Straight talk about body parts and a no-secrets policy can protect young kids without scaring them
We can arm kids with knowledge that might save them from being victimized.
We can arm kids with knowledge that might save them from being victimized.
Sexual abuse is any form of sexual violence, including rape, child molestation, incest, and similar forms of non-consensual sexual contact. Most sexual abuse experts agree sexual abuse is never only about sex. Instead, it is often an attempt to gain power over others.
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Frank Valentine was a long-serving officer of the old Child Welfare Department. He joined the public service back in the days when training was done ‘on the job’. A university degree was not needed. So Valentine learned his craft from all the drop-outs, perverts and sadists who had inhabited Child Welfare for decades.
It was a time when children were not believed. And dobbing-in a colleague was frowned upon. This was especially true about ‘unwanted’ children in State care; they were considered to be the product of inept parents, who had to be contained in institutions lest they infect polite society with the rebelliousness and bad attitudes they had learned from years of poor breeding.
Valentine was dogged with serious complaints throughout his career. But he dodged the bullet every time. Everything from a Public Service Board disciplinary hearing to criminal charges. He walked away from it all. There were no criminal convictions. ‘Lady Luck’ seemed to be on his side. He must have felt invincible.
And most of all, Valentine always denied the accusations.
He still does.
But his luck ran out this year, 2019. He was convicted of raping multiple victims when they were children placed in his care. Boys and girls. He convinced his wife and his grown children he was innocent. He sold the family home to pay for his legal fees. Over fifty witnesses spoke to the police. But no matter how many complaints there were, Valentine stood his ground. He refused to give up his dark secret. He and his family have chosen to live in denial of the truth.
Justice Nicole Noman saw right through him. She sentenced him to 22 years and 3 months in jail. He will serve at least 13 years. But that’s unlikely as he is old and sick. It seems he will die in jail. His doctors give him just over a year to live.
Frank Valentine has ruined the lives of scores of people. He has destroyed his wife’s life and the lives of his children and grandchildren. His children will have no inheritance. The disgrace and stigma of being a convicted paedophile will attach to his widow and their children and his future generations, like a long dark shadow. There will be no escaping that in the age of the internet. There is nowhere to hide.
Valentine’s former work colleague Max Morrisey spoke to the Newcastle Herald and said this…
“I have no doubt there are other victims out there. I would say to them, now that it’s known Frank was a sexual predator, seek help. It’s not too late to be able to be more at peace about what happened.”
We know there are more victims from Valentine’s stint at Daruk. That institution was featured this year on 60 Minutes.
Valentine was sent to Daruk by the Public Service Board disciplinary committee – a place where young boys were physically and sexually abused so frequently the local hospital helped cover up the visits from the children – it was a final chance for Valentine to straighten up his act.
But that was never going to happen.
Daruk would’ve been like a smorgasbord for a sexual predator with evil running through his veins.
After Daruk he went to Wagga Wagga to case-manage State Wards. There he took a young ward, Steve Sibraa into his home against all the rules. He molested him. Steve went to the police and Valentine copped his first criminal prosecution. But he was acquitted in 1986 back in the day when children in care were not believed against the word of a Child Welfare officer.
Valentine not only kept his job but he was ultimately promoted to second in charge of the Hunter Region despite his history of serious institutional child abuse allegations.
The complaints followed him to Yawarra Training School in Kurri Kurri -there it was alleged he sexually abused 15-year-old detainee Jeffrey Dean Smith. Valentine was charged for the second time. But the charges had to be dropped when young Jeffrey took his own life on Father’s Day in 1988, just days before the trial started. Valentine returned to his senior position with the Department and got on with his life.
Some will blame themselves. As a victim myself, I am telling you – it is not your fault that you were abused.
This man was evil. And he has been able to get away with it till now.
The game-changer for Valentine was Justice Peter McClellan’s Child Abuse Royal Commission.
In 2014 he failed to show up on subpoena at the Royal Commission hearing in 2014 claiming poor health. He sent a barrister to badger and cross-examine his victims, alleging they were mistaken and had named the wrong man. His barrister told the Royal Commission he was a whistle-blower who had the children’s interests at heart. There were audible gasps in the hearing room.
Justice McClellan referred Valentine to NSW Police for full investigation. The rest is history.
