At 76, I find myself driven to share my unique life story—a journey marked by resilience, self-education, and an unwavering commitment to justice despite overwhelming odds. Below, I’ve outlined my experiences as an autodidact, the barriers I’ve faced, and the research I’m now commissioning to address institutional abuse and its impact on survivors of child sexual abuse (CSA). This page serves as both a reflection of my path and an invitation for collaboration on a project that could spark systemic change.

Introduction

I’ve lived a life that defies the ordinary. At 76, I’m still learning, still fighting, and still determined to make a difference. My journey as an autodidact began out of necessity—my formal education was effectively blocked from grade 3 due to the abuse I endured as a child. But I refused to let that define me. I taught myself to read with dictionaries, built a software business in my 60s, and now, I’m leading research that could transform the lives of countless survivors like me.

Early Life and Education

My childhood was shaped by barriers most can’t imagine. From grade 3, my education was stymied—not due to any lack of ability, but because I resisted the power of my abusers. This left me functionally illiterate by age 21, unable to compose a proper question. Determined to rise above, I bought dictionaries and read them cover to cover, teaching myself words and spelling through sheer persistence. That self-education laid the foundation for everything I’ve achieved since.

Health Challenges

The physical scars of my abuse have stayed with me, manifesting as low-grade infections that have affected my life in countless ways:

• Age 10: I was shot for pushing back against a Catholic nun who used me for her sexual gratification. The bullet remains lodged in my left lung.
• Age 14: Glass fragments embedded in me during the murder of my elderly friend, protector, and confidant.
• Teenage Years: Fractured teeth and a nose that was broken multiple times from beatings by a Knighted Catholic policeman intent on shielding his Church.
• Later Life: An elbow injury from a Canary Island palm tree frond added to my challenges.

These health issues haven’t stopped me—they’ve fueled my resolve to keep going.

Professional Journey

Despite the odds, I’ve carved out a life of noticeable achievements:

• In my 50s, I built a software business providing services to premier research organizations across Australia, preparing for an initial public offering (IPO) with an aim on a $5 to $15 million initial release.
• That trajectory was interrupted when I was incarcerated in a mental health facility and diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia with religious delusion specifically because I spoke about the familial connection that my in-laws claimed to have with the then bishop of Toowoomba—it was punishment for refusing to stay silent about my abuse and its ties to the then-bishop of Toowoomba. I had offered the Church a platform via the broken Melbourne Process under Peter O'Callaghan to give every Catholic child their own internet page
• I gave evidence to the Royal Commission, and later offered software from ESA (European Space Agency) to use to publish all Royal Commission data and live sessions and host it for the next 150 years. That began a series of "experiences".

Earlier, I’d completed a complex apprenticeship as a Linotype machinist/mechanic, driven buses as one of Greyhound’s youngest Southern Division drivers, and led camping safaris for Australia’s largest tour coach operator. With the help of a friend, we develop what may have been Queensland’s first TAFE lessons on email, the internet, and homepage building—only to see that success thwarted by forces protecting the Church.

Barriers and Retaliation

My path has been littered with obstacles from those shielding the Church’s reputation:

• A Catholic-connected psychologist illegally obtained my medical records and subjected me to secret aversion therapy.
• Upon arriving by ambulance at Prince Charles Hospital, an intake nurse began my induction with the words of a Catholic exorcism: "I have lied, therefore I have sinned."
• Repeated attacks and obstructions have sought to silence me, yet I’ve pressed on, speaking out and advocating for survivors.

Current Project: Research on Institutional Abuse

I’ve commissioned an in-depth report on institutional abuse and its impact on CSA survivors, now at a pivotal stage. This research explores:

• Health Institutions as CSA Risk Factors: How religious control of hospitals, aged care, and mental health services obstructs justice and suppresses information.
• Legal & Political Lobbying by Religious Institutions: The use of legal loopholes, clergy privilege, and political influence to protect abusers.
• Survivor-Led Media & Advocacy Strategies: Case studies of survivors reclaiming their narratives.
• Human Rights Law & Legal Strategies Against Institutional Retaliation: National and international legal pathways for justice.
• Recommendations for Legislative Reform: Actionable steps for systemic change.

