keep going so as not to show weakness or let our coach down.

  I had to face the fact that, while boxing played a huge part in teaching me resilience, to stay in the fight and not give up, and how to fight back against my mental demons, it had an impact on my mental ability.

  Learning about the effects of CTE, and knowing the impact on my memory and mental health of the head knocks I copped playing rugby league and in my boxing, had an impact on my view about allowing my children to play contact sport. Recently I was watching my son Brodi play AFL, when he went in for a contest and had a fairly bad head clash. Brodi stood up and tried to run but he was unsteady on his feet, so I asked the coach to bring him off immediately.

  I’ve continued to research the effects of CTE and, although I’m only in my early thirties and have plenty of sporting ability and years left in me, I’ve decided to retire effective immediately from all contact sports. (This is the first time I have actually written those words: 15 August 2016, 2.08 pm.)

  After speaking about CTE in general conversations and on social media, numerous retired rugby league players and boxers approached me, looking for more

  I hope there’ll be a shift in attitudes to safety and brain health in contact sport in Australia.

  information about it. They, too, were noticing the effects on their memory and mental health. I hope there’ll be a shift in attitudes to safety and brain health in contact sport in Australia.

  Now I am aware of it, I have begun to notice the effects. Not so long ago I’d been doing some boxing training and light sparring with novice boxers. The hits weren’t very flush or hard, and yet the next morning there was a considerable slur in my words and a stutter. This was the first time I could physically see and hear the impact of very light sparring on my speech and my interaction with others. It was a scary moment.

  It worries me to think that over time my memory may progressively get worse, and I’d give almost anything to get my memory back. I read that short-term memory lasts between eleven to fifteen days before it switches o
ver into long-term memory. This could explain why I’d been struggling with my memory for the past few years.

  So I began to look into ways to regenerate my brain and hopefully improve my memory. After all, the brain is a bit like a muscle, and with persistence and continual work, it should be able to regenerate.

  Eventually, Clint Greenshields, whom I’d played NRL against, heard about my quest to improve my memory and got in contact. When I met up with Clint, he talked to me about brain neurophysics therapy and how it had been used successfully to retrain the neural pathways in the brain in order to regenerate the brain and memory. Clint then put me in touch with a man named Frank Cuiuli, who runs a neurophysics practice in Sydney called PIVOT.

  During an appointment with Frank, he told me about the stresses athletes put on their bodies and, as in my case, brains. He explained how he prescribes specific exercises to help clear neurological pathways

  Like all things in my life, I stay present, learn from each situation and continue to build.

  and create new ones to get messages to the brain. In essence, Frank said that though we can’t undo existing damage to the brain, we can help the brain create new neural pathways in order for the messages to get through.

  I decided to give the therapy a go and, after a short but intense forty-minute session, I walked away more hopeful about regaining my memory than I had been in a long time. The first thing I noticed was that I had more physical freedom in my head and felt mentally great.

  Over the next few days, I paid particular attention to things I was doing and how I was feeling. I still felt mentally well, but that may have been due to some extra cardio and running I was doing. It was about three weeks after the initial consultation that I began to notice some improvements in my memory, just small things that some people might consider as minor, but for me they were major progress. It felt like my brain was beginning to regenerate.

  I am taking things slowly, and although there is progression, there have been setbacks; but like all things in my life, I stay present, learn from each situation and continue to build.

  There is a long way to go, but a small start is better than no start.

  20

  TOWARDS A BRIGHTER FUTURE, ONE STEP AT A TIME

  Over the past few years, many people have told me that the work I do is courageous. My response is always that anyone can be courageous. I’m only trying to normalise the conversation about mental health and wellness in order to try to prevent suicide. We need to talk about our tough times. And anyone who does so is courageous, and they should be supported and encouraged.

  In 2017, it was my turn to be supported and encouraged when I was named a finalist for the Anthony Mundine Courage Award within the National Indigenous Human Rights Awards. To be nominated and then named as a finalist in an impressive field of people was humbling enough. But after hearing the achievements of each finalist, I realised everyone there was already a winner.

  The amazing Professor Chris Sarra, founder of the Stronger Smarter Institute, which works to deliver hope and better outcomes for Indigenous students, ended up taking out the award, a fantastic result. Another finalist for the award was Clinton Pryor, a Wajuk, Balardung, Kija and Yulparitja man from Western Australia. In late 2016, Clinton had set off on a walk for justice for his people. He started out from his home city of Perth and walked right across Australia to Canberra to raise awareness of the forced closure of remote Aboriginal communities by the Western Australian government and to meet with politicians to discuss the matter, as well as all the other concerns he’d gathered on his journey.

  I’m a keen advocate for equality, and I’ve written briefly about injustice in this book. A big part of giving back is helping to empower others to achieve their dreams or goals. So, on a chilly winter’s evening, I met up with Clinton to put my support behind his journey. We walked together for two days, covering approximately 70 kilometres. My time with Clinton was very special to me. We talked a lot about his journey and the fight Indigenous people have in and on our own country. We spoke about connectedness, family and our shared love for the land and culture.

