If you are crystal clear about your purpose as an individual, and about what you will and won’t stand for, then the belief you have in yourself to achieve the goals you set is untouchable. 

There are moments in life that we don’t foresee, that we often underestimate but that tend to have a lasting impact. I honestly don’t remember much about the type of person I was before my early twenties. I’d finished Year 12, stuffed it up and settled for a degree at university that I didn’t really want to do. I’d graduated, but was unsure about my next steps. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. I felt unfinished with my education and not settled on a career. I didn’t have a strong sense of who I was. What did I believe in? What did I value?

So much of how we define ourselves is attributed to our genes and the characteristics inherited from our parents. It’s the classic concept of nature versus nurture; psychologists have been debating the impacts of biology versus environmental influences since the late 1800s. It’s not a black-and white discussion, thanks to studies of identical twins that show how our genes combine with our environment to produce complex human traits. But how do we develop those critical insights into ourselves when part of that genetic picture is missing?

When my job was made redundant and I fell pregnant the week I started a new one, choices needed to be made. Then, when the world bestowed the news of identical twins on my ex-husband and me, we were thrust into a journey of uncertainty. When the twins arrived unexpectedly at thirty weeks, my expectations of a relatively uneventful first birthing experience were shot to pieces. 

I had no control over any of these things, but I needed to deal with them and keep going. Life doesn’t stop for anyone. I’ve never been a ‘woe is me’ type of person—I very much believe that we control how we react to situations, and that no one else can control how we feel. ‘Own it’, as they say!

I was shocked to my core when, at age twenty-two, I discovered I’d been conceived as a result of donor sperm and my dad was not my biological father. It was partly the delivery of the news that shocked me—it came via my older brother, who rang my mobile and yelled at me: ‘You have to come home right now! Our dad is not our dad! They’ve been lying to us for our entire lives!’ I honestly thought he’d taken something and lost his mind. 

I relived my whole life in that moment, and questioned everything I’d thought I knew. I didn’t know how I was supposed to respond to this bombshell, but I knew one thing: I had a choice to make. I could claim victim status and ask why this had happened to me, or I could accept the reality of the situation and move forward. I chose the future. Because nothing good comes from focusing on the past, right? 

For as long as I can remember, I have generally been an optimist. I see the opportunity in every difficulty, not the difficulty in every opportunity. Making an impact and delivering tangible outcomes are what get me out of bed every day. I guess that’s what attracted me to the charity world—the opportunity to be at the coalface and directly supporting families who need connection and reassurance. 

The first twelve months of my involvement with the Australian Multiple Birth Association (AMBA) were interesting. I started to observe more objectively, and make judgements about what we could be achieving. There were so many things not working efficiently and people who were just in the wrong jobs.

I experienced some terrible volunteer relationships in that time, and was a keen observer of how those relationships affected the work we were trying to do. I also witnessed others who were true stalwarts of the community we operated in—passionate, committed and knowledgeable—and in stark contrast, their positive impact was immeasurable.

One thing I find particularly interesting about volunteer organisations is the propensity for people to put up their hand to fulfil a role they don’t have any experience in doing. On the one hand there’s incredible risk for it all to go horribly wrong, because you have someone who’s potentially not skilled to achieve in that role. But on the other hand it offers the most amazing (translation: very steep!) learning-curve opportunity that a person might never otherwise experience.

There is such fear in the traditional job-seeking world not to apply for roles for which you don’t meet one-hundred per cent of the selection criteria. There’s a tendency for self-preservation, and a strongly held belief that someone else does have the right requirements for the role. But in the volunteering context, I have observed that fear to be significantly less, and people far braver to take on a role that is outside their area of knowledge, comfort zone or experience level. I’ve often wondered why this difference exists. What is it about volunteering versus paid work that gives people the courage to step outside their fear and take on a challenge they feel they’re not prepared for? Who does that? It sounds crazy! But I believe there is a strong link between purpose and confidence, in that having a strong purpose enables enough vulnerability in people that they take a risk and believe they can achieve something great.

If you are crystal clear about your purpose as an individual, and about what you will and won’t stand for, then the belief you have in yourself to achieve the goals you set is untouchable. And when this individual purpose is aligned to the purpose or mission of a charity, the sky’s the limit! Nelson Mandela once said, ‘It always seems impossible until it’s done’. I love that quote. It’s the backbone of achieving anything that’s worthwhile. We don’t always—in fact, we rarely—know everything before we start something. There are always gaps, unknowns, risks. The magic happens when the risks and the ‘unachievable’ goal collide. The key is resilience.

My journey with AMBA has been a resilience expressway! Some days I still can’t believe I’m the Chairperson of this amazing organisation. I often reflect on my journey with AMBA, and one thing always stands out. No one affected where I am now more than me. I don’t mean to sound conceited; what I want to convey is that I own my actions. I saw opportunities for change, and I took them. I had ideas, and I spoke up. I have a voice, and I wanted it heard. With limited resources, capability and funding to deliver on our mission and strategy, it wasn’t smooth sailing to get
to where we are today. But forty-five years after being founded by volunteers, we still exist, we still have no paid staff, and we have an appetite for impact that is stronger than ever. I definitely don’t have all the answers, but I have a hybrid board and a leadership team that is bold, willing to take risks, united and, most importantly, forward thinking. 

Believe in yourself. Be brave. Be limitless.

It’s all in your hands.