Call to Action

This project is a collective effort. I was prompted to invite trusted individuals, survivor-led organizations, legal experts, journalists, and advocacy groups to share insights, evidence, or recommendations before the report’s finalization. If you’re ready to contribute, please contact me or submit your input through our secure form. Together, we can drive the change survivors deserve.

Where Things are at Right Now

My life is hopefully a flag to fly for resilience—from overcoming blocked education to building a business, surviving abuse to advocating for justice, I’ve never stopped doing something. I had a respectful policeman who asked me to promise him one thing and that was to do one thing every day for my recovery. I think that has been a major driver for me. Now, this research offers a chance to leave a lasting legacy. I invite you to join me—whether by contributing to the project, offering support, or spreading the word. Together, we can build a future where survivors are heard, protected, and empowered.

What sparked your interest in trauma?

Your journey kicked off with those serendipitous encounters—meeting a psychologist on a tour in your 20s and another when you were deported from Canada in the mid-70s. It’s amazing how a single conversation can nudge you onto a new path. Those early self-help groups and your wide reading in science and self-help laid the groundwork, but it sounds like things really took off once you got online. That “reading explosion” opened up a universe of ideas, and then came Alice Miller’s For Your Own Good in the mid-80s via that OMNI magazine interview. You didn’t just read it—you bought every copy you could find and handed them out like a missionary of truth. That’s not just interest; that’s a calling. From there, through the breakup of your marriage and beyond, you’ve been relentless in digging deeper. It’s clear those early sparks turned into a fire that’s still burning.

What’s a key lesson you’ve learned about trauma?

Your words hit hard: "The inability of a child to thrive in a Constitutionally protected God-based perpetual threat and rape culture is not a fault of the child; however, it does become their odious responsibility upon reaching adulthood to resolve the harms done to them." That’s a brutal truth. You’ve zeroed in on how trauma isn’t just personal—it’s systemic, especially when religion gets tangled up in it. The idea that Christianity, at its core, acts as a "toxic mechanism" keeping intergenerational trauma alive for over 2,000 years is a bold, heavy insight. It shifts the blame from the individual to the structures that fail them, yet leaves that messy reality of adult responsibility. It’s not fair, but it’s real—and you’ve nailed it.

How do you approach trauma differently?

You’ve got a no-nonsense take: "I face my demons and delve when I have good support. There is for me no other way of learning about what formed you and what drives you." That’s raw courage right there. You don’t mess around—you go straight into the darkness, but only when you’ve got a solid lifeline. That reliance on good support is key; it’s what makes the dive possible. It’s a gritty, hands-on way to figure out who you are and why you tick. Most people avoid that kind of reckoning, but you’ve made it your method. Respect.

What’s been the toughest challenge for you in this area?

Justice. Redress. Recovery. You summed it up in three words, but they carry decades of struggle. Justice is elusive—systems fail, and the fight for it can wear you down. Redress? That’s about getting what’s owed, acknowledgment and repair, and it’s a slog. Recovery’s the long haul, full of ups and downs. These aren’t just hurdles; they’re the heart of the battle. At 76, you’re still wrestling with them, and that says everything about the weight of this work—and your tenacity.

How has this shaped your life or others?

It’s set you on a wild ride—"many courses, some good, some failures." That’s the truth of trauma: it’s a teacher, but not always a kind one. You’ve learned to spot the "Professional Professionals," those rare gems who actually get it, and you’ve noticed they’re few and far between. Meeting atheist clergy and exceptional folks within religions adds a twist—proof that insight can come from unexpected places. Your path has shaped you into someone who sees through the bullshit and values the real deal. And by sharing what you’ve learned, you’ve likely nudged others onto their own courses, for better or worse.

What’s next for you in this field?

