Tag Archives: mental-health

Jan 11 2026
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Informational

From Uni to Work: The Transition No One Properly Warns You About

Finishing uni feels like a finish line. You hand in that last assignment, walk out of your final exam, maybe post a smug photo on LinkedIn, and think, that’s it. I’ve made it.

But what no one really tells you is that uni ending is not a finish line at all. It is a cliff edge. And once you step off it, you realise very quickly that working life is a completely different game with different rules, different pressures, and far less hand-holding.

This transition hits almost everyone. Some people struggle quietly. Others pretend they’re thriving. Most of us sit somewhere in the middle, wondering why we feel tired, uncertain, and strangely nostalgic for a life we complained about nonstop.

The Shock of Structure

Uni gives you flexibility disguised as chaos. You can sleep late, skip lectures, smash out an essay at 2am, and still somehow survive. Work life flips that on its head. Suddenly your time is not your own. You wake up at the same hour every day. Your calendar fills up weeks in advance. You can’t just disappear for a few days because you feel flat.

At first, this structure feels suffocating. You realise how much mental energy it takes just to show up consistently. The fatigue isn’t physical. It’s cognitive. Eight hours of meetings, emails, expectations, and social performance is a different kind of tired.

The upside is stability. A steady income. A routine. The ability to plan your life beyond next semester. But it takes time before that stability feels comforting instead of restrictive.

Identity Whiplash

At uni, your identity is simple. You are a student. That label comes with built-in excuses. You are learning. You are allowed to not know things. Mistakes are expected.

In work, that safety net disappears overnight. Suddenly you are the analyst, the grad, the associate, the coordinator. Titles stick faster than you expect. You feel pressure to perform even when you are quietly Googling basic things you are scared to ask about.

Imposter syndrome hits hard here. You look around and assume everyone else has it figured out. They don’t. They are just better at hiding it.

This phase messes with your confidence. You might miss the version of yourself who felt smart at uni, even if you were winging it back then too.

The Good Bits That Sneak Up on You

Despite the adjustment pain, work life does bring wins that uni never could.

There is a satisfaction in being paid for your thinking. In contributing to something that exists beyond a grade. Seeing your work used, discussed, or implemented hits differently to a mark on a transcript.

You also start learning faster, not in theory, but in practice. You pick up how organisations really work. Power dynamics. Communication styles. What actually matters versus what looks good on paper.

There is also a quiet confidence that builds when you realise you can survive adult life. Bills get paid. You manage your time. You recover from mistakes. That growth is slow, but it is real.

What You Will Genuinely Miss About Uni

You will miss the softness of uni life more than you expect.

You will miss having large chunks of unstructured time. Midday coffees that turn into long conversations. The ability to change direction without explaining yourself.

You will miss being surrounded by people your age who are all figuring things out at the same time. Work scatters that community. Friendships take effort instead of proximity.

You might even miss exams in a weird way. At least with exams, the stress had an end date. Work stress tends to blur into a background hum that never fully switches off.

The Parts No One Glamourises

Early career work can feel underwhelming. You are ambitious, educated, and ready to contribute, yet you find yourself doing admin, fixing formatting, or sitting silently in meetings.

This can feel like a waste of potential, but it is also part of the apprenticeship phase. You are learning how the machine runs before you are trusted to touch the controls.

Another tough truth is that work exposes inequality faster than uni does. Some people progress quicker due to confidence, background, or luck. Merit matters, but not as cleanly as universities make it seem.

Shaping Your Career Instead of Drifting

This is where intention matters.

The biggest mistake new grads make is assuming their career will naturally work itself out. It rarely does. Careers are shaped by small decisions made early and repeated often.

Pay attention to what energises you versus what drains you. Not what sounds impressive, but what you can tolerate doing consistently.

Seek feedback early, even when it is uncomfortable. The people who grow fastest are the ones who ask how they can be better, not the ones who wait to be noticed.

Build skills, not just tenure. Titles come and go. Transferable skills stick. Communication, data literacy, stakeholder management, and critical thinking travel well across industries.

And do not underestimate lateral moves. Your first job does not define your entire career. It just gives you your first reference point.

Managing Expectations and Mental Health

The transition from uni to work often comes with an emotional dip. You might feel behind, bored, anxious, or disconnected. This is normal, even if no one admits it.

Give yourself time. You are learning a new system while grieving an old one. That takes energy.

Keep something in your life that is not about productivity. Gym, sport, writing, cooking, walking. Something that reminds you that your worth is not tied to performance reviews.

Final Thoughts

Moving from uni to work is not about becoming an adult overnight. It is about slowly learning how to hold responsibility without losing yourself.

