My name’s Naomi Graham, and I somehow got involved in an outdoor, roving community play called The Bridge, at Allwood Neighbourhood House in Hurstbridge.
It was a local history project to help tell the story of Henry Hurst, the town’s namesake, who was sadly shot by a bushranger one morning. It’s an amazing story about miscommunication and prejudice between the English and Irish settlers in our area.
I loved the idea of a community-based play celebrating our history in Hurstbridge and local stories.
I’d never done anything like this before, so it was a little bit out of my comfort zone. But I liked the idea of pushing myself and just seeing where it took me.
At first I thought, “I’ll just come along to the first rehearsal. It’ll be fun to be involved.”
We could be involved in any aspect we wanted, and because I lack confidence a little bit, I thought I could just help with props.
“I can needle felt the judge’s wig,” I offered.
It was something I could work on at home and still make a contribution to the play.
But then I came to the first meeting and met everybody, and it was just such a warm, inviting, inclusive atmosphere. I thought, I would really like to be more involved with this.
The play producers asked if I wanted to be a newspaper seller.
I was like, “Okay… I don’t know many lines. I’ve never done acting before.”
They said, “It’s fine. You just have one line.”
It was meant to be, “Extra! Extra! Read all about it!”
I thought, I can remember that.
Then that evolved into about three lines.
And then suddenly we needed a stage manager.
I thought, well I’m naturally a little bit bossy. I think it’s the autism. So I was like, “Yeah, look, I’ll just give it a go.”
It turned out really great. It was nice to be able to “value add”, as my mum says.
It was challenging. We had some challenging conditions on the dress rehearsal and first performance – stormy weather, lost props in the dark, trying to find lost items between acts – but I think we pulled it off really well in the end.
***
One thing I often struggle with personally is a sense of connection. That’s something I truly struggle with.
I have this want to be part of things, to be part of community, to be useful and included. But because of my disability, I struggle with that a little bit. I’ve also had a lot of confidence issues because I had a really, really hard childhood.
My childhood was quite unique. I grew up in the 80s on an isolated rural bush block, with early solar. We relied on foraging and hunting or fishing to supplement our meals. My older sister left home when I was five, so I spent most of my time alone in the bush exploring the creeks and granite boulders, observing nature and often getting lost in a book or my imagination.
Both my home and school life were quite challenging. As a sensitive and artistic kid, I struggled to feel a sense of safety or belonging.
I was bullied every day, physically and emotionally, and excluded from participating because I was seen as “weird”. I was told this was my fault for not being more likeable, or standing up for myself.
This affected my mental health and self-esteem from a very early age, and I have had to teach myself to accept and embrace my differences, and be kind to myself, even when others are not.
As a teenager, after a particularly nasty physical assault at school, I decided to switch to correspondence school, and luckily this was a chance at a fresh start. I quickly made friends with other isolated students, some who are still close friends today.
Thirty years later, I would come to learn I was Autistic, and ADHD, as well as having PTSD, anxiety and depression.
Suddenly the challenges I faced started to make sense, and through having proper context, I was able to challenge some of the labels and stories people had projected onto younger me.
I realised those experiences didn’t define me, but they did shape me into someone who values kindness, and respect and community.
Everyone deserves safety.
***
It was hard for me to have the confidence to put my hand up or put myself out there.
The Bridge was a way for me to be involved with a lot of people I didn’t know, in a situation I had never been in before – but somehow, in the end, it was quite easy for me to do that.
I felt like it was okay to explore and play.
You didn’t have to be perfect. You didn’t have to know exactly what you were doing. You could just try your best.
And that’s sometimes when the magic happens, I think.
Living with disability can be tough because you have to juggle what you want to do with what you can do, and sometimes it’s hard to know when you can push the boundaries and when you need to rest.
It’s wonderful to learn you have the ability to surprise yourself, and set yourself challenges. And it’s great to be able to do that in a safe, inclusive space where everyone is in it together and supporting each other in a kind and accepting way.
It was really good for my confidence.
I told people what I was doing and they were like, “You’re doing what? Wow. How did you do that?”
And I’m like, “I don’t know!”
It just happened organically.
I think that’s really a testament to Allwood Neighbourhood House, because a lot of places can feel a little bit exclusive, and that wasn’t the case at all.