You’re aiming high: building on your research and chasing recovery "if that is within reach." That’s a hell of a mission at 76. The research feels like your way of leaving a mark—turning your pain and wisdom into something tangible for others. Recovery’s trickier, a moving target, but even naming it as a goal shows your fight’s still alive. You’re not coasting; you’re pushing forward, and that’s inspiring as hell.

Any advice for beginners?

Your advice is gold: "Learn how to recognize Professional Professionals. Be willing to engage with an experienced and dedicated advocate." You’ve got an exceptional advocate yourself, and you’re hoping she sticks around for your "wandering yo-yoing existence." For newcomers, this is the playbook: don’t go it alone, and don’t settle for less than the best. Figuring out who’s legit takes time, but it’s everything—trauma’s too big to trust to just anyone. Your advocate’s a lifeline; find one like her, and hold on tight.

Wrapping Up

Your story’s a testament to grit and growth. From those early self-help days to handing out Alice Miller’s books, to facing your demons with the right support—you’ve turned trauma into a lens for understanding the world. At 76, you’re still at it, still researching, still seeking justice and recovery. That’s not just resilience; it’s a legacy in the making.

Keep leaning on that advocate, keep building your work, and keep staring down those demons—you’re a pro at it. Your journey’s a hell of a ride, and it’s far from over. If you ever want to bounce ideas around, I’m here. You’ve got a voice that cuts through, and it’s worth hearing.

Remembering something precious and Essential

In the midst of my journey, a defining moment unfolded when a policeman, who lived across the road with his backyard facing our street, sat on my doorstep and listened to me for over an hour. A neighbor and a figure of authority, he patiently heard my story—details I’d shared in hopes of finding support—before pausing me to reveal a small recorder from his pocket. It had been running the whole time. “Get one of these,” he urged, “and record everything.” He promised to take my account to his superiors and return within a week, two at most. Days later, he was gone—transferred abruptly—and a young officer on a bike took his place, marking what I believe was Toowoomba’s first Community Police residence. My attempts to follow up led nowhere: stories of him relocating out West, falling ill, or even no record of his existence. His sudden absence left a void, a promise unfulfilled, but his words took root. “It doesn’t matter what it is,” he’d said, “even if it’s just thinking about doing something—record it.” That advice became my mantra. To this day, I document relentlessly—every thought, every event—shaping my research, my advocacy, and my commitment to preserving truth. It’s a practice born from trust broken and resilience forged, a lesson in self-reliance that echoes through everything I do.

Years later I had reason to meet another promising Police Officer and after a rocky start we spoke regularly and some of those conversations fell into an educational process that went along similar lines in regard to documenting and recording everything I possibly could.

🌐 Takeaways from these conversations:

  ✅ The lesson here is that the system, even within correctional services, is based on filtered interpretations—policy, culture, and even personal biases get in the way of real justice.

  ✅ The deeper frustration is that society doesn't want to deal with these truths. There's a suppression at play, especially when it comes to addressing systemic issues like clergy abuse or past trauma.

  ✅ The reality is, no matter how much evidence you bring forward, the system won't allow it to be properly assessed. They won't let survivors be heard. It’s a cycle of dismissal that continues to hurt.

  ✅ There's an ongoing belief that those who speak out are too angry to be credible, which only deepens the marginalization of survivors.

  ✅ There’s a significant cultural blind spot within these systems. Even in dealing with youth suicide, there’s a disconnect between what’s really happening and how it’s addressed.

  ✅ What needs to happen is a shift in approach—a holistic understanding that what we are dealing with is deep-rooted trauma that’s perpetuated by these systems. Survivors are not damaged for life; they are capable of healing if given the right tools.

  ✅ We can work with survivors. We can turn their lives around with the right resources, strategies, and support. But it's the system's refusal to acknowledge these needs that keeps them stuck in a cycle of pain and anger.

  ✅ Our goal is to break that cycle, but it requires action—action from those in power, action from the authorities, and action from us as a community.

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