If you were abused while in an institution, the time to come forward is now. We will be with you every step of the way. Don’t hang onto this any longer. Talk to me about it.
Image source: Daily Telegraph
Two former teachers have been charged with failing to report child sex abuse.
— Read on www.scotsman.com/
May 9, 2019 1:10am Kay DibbenThe Courier-Mail
THE JURY in the trial of a former Brisbane Boys College science teacher charged with indecent treatment of a male student more than 20 years ago has been discharged.
Brisbane District Court Judge Nicole Kefford made the decision after a juror was unable to attend court for the second and third days of the trial of Nicholas Frederick Lloyd.
Lloyd had pleaded not guilty to indecently dealing with a child under 16, who was in his care at Brisbane Boys College at Toowong in the 1990s.
Discharging the jury today, Judge Kefford told the jurors there was also an issue about witness availability.
Crown prosecutor Toby Corsbie had closed the Crown case on Tuesday, after the alleged victim, his mother, two former BBC students, a former principal and a police officer had given evidence.
The trial did not go ahead on Wednesday, the second day, because of a sick juror.
Judge Kefford adjourned the case until May 15, for discussion about a new trial date
Juliette Virzi • FollowOctober 31, 2018
It has been said that “no one escapes childhood unscathed.” But sayings like these can have an especially significant meaning for a person who was abused as a child. Unfortunately the effects of childhood abuse don’t usually stay confined to childhood — they often reach into our experience of adulthood.
Maybe your experience growing up with abuse left you with a steady internal monologue of not good enough, not good enough, not good enough whenever you try to accomplish a task. Maybe the only way you can fall asleep is if you rock yourself to sleep — literally rocking back and forth on your bed. Or maybe you experience intense internal shame that no one sees behind the smile you plaster on your face every day.
We wanted to know what “hidden” habits people who were abused as kids have now as adults, so we asked our Mighty community to share their experiences with us.
No matter what your experience of childhood abuse was, it is important to remember you are never alone and there is help available. If you need support right now, reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741741.
Here’s what our community had to say:
“I rock myself back and forth to sleep every night. I can’t stop myself from doing it unless I concentrate really hard.” — Vade M.
“I sleep in [the] fetal position every night. I rock back and forth when I get too emotional. I run at any sign of yelling or raising of the voice. When someone cusses at me, I get defensive and angry.” — Leo G.
“I hide food. It sounds ridiculous but I have random stashes of canned food spread throughout my house in the most ridiculous places. I always got shamed for being hungry and fighting for food was commonplace in my house because my parents thought a dinner meant for two people could feed their two growing kids as well as themselves. If I didn’t get much dinner to eat then, ‘Oh well, better luck next time.’ So when I got a little older, I got smarter about stockpiling cans of tuna and soup to eat with the money I made from walking other people’s dogs. It wasn’t too bad then, but it’s still prevalent in my life 14 years later whenever I go grocery shopping.” — Ai L.
“Biting and chewing at the inside of my cheek until it bleeds. I’ve also developed a bad habit of picking until I create holes in my feet.” — Patience A.
“I shake my leg and/or fidget with my skin, sometimes causing small sores.” — Princess K.
“I carry a special pillowcase with me wherever I go. It’s my security blanket. I can’t go anywhere without it. I will play with seams with it in my purse and it’s weird that my hand hangs out in my purse all the time but it’s how I handle my anxiety and my flashbacks and just life.” — Kimberly L.
“I have a really hard time with people walking up behind me. I always have to have an escape plan, and I hate being cornered or my movement restricted in any way. I was chased and cornered a lot as a child, so it’s very triggering. I also struggle with physical contact, especially when I don’t initiate it.” — Shalene R.
“I always know where every exit and possible hiding place is in a room. It’s the first thing I look for in a new place.” — Jenn S.
“I’m 37 years old with six imaginary friends. One is a comforting mother to me, and three are parts of little girl me at different traumas in my life that I comfort, as if someone was comforting me during those traumas.” — T B.
“Not eating much when I’m around people, then sneaking and stealing food later. One parent was lenient with what I ate so the other one made up for it by trying to ‘keep me healthy.’ Doesn’t help that the first one was always trying to lose weight and not hiding it.” — Sadie B.