You will stumble. You will question your choices. You will miss the version of life where everything felt possible. But you will also build resilience, clarity, and confidence in ways uni never could.

This phase is not meant to be perfect. It is meant to stretch you.

And one day, probably sooner than you think, you will look back and realise that this messy, awkward transition is where your real education actually began.

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Dec 09 2025
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Informational, Straight talk

When Desire Meets Power: What Footballers Reveal About Men

Footballers live close to the edge of human experience. Wealth arrives early. Fame follows quickly. Attention becomes constant. To observe their lives is to ask a deeper question about human nature itself: what happens to desire when nothing stands in its way?

Modern footballers often sit at the intersection of money, beauty, status and opportunity. They inhabit a world where doors open without asking, where messages flood in without effort, and where temptation is neither distant nor abstract. It is present, persistent and often consequence-free. Many live double lives. Some form families while maintaining parallel relationships. Others avoid commitment entirely, choosing novelty as a permanent lifestyle. This pattern is so common that rarity now belongs to restraint.

This is not merely tabloid material. It is a philosophical question about limits.

Most men are shaped by scarcity. Not just financial scarcity, but emotional and relational scarcity. Desire exists, but it is narrowed by fear. Fear of loss. Fear of humiliation. Fear of consequences. For the average man, morality is reinforced by risk. Behaviour is disciplined by what might be taken away.

Footballers exist in a different psychological economy. The traditional risks lose their sting. Financial loss is relative. Reputation can be repaired. Families fractured by scandal rarely threaten their ability to live comfortably. In that environment, moral behaviour is no longer enforced by consequence. It becomes, if anything, a choice rather than a necessity.

This forces an uncomfortable shift in perspective. Perhaps footballers are not exceptional in their flaws, but unusually honest in their exposure. They are men without the usual filters. Men whose inner impulses are no longer hidden by practical restraints.

There is an old philosophical tension between freedom and virtue. Is morality meaningful if it depends on fear? If a man behaves well only because punishment is possible, is he virtuous or merely cautious? Footballers test this idea in real time. When punishment weakens, many do not become better men. They become more transparent men.

Celebrity culture intensifies this. Musicians, actors, influencers and athletes share similar behavioural patterns. Multiple partners. Secret relationships. Chaotic personal lives. Substance abuse. The pattern is too consistent to treat as coincidence. Power does not invent vice. It removes silence from it.

And yet, these men are not entirely free. Every movement is watched. Every mistake is documented. Their lives unfold under constant surveillance. Publicly they are controlled, sanitised, curated. Privately they live with a form of insulation. The same fame that exposes them also protects them. The same wealth that attracts attention absorbs impact.

This creates a paradox. They are both trapped and untethered. Watched by millions, yet constrained by almost nothing that governs ordinary life.

The uncomfortable possibility is not that footballers are morally inferior. It is that they represent an unvarnished version of something ordinary. What most men might become if the brakes were removed. If money was irrelevant. If rejection disappeared. If admiration was guaranteed. If temptation was constant and costless.

It is easy to feel superior from a safe distance. To moralise about loyalty, restraint and dignity. But distance is comfort. Philosophy asks for honesty. Would the average man, handed limitless attention, physical validation and luxury, suddenly become more disciplined? Or would he simply become more visible in his flaws?

The idea that fame corrupts may be too simple. It may not corrupt at all. It may reveal. It may expose what was always present but safely hidden behind fear, lack and limitation.

Some men, even then, would choose discipline. They would build quiet lives. They would resist chaos. But perhaps they are not the majority. Perhaps they never were.

Footballers do not distort human nature. They magnify it.

And that is why their lives make us uncomfortable. Not because they are alien. But because they are familiar in ways we would rather not admit.

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Jul 14 2025
2 Comments
Classic, Culture, Informational, Straight talk

They All Did OK – A Reflection on Where We Came From

A guest post from a Melbourne friend of mine whom I recently bumped into whilst travelling, we were reminiscing days back at University and despite coming from different parts of Melbourne and different backgrounds, we had a lot of similarities. Below is his post. Enjoy!

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A mate of mine recently went down a bit of a rabbit hole, stalking some of our old high school crew from back in Melbourne. I’ve never really been on social media, so I didn’t have much of a clue where most people had ended up. But I’ll admit, it was interesting. Eye-opening, even.

The overwhelming takeaway?
They all did OK.

Most of them, anyway.

