I was adopted from South Korea when I was 10 months old. My sister was adopted too, also from Korea, and we were raised in a small country town in New South Wales. We were the only Asian kids at our school.
I was bullied pretty early on — first for how I looked, then for being part of the "nerdy" group. At the time, I didn’t have the words for what was going on. I just knew I didn’t fit. Later in life, I was diagnosed with autism and am currently being assessed for ADHD. Looking back, that explained a lot of what I felt growing up: the disconnection, the sense that I was always one step behind socially even though I was excelling academically.
School was strange. I was moved into a gifted and talented program in year three and skipped ahead a grade, but no one told me I’d been accelerated. I remember thinking, "Cool, maybe we’ll get to go on camp twice!" I didn’t realise until year six that I’d actually missed a whole year.
A psychologist recently asked me, “Do you know the developmental difference between an 11-year-old and a 13-year-old boy?” And yeah, it’s massive. I was small, I was younger, and I was being bullied by kids who were bigger, older, and more socially advanced. I didn’t stand a chance.
Home life wasn’t much better. The Old Boy was a coal miner — strict, often asleep during the day because of shift work, and not great with noise. He could be heavy-handed, especially with me. My sister was spared more of that, but I think that was just the gender dynamic. Mum didn’t intervene much. That generation, you know? It was just seen as normal.
By the time I reached high school, I felt like I was just surviving. I moved schools a few times and ended up at one that had a reputation for being the place where kids went if they’d been kicked out of other schools. I arrived halfway through year 10 and got slotted into a group by teachers that didn’t make sense for me. The bullying picked up again, and this time I didn’t have the academic safety net to retreat into. I started to struggle for the first time.
Skating became my refuge. I was a rollerblader, not a skateboarder, which meant I even got bullied at the skatepark at first. But over time, I found my place there. At school, we had our own little bubble too. We played Magic: The Gathering at recess, chess at lunch. Looking back, I reckon a lot of us were neurodivergent. But at the time, we were just “the nerdy kids.” That was our safe space.
I left school just after turning 15 and started working in kitchens. My first job was at a pizza place, then I moved on to a Japanese restaurant. I only lasted three months there - they never properly inducted me, so when the trial period ended, they let me go. It was my first real lesson in how hospitality works.
For a while, I skated and did nothing else. Then Old Boy came home with a lead for a job at a restaurant. That’s where everything really started, both the cheffing career and the drug use.
I started as a kitchenhand and then quickly moved into an apprenticeship. The hours were long, the work intense, and the culture was full-on. Everyone partied. I started drinking more, smoking weed, and experimenting with pills and speed. It all seemed normal. I’d grown up in a house where drugs were demonised, but in the kitchen, it was just part of the job.
I moved out, partly so I could smoke without sneaking around. I worked six days a week, 14- to 16-hour split shifts. The chefs would pool money to buy speed and keep it in the cool room, chopped on a plate with a straw. I was an apprentice earning a grand a week, and it was all going up my nose.
Eventually, I crashed and quit.
I was getting better at skating, finding more respect in that world, but I was also increasingly unreliable. I’d gone back to my old job, but I'd call in sick for Saturday night service, not to go out partying, just because I couldn’t face it. That’s not ideal as a chef.
Around that time, I started wondering if I could make a change. I’d tell people I wanted to do fine dining, but the weed made it hard to hold it together. I was still living alone, no life skills, no support. I didn’t have a plan.
Then came the breakdown.
It was Easter weekend. I was drinking, gambling online - lost $500 in one night - and everything just spiralled. I’m a type 1 diabetic, and I overdosed on insulin. I did it on purpose and Old Boy got me to hospital. The staff wanted to admit me to the psych ward, but I convinced them I had to go to work. It was the restaurant’s busiest time, and I told them I was fine.
They let me go.
That still blows my mind today. I told them I wanted to die, and they gave me pamphlets.
I walked back into the kitchen the next day like nothing had happened.
A few years later, I was working as a head chef at a resort, when I tore my ACL skiing. During that time, I got into a relationship with a waitress. She got pregnant, and I tried to step up. She didn’t like weed, so I stopped smoking, but I was already seeing a psychologist, trying to stay afloat, and was prescribed Valium that quickly took weed’s place. I started doctor shopping, different GPs, different towns, trying to get painkillers and benzos.
The relationship ended, and things got messy. I wanted to be part of my child’s life, but she used the Valium against me. She knew her way around family law and made it very hard. I tried to pursue contact but eventually, I stepped back. Being adopted myself, I know a kid can still turn out okay. I didn’t want to be a source of conflict in his life.
After that, I had more hospitalisations, until one day, my parents told me I wasn’t welcome back until I sorted myself out. So, I admitted myself. That was the first time I took that step voluntarily.
I camped out for a while, technically homeless, but I didn’t want to sign a lease and get stuck somewhere. Then a friend from the skatepark offered me a place in Nimbin where I stayed for three years.
Nimbin was healing in a weird way. I had structure, a skatepark, a pool, a community. I wasn’t drinking much, mostly weed, and some psychedelics. There was a big harm reduction focus. I learned a lot from people who had lived experience.
Eventually, I found my way to Melbourne. That’s when lockdown hit. I was living with a housemate who became impossible. I switched to a nocturnal routine, started drinking again, and my mental health plummeted. I ended up in psych wards again — multiple times.
That’s when I got referred to First Step.
The first time I did the ResetLife program, I wasn’t ready. I relapsed early and hid it. But the second time, I was in a better headspace. I’d broken up with someone, I’d hit another low, and this time I knew: no one else can fix this, I have to do the work.
ResetLife taught me that it’s not just alcohol or weed, it’s the pattern. I started identifying as someone with poly-substance addiction. I’d always thought if I just stopped drinking, I’d be fine. But when I stopped drinking, I’d just start smoking more weed. Or swap that for Valium. I’d never really stopped, I’d just shifted.
I also did some intense work on emotional regulation and am getting assessed for ADHD and understanding my autism. This has changed everything. I finally understand why I was the way I was.
Now, I’m facilitating SMART Recovery meetings, including a neurodivergent-friendly group and one for hospitality workers. I’m planning to study peer work or mental health, but for now am volunteering at First Step.
And I’m involved in cubing competitions, which has been huge for my recovery - it's social, fun and gives me something to focus on that's not so heavy. It's like I've gone back to what felt safe and made sense for me. Kitchens were full-on — chaotic, high pressure, hard partying. I tried to fit into that world, but it wasn’t really me. Now I’m back in spaces where people speak my language, where I feel like I belong.
This is the first time in 20 years that I’ve had a clear idea of what I want to do. I’m sober — not just from alcohol, but from all of it. And I’m not replacing one thing with another. I’m just learning to sit with myself. I can actually process things now. It's clearer.
Thank you to our photographer, Nicholas Walton-Healey