  Joining Clinton’s walk was my way of giving back. I felt I could help his effort by spreading the word among a big non-Indigenous crowd, and it worked — Clinton and I did a live Facebook video that reached more than 15,000 people.

  Walking with brother Clinton Pryor into Canberra.

  Clinton’s walk gained momentum as he crossed the country, sharing his story and his dreams with many, far and wide. I am thankful to have played a tiny part in that journey. Clinton hit Canberra in early September to meet with politicians, and I walked right alongside him. Together we danced around the sacred fire at the Aboriginal Tent Embassy.

  There are still times when I feel suicidal and have to hang on to staying alive. Even recently, I was driving down the highway with Courtney and our child Ari in the car, when the thoughts of killing myself became loud and vivid. They were telling me to swerve into an oncoming car because my life was not worth living. Now, though, when I encounter these voices and thoughts, I ask myself: is the voice or thought talking to me real or not? It doesn’t make things any easier, but if I ask myself that question it gives me time to sit back and look at the situation again rather than take instantaneous action. By getting through those times, and overcoming these thoughts and voices telling me I am worthless and don’t deserve to live, I continue to build my resilience.

  The first time I told Courtney about these voices, and the example of the oncoming car, she was scared big time, especially given that she and Ari were with me. But Courtney always says encouraging words of support and asks me to tell the truth about how I am feeling. Kevin Hines, his wife Margaret, and the

  We need to talk about our tough times. And anyone who does so is courageous, and should be supported and encouraged.

  many friends I have in the mental health space are also there to listen when I need it the most.

  Mum and Dad are also great listeners and full of wise advice. So I feel like I have my support team around me.

  Then there are my kids. How do I fireproof my children against mental illness? What tools can I give them? I know the effect bipolar disorder has had on me and those around me. If I’d had a chance to find out about it when I was younger, I could have learned the skills I needed to stay well or get help when I wasn’t. It would have saved me quite a bit of confusion and hurt.

  So I want to educate my children about the stigma of mental illness and the importance of normalising the

  Now, though, when I encounter these voices and thoughts, I ask myself: is the voice or thought talking to me real or not?

  conversation, to encourage them to reach out and ask me for help if they ever feel down or mentally unwell.

  Recently, I started that conversation with my eldest son, Brodi, when we sat down for a heart to heart. I began by easing my way into the conversation, talking about feelings and the ups and downs of life. Then I told him about the work I do to help people who may have a mental illness, or to explain to people what it’s like to have a mental illness and that it can affect anyone. I told him about some of the experiences I’d had talking in communities in Australia and in America.

  Then, when I felt that Brodi was ready, I said: ‘Son, did you know that in 2012, Dad had a suicide attempt?’ I explained how I was feeling and told him it was nobody’s fault and I didn’t blame anyone for the way I was feeling.

  ‘Yeah, I had some idea,’ Brodi said. ‘I didn’t know what you did, but knowing the work you do now and seeing you in that film, I thought that might have been what happened. I didn’t bring it up because it’s too sad.’

  We kept chatting away for about ten more minutes. After convincing Brodi that I’d be around a lot longer and I wouldn’t be attempting to take my own life again, I started to speak about how there is

  How do I fireproof my children against mental illness? What tools can I give them?

  a chance my illness may b
e hereditary and that he should learn about it a little as he grew older.

  The conversation ended on a positive note, as we talked about feelings and the best way we could support each other if we were not mentally well.

  I might receive criticism for having this talk with Brodi at such a tender age, but I know how much I would have benefited if someone had told me about mental illness when I was young.

  The time will come when I’ll need to have the same conversation with Phoenix, Rome, Ari and my youngest daughter Franki. Until then, I’ll continue to encourage all of my kids to express their feelings to me or others close to them. I always talk of the importance of expressing feelings when we aren’t

  I know that when it comes to explaining mental illness, it won’t be a case of one fits all.

  well, and I will continue to educate them about this topic until they’re old enough to search and learn more themselves.

  Each of my children has a unique personality, so I know that when it comes to explaining mental illness, it won’t be a case of one size fits all. But I will be able to give them the right tools to deal with mental illness personally or when they are dealing with others.

  Because they may learn something that saves a life — theirs or someone else’s. And what can be more important than that?

  21

  CHOOSING A POSITIVE LIFE

  If I’d made other choices in my life, I could have ended up on a very different path to the one I’m now on. But as I sit and ponder the what-could-have-beens in my life, as silly as it sounds, I’m thankful for every knock, put-down, setback and break-up that I’ve ever had. Because everything I’ve experienced has played a part in who I am today — even my attempted suicide. This isn’t all down to luck, I believe, but also down to having the energy and desire to create a positive life for my loved ones and for others.