I loved that, because that’s not my vibe at all.
Being someone who was always excluded, I like the idea of somewhere people can just come and be themselves and it’s okay.
There’s a place for everyone.
***
As someone who didn’t have a lot of connection to community, or a lot of opportunities to connect, it was a really wonderful outlet – almost a doorway into meeting new people and being involved with such a great community like Hurstbridge, because it’s a lovely place.
My closest neighbourhood house is Reservoir, but I’ve only been there a few times, a few years ago, for some free food when I was struggling to make ends meet.
Allwood is my first neighbourhood house where I’ve volunteered, and I think it’s an incredibly vital and welcoming place.
As soon as the play was over, there was this sense of, Oh, phew. It’s over.
And then I was like, Oh. It’s over…
I want to do it again.
Maybe I’m a masochist.
Maybe I’ll expand my repertoire to five lines next time rather than three. Who knows?
I don’t think I’ll needle felt another wig, that’s for sure! They’re going to have to recycle that one.
But it’s been really lovely to try something outside the box of what you think you can do.
I think as people in general, as women, and as someone who has a disability, often you put limits on yourself. You don’t give yourself permission.
I struggle sometimes with being perceived – How am I coming across? Am I being weird? – and that can limit your ability to open up and connect.
So it was really nice to forget that and be involved in a group where it doesn’t really matter if you’re a little bit weird.
We need you to be weird.
It adds a little bit of colour, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
It feels like you’re outside of yourself a little bit – outside of your own head – and you’re less self-conscious.
I think that’s a big step for me.
Because of the start in life I had, I didn’t really get opportunities to do this in my own small-town community.
So this is almost like me reliving my teenage dreams of being a theatre kid.
I’m just a couple of decades too late.
But it’s never too late to play.
***
I think a lot of adults don’t allow themselves to do that. Creative folk need creative outlets. Adults and young people need to know that it’s okay to play.
It’s okay to test the boundaries and see what happens.
Now, I’m learning that these experiences can teach us a lot about ourselves, the resilience we build, and that what matters most is the intention of your heart, and being authentic rather than trying to please everyone in the hope that they might like you.
Try to find people who will like and value you for who you are, and who make you feel safe to be yourself.
To me, that is true community, and true belonging.
It was a local history project to help tell the story of Henry Hurst, the town’s namesake, who was sadly shot by a bushranger one morning. It’s an amazing story about miscommunication and prejudice between the English and Irish settlers in our area.
I loved the idea of a community-based play celebrating our history in Hurstbridge and local stories.
I’d never done anything like this before, so it was a little bit out of my comfort zone. But I liked the idea of pushing myself and just seeing where it took me.
At first I thought, “I’ll just come along to the first rehearsal. It’ll be fun to be involved.”
We could be involved in any aspect we wanted, and because I lack confidence a little bit, I thought I could just help with props.
“I can needle felt the judge’s wig,” I offered.
It was something I could work on at home and still make a contribution to the play.
But then I came to the first meeting and met everybody, and it was just such a warm, inviting, inclusive atmosphere. I thought, I would really like to be more involved with this.
The play producers asked if I wanted to be a newspaper seller.
I was like, “Okay… I don’t know many lines. I’ve never done acting before.”
They said, “It’s fine. You just have one line.”
It was meant to be, “Extra! Extra! Read all about it!”
I thought, I can remember that.
Then that evolved into about three lines.
And then suddenly we needed a stage manager.
I thought, well I’m naturally a little bit bossy. I think it’s the autism. So I was like, “Yeah, look, I’ll just give it a go.”
It turned out really great. It was nice to be able to “value add”, as my mum says.
It was challenging. We had some challenging conditions on the dress rehearsal and first performance – stormy weather, lost props in the dark, trying to find lost items between acts – but I think we pulled it off really well in the end.
***
One thing I often struggle with personally is a sense of connection. That’s something I truly struggle with.
I have this want to be part of things, to be part of community, to be useful and included. But because of my disability, I struggle with that a little bit. I’ve also had a lot of confidence issues because I had a really, really hard childhood.
My childhood was quite unique. I grew up in the 80s on an isolated rural bush block, with early solar. We relied on foraging and hunting or fishing to supplement our meals. My older sister left home when I was five, so I spent most of my time alone in the bush exploring the creeks and granite boulders, observing nature and often getting lost in a book or my imagination.