“I sleep with a flashlight always on my bed or constantly in reach of my bed ( so I can see what’s coming if I hear any noise or footsteps). I’ve been doing this since I was 3 years old and never felt safe.” — Linda C.
“I was taught as a child to lie. I was forced to lie to cover my abuser, I was forced to lie by my mother to cover the fact that she didn’t protect me, I was forced to lie by my school system because they didn’t zero in on the fact I was being signed out by my abuser once a week so he could abuse me on his schedule. As an adult, I feel compelled to lie to protect people I shouldn’t have to. It’s an everlasting revolving door.” — Jammie G.
“I started to believe I was only an object. I let people use me because I thought that was what I was supposed to do — especially men. I felt I was supposed to have sex when they wanted to, not when I was ready.” — Maria M.
“I get shameful and feel dirty if I enjoy sex.” — Debbie C.
“[I] couldn’t say no to sexually pleasing others, even if I didn’t want it.” — Miranda D.
“I often feel responsible for how other people feel. I feel guilty when others feel bad, even when the situation has nothing to do with me. I sacrifice my own needs in order to make others feel good.” — Kaitlyn L.
“I feel responsible for other’s feelings and their state in life. Like it’s my responsibility alone to make sure their bills are paid etc. I also adopt animals, and most recently learned that it’s probably because animals don’t withhold affection when they are ‘upset’ with you.” — Summer S.
“I am hyper-aware of my surroundings and find it hard to relax and just be. Sometimes I find myself in a fight-or-flight mode, even if I know I’m safe.” — Anthea V.
“I’m too afraid to tell people what’s wrong or ask for help. The first time I went to my mother about an issue (I was being bullied in school), she told me to deal with it myself. As a result, I’ve just allowed things to build up because I’m so afraid I’ll be rejected, that I may as well keep it to myself.” — Veronica S.
“I’m hypervigilant. Physical touch isn’t something I do easily, [and I’m] always looking for exits. I size people up, look for physical vulnerability, [have] strong boundaries [and] over-protect my children. That translates to an overly ‘hermitty’ existence, but I’m not complaining.” —Yoli T.
“Hypervigilance 24/7. It’s helped in some of the jobs I’ve had where you need to be on alert, to mask the true source of my hypervigilance. Being overwhelmed and exhausted and needing time to recharge my batteries after going out with friends. I love to be around people, like going to concerts and stuff, but it takes a few days for me to recover from the sensory overload. Insomnia I’ve learned to just accept is part of my life now.” — Jason T.
“I push people away when they get close to me. I push people away when I get in fights with people. I am reactive. Negative self-talk. I feel guilty a lot.” — Ryan C.
“When I’m alone I tell myself I deserve to live, that I deserve to be happy. It’s a struggle every day. I still have suicidal thoughts sometimes, but thankfully I have the most supportive group of people around me who love me. Without them I don’t know where I would be.” — Ginna B.
This video started with a conversation. In fact, it started with many private and professional conversations with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men who have been sexually abused about how difficult it was to speak about what happened to them as a child, about how their lives and relationships had been negatively impacted and about how isolated and alone they felt. The Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse has highlighted this over representation and sexual abuse of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children within government, community and church run institutions and the difficulties they face in being heard and accessing support.
Anthony Newcastle, Gordon Glenbar and I were discussing how to reach out and offer further support and encouragement to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men who have been sexually abused in childhood. Many of these men have said they will never speak publicly about what was done to them, they have said how difficult it is to access support, how they do not know who to trust and how they are unsure if healing is even possible. These men have also said how important the connection to community and country is for them and how the encouragement and support of fellow community members is particularly meaningful and important for them. —Gary Foster, Living Well.
A starting conversation with Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander men
by Anthony Newcastle, Natjul.com.
In late 2015, I met with Gordon Glenbar, an Aboriginal man working as a special projects officer for Link Up, supporting community members to engage with the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse, and Gary Foster from Anglicare: Living Well Service who works with men who had been sexually abused in childhood. Gordon and I have known each other a long time. We’ve always talked about our community, about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander families and about the ongoing challenges our communities face confronting the negative impacts of colonisation and resulting inter-generational traumas.