From what he could piece together, the vast majority stayed in Melbourne. They’ve carved out reasonably stable lives, average jobs, a couple of nice cars floating around, weddings here and there, kids in the mix. A few have crossed that elusive median income mark, which, if you knew where they came from, would be seen as a win. These were the kids who grew up around Centrelink offices, corner milk bars that sold more ciggies than milk, and families where university wasn’t so much discouraged, it just wasn’t part of the conversation.

To see them now, doing alright, building lives, that’s something to be proud of.

Some got married early. Like, really early. Kids by 21. A few had families before they’d even had a proper go at figuring themselves out. Interestingly, those who went straight into TAFE or full-time work after Year 12 seemed to start families younger, while the university crowd generally waited a bit longer, maybe not by design, but more so a side effect of trying to hustle degrees, internships, and grad roles before thinking about nappies and school pick-ups.

But that’s not a criticism. In fact, it’s kind of fascinating how the path you take after high school shapes not just your career but your life timeline. The ones who knuckled down early: apprentices, trades, retail supervisors, they got a head start in adulting, while others were still trying to figure out their student HECS debt and how to do a proper meal prep.

There was a certain insularity that lingered with many of them, though. You can see it in the social media posts and the local check-ins. Most haven’t ventured too far beyond the radius of where they grew up. Same suburb, same mates, same rhythm. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. For a lot of people, that’s safety. That’s comfort. That’s community. But for me, there was always a quiet pull to break away from that, to see what else was out there, to rewrite the blueprint a little.

It’s worth acknowledging the reporting bias too. The ones who post the most on socials? They’re usually the ones who are doing well enough to want to show it off. The holidays to Asia, the car upgrades, the weddings with drone footage. But there were names I hadn’t heard in years, ones that didn’t show up in the digital highlight reel. A few had fallen into rough crowds, made some bad choices, got stuck in loops that are hard to break out of. No judgment, it could’ve been any of us, really. The margins are thin when you’re young, broke, and trying to find direction with no map.

And then there are the ghosts. The ones who, like me, just aren’t online. No Facebook status updates, no Instagram reels, nothing to like or react to. Not because they’re hiding, just because they’re living. Quietly. Privately. Maybe they’ve outgrown the need for that constant performance. Maybe they’ve learned that fulfilment doesn’t need an audience. I can relate to that.

Looking back, I can’t help but feel a bit of pride, not just for what I’ve done, but for all of us. For coming from a background where we were surrounded by distractions and dead-ends, and still managing to find something that resembles stability. Some of us took longer. Some got there quicker. Some are still on the journey. But in a world that often reduces success to job titles and house prices, it’s important to remember that for some people, just getting through is a win.

For me, the need to hustle was always there, part internal drive, part external pressure. I didn’t want the default path. I didn’t want to be the guy who peaked in Year 12 or never left the west. I wanted more, even when I didn’t know exactly what “more” looked like. So, I moved, I studied, I worked, I took risks. Gratefully, I’ve been fortunate enough to find some sense of purpose and direction, even if the path wasn’t always clear.

But here’s the thing: I don’t think I’m better than anyone. Just different. And in many ways, I owe a lot to those who stayed, to those who reminded me of what I left behind, and why. Their stories ground me. They remind me not to take anything for granted.

It’s also a lesson in not romanticising the past too much. Our teenage years were messy, confusing, sometimes beautiful but often brutal. A lot of us were just trying to survive in our own ways, through humour, bravado, sport, study, or silence. We didn’t have therapists or TikTok wellness advice. We had each other, skipping class and going to the local shopping centre, playing console and computer games after school and the usual joys of adolescence that come with that era.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of this, it’s that life’s not a race. The paths we take are as varied as the reasons behind them. Some of us sprint, some crawl, some double back and start again. And some just stay put… and that’s OK too.

So, here’s to the quiet wins.
To the ones raising families with love and patience.
To the ones holding down jobs and paying off mortgages.
To the ones who might’ve stumbled but kept getting back up.
To the ones who never made it online..but still made it somewhere.

They all did OK.
And who knows, maybe I did too?

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Jun 13 2025
2 Comments
informational, Stories

Lonely in the Crowd: What no one tells your about moving abroad

There’s a photo of me walking through Lan Kwai Fong in Hong Kong on a humid summer night. Neon lights blazing. Tourists buzzing. Bass thumping from the clubs around every corner. The energy felt electric.. like life was happening at full volume.

And for a split second, I actually believed it: “This… this is what I’m meant to be doing.”

But deep down? I felt empty.

Not depressed. Not broken. Just… hollow. Like I was watching my own life from outside my body.