Both my home and school life were quite challenging. As a sensitive and artistic kid, I struggled to feel a sense of safety or belonging.
I was bullied every day, physically and emotionally, and excluded from participating because I was seen as “weird”. I was told this was my fault for not being more likeable, or standing up for myself.
This affected my mental health and self-esteem from a very early age, and I have had to teach myself to accept and embrace my differences, and be kind to myself, even when others are not.
As a teenager, after a particularly nasty physical assault at school, I decided to switch to correspondence school, and luckily this was a chance at a fresh start. I quickly made friends with other isolated students, some who are still close friends today.
Thirty years later, I would come to learn I was Autistic, and ADHD, as well as having PTSD, anxiety and depression.
Suddenly the challenges I faced started to make sense, and through having proper context, I was able to challenge some of the labels and stories people had projected onto younger me.
I realised those experiences didn’t define me, but they did shape me into someone who values kindness, and respect and community.
Everyone deserves safety.
***
It was hard for me to have the confidence to put my hand up or put myself out there.
The Bridge was a way for me to be involved with a lot of people I didn’t know, in a situation I had never been in before – but somehow, in the end, it was quite easy for me to do that.
I felt like it was okay to explore and play.
You didn’t have to be perfect. You didn’t have to know exactly what you were doing. You could just try your best.
And that’s sometimes when the magic happens, I think.
Living with disability can be tough because you have to juggle what you want to do with what you can do, and sometimes it’s hard to know when you can push the boundaries and when you need to rest.
It’s wonderful to learn you have the ability to surprise yourself, and set yourself challenges. And it’s great to be able to do that in a safe, inclusive space where everyone is in it together and supporting each other in a kind and accepting way.
It was really good for my confidence.
I told people what I was doing and they were like, “You’re doing what? Wow. How did you do that?”
And I’m like, “I don’t know!”
It just happened organically.
I think that’s really a testament to Allwood Neighbourhood House, because a lot of places can feel a little bit exclusive, and that wasn’t the case at all.
I loved that, because that’s not my vibe at all.
Being someone who was always excluded, I like the idea of somewhere people can just come and be themselves and it’s okay.
There’s a place for everyone.
***
As someone who didn’t have a lot of connection to community, or a lot of opportunities to connect, it was a really wonderful outlet – almost a doorway into meeting new people and being involved with such a great community like Hurstbridge, because it’s a lovely place.
My closest neighbourhood house is Reservoir, but I’ve only been there a few times, a few years ago, for some free food when I was struggling to make ends meet.
Allwood is my first neighbourhood house where I’ve volunteered, and I think it’s an incredibly vital and welcoming place.
As soon as the play was over, there was this sense of, Oh, phew. It’s over.
And then I was like, Oh. It’s over…
I want to do it again.
Maybe I’m a masochist.
Maybe I’ll expand my repertoire to five lines next time rather than three. Who knows?
I don’t think I’ll needle felt another wig, that’s for sure! They’re going to have to recycle that one.
But it’s been really lovely to try something outside the box of what you think you can do.
I think as people in general, as women, and as someone who has a disability, often you put limits on yourself. You don’t give yourself permission.
I struggle sometimes with being perceived – How am I coming across? Am I being weird? – and that can limit your ability to open up and connect.
So it was really nice to forget that and be involved in a group where it doesn’t really matter if you’re a little bit weird.
We need you to be weird.
It adds a little bit of colour, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
It feels like you’re outside of yourself a little bit – outside of your own head – and you’re less self-conscious.
I think that’s a big step for me.
Because of the start in life I had, I didn’t really get opportunities to do this in my own small-town community.
So this is almost like me reliving my teenage dreams of being a theatre kid.
I’m just a couple of decades too late.
But it’s never too late to play.
***
I think a lot of adults don’t allow themselves to do that. Creative folk need creative outlets. Adults and young people need to know that it’s okay to play.
It’s okay to test the boundaries and see what happens.
Now, I’m learning that these experiences can teach us a lot about ourselves, the resilience we build, and that what matters most is the intention of your heart, and being authentic rather than trying to please everyone in the hope that they might like you.
Try to find people who will like and value you for who you are, and who make you feel safe to be yourself.
To me, that is true community, and true belonging.