Gordon, Gary and I spoke together of how to raise awareness and offer support to Aboriginal and Torres Strait men who have been sexually abused in childhood. We spoke of how individuals, families and communities are so often struggling to cope and live life in the present that the subject of helping men sexually abused as children is not talked about. We discussed how difficult it was to raise this subject, how the men themselves struggled to talk about it. We acknowledged the importance of qualified and connected individuals and organisations to lead discussions and negotiate community workshops and the extensive work done by many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women in addressing sexual violence. We also discussed how important it was for local Aboriginal men to take responsibility to start supportive conversations with Aboriginal men and their communities about this issue.
Every second Sunday I run ‘Didgeri’ at an inner city park in Brisbane. Didgeri is an Aboriginal men’s didgeridoo group. Didgeri has between 9 and 15 men. Didgeri is a place or gathering where we as Aboriginal men can come along and learn the didgeridoo as a way to connect or re-connect with culture and heritage. It is also a place where we talk about community, identity, culture, about raising kids, dealing with anger, about family and about being a good dad or husband.
All the men who come along know they are welcome to bring a son or nephew, grand-son or friend. Didgeri is a place where Aboriginal men can build and enrich connection. No alcohol or drugs, no carry on or yukai. The boys and young men are encouraged to show respect to older men, to each other and to the purpose of the gathering. At times wives, mothers or grand-mothers do come along. They generally come to drop off family and say hello, but they don’t stay as part of Didgeri.
It was at Didgeri that I raised the idea of the men putting their voices to supporting men who had been sexually abused as children and now living with the consequences. We discussed the idea of us, as every day community members acting to help raise awareness and offer support.
On a couple of occasions I found myself standing with three or four other men, all leaning on our didgeridoos talking about what to do about this, and how to support the men and families who suffer as a result of this issue. We talked about community and organisational responses to women who have been sexually abused, and of the advocacy groups, which so rightly wrap around these. None of us could think of a group or advocacy organisation established for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men who were sexually abused as boys.
We talked about taboos and silences within the community. The idea of creating a video that makes a public statement addressing this issue started to sound important. It would be an expression of solidarity and support, by community members, for community members. It would be a way to start a conversation.
There was some talk about approaching well known footballers to see if they would like to participate. I’m happy now that talk lasted about 10 minutes before we moved on. Real happy. We had some quiet respectful discussion about who would be involved, we did not want the message being misunderstood, or not responded to, because we included men facing domestic violence charges or public nuisance charges. What was significant here was that ‘we as men’ from the community were talking about supporting men who had suffered sexual abuse as boys and young men – something we had not discussed before.
We talked about how men struggled, how many had attempted suicide, some dying. We talked about the guilt and pain many men carry about not being able to protect their friends, brothers and sisters from the abuser when they were children.
What became part of our discussions, is that by putting our voices and our images to this, we are giving voice to something that is almost silent, something almost invisible. We are saying silence is no longer OK. We want to lend our voices to acknowledge this as a challenge in the lives of men in our community. We very much wanted to offer support to families that are falling apart, where wives and children are seeing their husband and fathers become changed men because the demons from the past visit them late at night and torment them during their day.
We talked about how men found it difficult to talk with their families about why they are coming apart at the seams. Even though these men love their families dearly and would die without them, the taboo around this issue means it is difficult to speak about. Men do what men too often do. Push it down, ignore it, drink your way through it, yell at it, yell at others, feel ashamed, feel responsible, feel judged, feel alone, blame yourself, but don’t talk about it. As one man said:
“How the bloody hell do you talk about it anyway, and to whom?”
We want to find ways to talk about sexual abuse of males that invite participation. We want to communicate this in a way that invites empathy, understanding and respect, and says no more. Over the weeks we discussed how, if people aren’t talking about it, then nothing is being done. Some of our discussions had long pauses, or some changing of subject, before resuming. Some men stood in silence. We concluded that if nothing is being done about it and our brothers and our sisters lives are falling apart because of it, let’s do something.
We wanted to address the isolation and silence. We wanted to say,
“We know this happened to you and we are sorry it did. We want you to know that you are still our brother.”
We want to help address the fear of being judged and the feelings of shame. The shame is not yours to carry.
We talked about the importance of speaking, not just to men who have been sexually victimised, but to men and women across our communities.