That’s the part no one talks about when they glamorise the expat journey, the side of ambition that comes with emotional tax. When you leave home in search of more, loneliness often sneaks in through the side door. It doesn’t always shout – sometimes it just sits with you quietly while you’re surrounded by thousands of people.

Growing Pains in Placid Places

I grew up in Melbourne, brunch capital, AFL obsession, and weather that changes its mind every five minutes. It’s familiar. Clean. Predictable. Safe. All the things a well-functioning society is supposed to be.

But in my early 20s, that comfort started feeling like a cage.

I’d walk the same streets, see the same people, have the same conversations. Day in, day out. The rhythm of life in Melbourne felt like it was designed to keep you content, not curious.

And if you’re wired to push boundaries, to explore who you are beyond your postcode, that routine becomes suffocating. Melbourne is a fantastic place to raise a family. It’s perfect in your 40s. But when you’re young, hungry, and slightly restless? It can feel like being stuck in neutral while the world outside is flying past in fifth gear.

It wasn’t hate for the place. It was frustration with what I was becoming in it.

So when an awesome overseas work opportunity came up abroad from my company, I took it with both arms and left.

The Great Escape…

Singapore. Paris. London. New York.

Say those names out loud and they sound like success. Like freedom. Like you’re living a Netflix montage of your own life.

And don’t get me wrong, some of it really is that good. Stepping off a plane with nothing but a suitcase and a plan jotted on your phone feels like you’re taking control of your own story. It’s raw, it’s uncertain, and it’s addictive.

You escape the cultural insularity of Australia – where international news comes after a segment about someone’s missing dog in Brighton. You’re no longer the smartest guy in the room. You learn. You unlearn. You get humbled.

But here’s the thing they leave out of all those “find yourself abroad” blogs:

Every new version of you comes at the cost of an older one.

You start to lose the things you didn’t realise you’d miss. The smell of your mum’s cooking. Banter with friends where nothing has to be explained. That rare ease of being understood without trying.

In a new city, you’re interesting for five minutes – after that, you’re just another foreigner trying to figure it out or a zoo animal that people stare at due to the unique physical features that aren’t widespread in their society. And that hits hard when the adrenaline of change wears off.

The Silent Tax of Ambition

When you leave home by choice, not out of crisis or war or desperation, the guilt is subtle. But it is there.

You chose this. You asked for more. So when the isolation creeps in, you don’t feel entitled to complain.

Instead, you scroll through chat groups where everyone back home is getting married, buying homes, doing baby photoshoots. You’re half a world away, working in a different corporate environment, in a new apartment, through another brutal winter.

There’s no welcome mat for you when you land. No built-in support network. You start from zero, multiple times

I got hit with Seasonal Affective Disorder hard. I’m talking pitch-black mornings, overcast afternoons, and a quiet kind of depression that makes you question your whole life plan while walking to the grocery store. I bought a 10,000-lux lamp just to trick my brain into thinking it was daytime. It helped. A bit.

But no gadget replaces the weight of being far from everyone and everything that once made you feel grounded.

So… Was It Worth It?

Yes, it definitely was. That’s not me being stubborn or rationalising my choices, when I look at my friends, and relatives back home and what they have and what they went through as the null hypothesis of having stayed in Melbourne, not a single part of me wants to be them.

Because I didn’t leave just for better job prospects or social media stories, I left to test myself.

And I got exactly what I was looking for: resistance.

I wanted to bleed a little. I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t just coasting. I needed to throw myself into unfamiliar places and see if I’d sink or swim.

I learned to be uncomfortable. I learned how to walk into rooms where no one looked like me, and still engage with everyone well. I learned to make friends who didn’t grow up with my language, my food, or my values. I learned how to keep my identity intact without needing to shout it.

I became anti-fragile.

It wasn’t always graceful. I struggled. I questioned myself. But I came out harder, sharper, more self-aware.

And more than anything, I stopped being a product of my environment. I started becoming a product of my decisions.

Final Thoughts: The Trade-Off

Leaving home isn’t brave. It’s not noble. It’s not some movie scene.

It’s a deal.

You trade comfort for chaos. Familiarity for freedom. Laughter for solitude. You miss family events. You become a time-zone ghost. You build bonds that fade. And you live with the ache of not fully belonging anywhere anymore.

But…

You also gain something primal. A deep, unshakeable belief in yourself. A proof of concept that you can handle it – whatever “it” is. And eventually, you stop trying to find where you belong and start carving out a space wherever you go.

You realise the world is bigger than the suburb you grew up in. You realise you can bend without breaking. And most importantly, you realise that sometimes…

being lonely in the crowd is exactly where you need to be.. to finally become who you were meant to be.

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