Matt Smith (Leichhardt, Australian Labor Party) Share this | Hansard source

I rise today to speak on the statement made by the Assistant Minister for Mental Health and Suicide Prevention about Mental Health Month. Unlike the days when people were derided when something was wrong with them, I am proud that we are here today in this place speaking about mental health. Not long ago in the chamber, I read a speech from a young leader in our community in Leichhardt, Claudia, about the desperate situation facing many young people in regional areas.

The situation is even more desperate in our remote and rural communities, where regular mental health services are essentially non-existent. The Mental Health Month theme this year is 'taking steps on your wellbeing journey'. It is a journey many of us know, and I'm sure we all know someone who has suffered through dark times. Hopefully, we know someone who has pulled through. Sadly, though, some don't make it out of the darkness, and I am not immune. My life from an outside perspective was fairly blessed. I was playing professional sport and had a family. Things were going well. Basketball was taken away from me. Age, talent—whatever it might have been. I was no longer required. Basketball had provided me with an identity, a structure, an understanding of my place in the world, a bubble. From 16 to 30, all I had to think about was that. People looked after my medical needs. They looked after my rent, my houses. People booked holidays for me. I had no life skills. I could not operate in the real world. When that safety net was removed from me, I crashed. I didn't know where to turn for help. The hypermasculine version of professional sport tells you to harden up, tells you to square your shoulders and take the hit, tells you to keep moving forward. No matter how hard I would try to live by that ethos, I drowned. I got further and further down.

I required intervention from people that loved me—from my friends, from my former teammates, from my family. They had to find ways to bring me back. It was not a journey that I could take alone. I wasn't strong enough, and it wasn't a question of strength. It was a question of fatigue. People think that mental health and depression is sad all the time. It's not. It's numbness. It's blankness. It's fear. It's panic. It's heavy and it's exhausting. It is not something that people should try to face alone. And I am glad—thrilled, even—that we are able to take these steps as a parliament, as leaders to say to our communities: 'It is okay. Things aren't always going to be linear. Things aren't always going to go in a straight line. Things aren't always going to be great. But there are people and services out there that can help you. There are people who love you, who want to see you be your best again, and, with a bit of hard work, you can be.

You might not get back to where you were. I am not the same person that I was as a basketballer. I am better, more empathetic. I understand myself more. It was a journey I don't wish on somebody else, but was a journey that I needed to take, and I wouldn't be standing here without the love and the support and the help of external forces. That's the thing that buries people: they think they have to take it on alone. That's why I'm proud to be a part of this government that is rolling out more help for mental health, because people don't have to do this alone. It can get isolating and you can feel trapped.

Part of this is obviously the $1.1 billion mental health package, the single biggest investment in mental health services, delivering more support and care in communities, backed by Medicare. Speaking to GPs, we know that most presentations these days—somewhere around 70 per cent in my area—are related to mental health and mental health issues. My region was rocked. COVID was very difficult for a service and tourism based economy. The subsequent natural disasters have been difficult as well. Entire communities—Wujal Wujal was displaced, sending elders to different parts of the region, taking away that connection to community, making children go to school in places they weren't familiar. Mossman was cut off for weeks. People went stir-crazy. It was difficult. My region has suffered, and that's why we're doing things like opening the mental health urgent care clinic. We're doing the things that matter on the ground to provide the services that people need so that they know that, when things get rough, they can reach out. Sometimes it's a whole community.

The free walk-in care with extended hours with no referral or appointment is a game changer. Sometimes it can be hard to get a GP. Sometimes it can be hard to take that step, to make that phone call, to have that appointment. But, if you can walk in and go, 'I need help,' and know that there's someone there that is trained, capable and empathetic to help you, that will save lives. Absolutely, it will. A multidisciplinary team, whether you need psychology, a psychiatric intervention or some social work, will be there for you in a Medicare mental health clinic.

But it's not just the mental health clinics. For new and expecting parents, we're partnering with the Gidget Foundation to open 20 perinatal mental health centres. Changes in life bring struggles. Children, as I've discovered twice, change things fairly dramatically. If you are unprepared for this, you can start to struggle. You can start to drown. Birth, pregnancy, menopause and perimenopause can play games hormonally with women, sometimes making mental health more and more critical. This is why places like the Gidget Foundation exist. They offer vital care. And it's not just women. One in 10 men also experience mental health issues upon the birth of a child. I experienced less sleep; I was one of the lucky ones.

For children aged nought to 12 and their families, we're opening 17 Medicare mental health kids hubs in partnership with state and territory governments. We are finding that mental health issues are impacting younger and younger children, which is why the social media ban for under-16s is so important. Let our kids be kids. Let them frolic outside, the way people my age did when we were younger. Let them have a break. If school is hard with a device, school can follow you home. Without a device, you would be safe and free. We are giving this back to the children of Australia.

For young Australians aged 12 to 25, we're strengthening the headspace centres, including in my own region. When headspace was first introduced 20 years ago, one in five young people experienced mental health distress in any 12-month period. That has now doubled to two in five. We can't pretend that the advent of social media or that COVID didn't change the way our young people see the world, which is why we're opening 58 new expanded headspace services across the country. That will be 203 services understanding the unique challenges and pressures of young people.

For those of us who remember that 18 to 25 range, there is a lot of potential and a lot of hope, but there's also a lot of pressure. Pressure comes from family. Pressure comes from external sources—from university or from work. You're an adult, but you're not quite there. Certain things are expected of you, but you're not quite understanding it. It's hard and you can get lost. But headspace is designed specifically to cater to the young, for their needs.

Mental health is not a 'one size fits all' approach. Different stages of your life will require different types of help. Sometimes it will be peer support. Sometimes it might be a clinical intervention. These packages make sure that the full gamut is taken care of so that a broad brush is not used and we watch people slip through the cracks—because it is about people. It's wives, daughters, husbands, fathers, cousins and brothers. Every mental health illness brings a cost to those around them. By providing this support, we strengthen families, we strengthen people and we strengthen our country. I am very, very proud to be a part of this. My own struggles notwithstanding, this makes Australia better.

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