Over the following weeks I rang, met with, and talked to about 20 people. All of the Didgeri group wanted to participate in some way. There were men who said straight away, “Yes, I want to support that and I will say it to camera.” Some said that they really wanted to offer support in some way, but because of family, work or how their involvement might be seen, they couldn’t be part of the video at present. There were men who said that although they felt for the fellas, they didn’t know if they could do it, as any talk of sexual abuse of children was hard for them to be around. Those who did not appear on camera, shook our hands and said, “Good on you for doing this.”
Eleven of us gathered in a studio at the 4BE Multi-cultural radio station at Kangaroo Point to record our bits. We decided that in the room we would have only the person speaking to camera, the camera operator and myself, in order to help people relax and feel comfortable. We wanted to remove any shame-job. But with eleven Aboriginal people together in the waiting room, among the chats and yarns, people talking about who their mob were, and where their people are from, as always, family reconnections were found. “Hey, your mob from Roma? Your uncle is George from that cattle station? That’s my uncle too, that’s my tribe, we cousins.”
As people felt more comfortable with each other, as personal connections were made and a feeling of being in this together came over the group, then people started pairing up, saying, “Do you mind if I do it with Wayne, because he my cousin and we never met before.”
Others would say things like, “Brother, I never done anything like this before, can you sit with me and do one together?”
Before we knew it everyone was in the room supporting each other with comments like, “Oh that sounded deadly (really good) what you said then sis.” Or, “You two fellas look and sound good there when you said that.”
Ownership had shifted. Now the participants were making suggestions and talking about how good a project this was to be involved with.
It was on this day in the studio that some of participants spoke of how personal this was for them, their families and community. This issue impacted on members of the Didgeri and had not been discussed before that day. The gathering became an opportunity to talk and make a difference. The mood in the room changed, embracing connection, listening, caring, sharing and laughing together, offering support and genuine regard.
Talk turned to, “When this being released, we going to get to see it before?” and, “Do you think we can do another one?”
It is now NAIDOC week and this Sunday afternoon we will have a first public showing of the video on a big screen at the Musgrave Park Cultural Centre in South Brisbane, where the guests of honour are the eleven people who participated, their families and friends. Over the weeks I have been constantly asked by those involved about when everyone gets to see the video.
This Sunday many of our Didgeri group will bring their didgeridoos and we will have our didgeridoo lesson aside before the video showing. My wife is making sandwiches, a curry and rice and some finger food. Gordon has been a constant source of encouragement and Gary has had almost boundless energy to keep pace, to bring this project together.
Now only days from the launch of our video I think about our first meetings (Gary, Gordon and I). I think of how appreciative I am of those individuals and organisations who work to address sexual violence and its impacts on our communities. I am however, particularly pleased that this project and these discussions happened in and amongst a group many would call grass roots. I am pleased that Aboriginal men and women stepped forward and put their face and voice to raising awareness and generating discussion that offers support to men who have been sexually abused in childhood, as well as their families. Community taking action and responsibility for community.
I was reminded of a discussion about suicide prevention and response I had with a 72 year old Aboriginal man on a remote Cape York community some years ago. When I asked him, “What can we do about this lack of counsellors and social workers and psychologists who can support people in remote places like this?” The old man said:
“When someone is finding it hard to live, we all know they might be finding it hard to live because we are a small town. Sometimes the best thing you can do for somebody else is go and see them, and sit on their porch and sit down and have a cup of tea with them. Even if you don’t know what to say about that thing that is a problem for them, you can still have a cup of tea with them. And they will know.”
–Anthony Newcastle, Natjul.com
We wish to express our appreciation to the men and women who have supported the development of the No More Silence: It’s Never Too Late to Start Healing video. This video reflects the power of everyday community members to make a difference.
We are only too aware of the profound impacts child sexual abuse can have on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander boys and men, girls and women and their communities:
Men sexually abused in childhood report multiple barriers to speaking about what happened and accessing support:
As well as hearing how difficult it is for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men to speak about childhood sexual abuse, we hear that the pressure not to talk increases the sense of isolation, and makes it difficult to get the help they deserve.
The video is designed as a conversation starter. Sharing the video is one way for community members to raise awareness and offer support, encouragement and hope to those who have been sexually abused in childhood. It sends a message to all those who have been sexually abused or sexually assaulted across Queensland and throughout Australia to say:
You’re not responsible for what happened to you as a child.
You are not alone.
The blame is not yours to carry.
The shame is not yours to carry.
Keep talking until you get the help you deserve.
Take care of yourself, you’re worth it.
It’s never too late to start healing.
Our hope is now to continue to develop this conversation and further improve responses to those who have been sexually abused.This ‘No more silence: It’s never too late to start healing’ video is part of a collection of resources developed in partnership with the Brisbane Didgeri Group and Natjul Performing Arts. Other videos in this series are ‘No straight lines: We all benefit from maps of life’s territories’ and ‘Support: Contributions to healing.’
If you are a man who has been sexually abused, or someone who cares about him, and you want more information and support. Check out the many support articles we have on the website:
As well as the Living Well resources you can find more information and support by contacting the below services.
A national telephone and online support, information and referral service for men with family and relationship concerns.
Phone 1300 78 99 78 (available 24/7)
Online counselling: https://mensline.org.au/want-to-talk/
Statewide Sexual Assault Helpline
Lists a range of support services across QLD.
Phone: 1800 010 120
24/7 telephone and online crisis counselling, information and referral for anyone in Australia who has experienced or been impacted by sexual assault, domestic or family violence. Staffed by trauma specialist counsellors.
Phone: 1800 737 732
Online Counselling: 1800respect.org.au/telephone-and-online-counselling
24 hour crisis support and suicide prevention.
Phone: 131 114
Link Up (QLD) Aboriginal Corporation
Provides counselling, healing and culturally appropriate support for indigenous Australians.
Phone: 1800 200 855
The Healing Foundation is a national Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander organisation with a focus on building culturally strong, community led healing solutions.
Phone: 02 6272 7500
Micah Projects Inc / Lotus Place (Find and Connect QLD)
Support and resource service for Forgotten Australians and former child migrants.
Phone: 1800 161 109
Relationships Australia QLD
Family, children and relationship counselling. Relationship Australia are committed to offering the best possible counselling, mediation, education and support services in a professional, relaxed and confidential environment.
Phone: 07 3423 6890
Phone: 1800 552 127
Specialist case management, counselling and telephone counselling for child and adult survivors, non-offending family members and friends. Services include counselling, support engaging with the Royal Commission, preparation of written statements, attending private sessions and public hearings.
Phone: 1800 272 831 (8am – 8pm AEST/AEDT, weekdays)
Blue Knot Foundation
(Formerly Adults Surviving Child Abuse – ASCA). National professional phone counselling, information and support for adult survivors of child abuse with referral database of experienced professionals and agencies. Provides workshops for survivors, family members, partners and friends. Professional development for health professionals is also available.
Phone: 1300 657 380 (9am-5pm AEST/AEDT 7 days)
Murrigunyah Family & Cultural Healing Centre is a community based sexual assault support service run by Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander women of Logan City.
Phone: (07) 3290 4254
BeyondBlue has programs for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and general information on mental health, including how to recognise depression and where to get help. Phone 1300 22 4636
Lifeline’s Mental Health Resource Centre offers Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People specific resources. Download PDF files on:
Your local hospital or doctor may be able to help you with counselling and support.
Social and Emotional Wellbeing and Mental Health Services in Aboriginal Australia allows you to search a map to find Indigenous-specific mental health services across Australia.
Have a yarn with:
Other mental health support services to talk about your feelings and get help.
Indigenous family support and healing groups and others in your mob to try to help reduce the stress of raising children.
Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Community Health Service (ATSICHS)
Call the ATSICHS Healing Centre on (07) 3240 8907 to access culturally appropriate counselling services for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in Brisbane affected by mental illness.
Townsville Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Health Services (TAIHS)
The TAIHS Social and Mental Health Unit offers mental health counsellors and run regular men’s and women’s groups to help cope with:
Phone TAIHS on (07) 4759 4022 to book a counselling session or join a group.
Palm Island Mental Health Service
At the Palm Island Mental Health Service Indigenous health workers support people with mental health issues in the local community.
Other remote support
Mental health support and counselling services are also available in these remote Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities:
For more information phone the Vincent Campus – Cambridge Street Facility on (07) 4775 8100.
Sound familiar? Great to read on of another’s coping with CSA!