Wellbeingsupportspace

20/09/2026

Sometimes, taking a break gives you perspective.

Perspective on what really matters.
On who really matters.
And on the things we can so easily take for granted when life gets busy.

39 today. Happy birthday to me 💜

Looking back over the years — and even just the past few months — I’ve found myself appreciating the little wins more than ever.

The small moments. The people I love. The things that once might have seemed ordinary but now mean so much.

So today, I’m celebrating all of it.

The little wins. The lessons. The people who matter. And another year of life. 💜🫶🏻🌸

17/09/2026

A whole different life.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on how we can look back at a particular chapter and think, “that feels like a whole different life.”

I know I can look back at different chapters of my own life and feel that way.

Not because I need to share the details, but because it reminds me just how much life can change — and how much we can change along with it.

Our priorities change.
Relationships change.
Responsibilities change.
And sometimes, without really noticing it happening, we change too.

Some of those changes are chosen. Others are completely outside of our control.

We can look back with grief for what was, relief for what has passed, pride in how far we’ve come, or even uncertainty about how we got from there to here.

Sometimes all of those feelings exist at the same time.

It’s something that also makes me reflect on my work as a Social Worker and why I often come back to the words:

Human first, then Social Worker.

Being a Social Worker doesn’t mean standing outside of the human experience. We have our own chapters, experiences and changes too.

It means remembering that, before anything else, we are two human beings sitting together.

Counselling and therapy can provide a space to make sense of those different chapters.

To understand the person you were then.

To acknowledge what you were carrying.

To grieve what has changed.
To recognise what you have moved through.

And to make sense of who you are now.

Not everything needs to be fixed.

Sometimes it needs to be understood.

And sometimes, we simply need the space to look back and recognise:

That was a whole different life.

This is where I am now.

Human first. Then Social Worker.

13/09/2026

Celebrating the small wins. 🤍

I’ve been thinking lately about how easy it is to move straight onto the next thing without stopping to recognise what we’ve actually done.

As a social worker, I spend a lot of time alongside people working towards change. And change is rarely one big, beautiful breakthrough.

It’s usually tiny.

It’s making the phone call you’ve been putting off.
Getting through a hard appointment.
Leaving the house.
Trying again after something didn’t work.
Saying no.
Asking for help.
Doing something today that felt impossible a few months ago.

As a mum, I see it too.

Sometimes the win isn’t everything going smoothly. Sometimes it’s getting out the door. Trying something new. Getting through a transition that was hard last time. Recovering after a meltdown. Or simply having a moment together where everyone feels okay.

And as a human? I’m learning I need to notice my own small wins too.

I’m very good at seeing what still needs to be done. The emails. The washing. The work. The appointments. The mental list that somehow never actually ends.

But maybe we need to stop measuring our lives only by what is unfinished.

Because those small wins?

They’re not actually small.

They’re evidence of effort, growth, connection, courage and sometimes just getting through.

So this weekend, I’m reminding myself:

Notice the small wins. Celebrate them. Let them count.

You don’t have to wait until you’ve reached the big goal to be proud of how far you’ve come. 🤍

Human first. Mum. Social worker. Still figuring it out as I go.

12/09/2026

11/09/2026

As we head into the weekend, I’ve been thinking about something we probably don’t talk about enough in social work:

Knowing your capacity before you reach capacity.

We spend so much of our work noticing other people.

We notice when someone is overwhelmed.
We notice changes in behaviour.
We notice risk.
We notice when a family is stretched.
We notice when someone needs a break.

But how good are we at noticing it in ourselves?

Capacity isn’t just whether there is another empty space in your calendar.

You can have an hour free and still not have capacity.

Because social work asks us to think, feel, listen, assess risk, hold uncertainty, navigate systems, advocate, document, make decisions and remain genuinely present with another human being.

And some weeks, that is a lot.

I’m learning that the question isn’t always:

“Can I fit one more thing in?”

Sometimes it needs to be:

“Can I take this on and still do my work well?”

And perhaps even:

“What will I be borrowing from if I say yes?”

My evening?

My weekend?

My patience?

My family?

Myself?

We shouldn’t have to reach complete exhaustion before deciding we’ve reached capacity.

Recognising your limits earlier isn’t caring less.

It is knowing yourself well enough to recognise when your practice — and you — need some space.

So heading into this weekend, maybe the reminder is simple:

You don’t need to be completely empty before you are allowed to stop pouring.

Take care of yourselves this weekend. 💛

11/09/2026

I deliberately didn’t post about R U OK? Day on R U OK? Day.

Because, let’s be honest — mental health doesn’t exist for one day of the year.

Asking “Are you okay?” is important.

But I’m much more interested in what happens when someone says:

“Actually… no. I’m not.”

Do we have time to hear the answer?

Can we sit with someone without immediately trying to fix it?

Do we check in again tomorrow? Next week? A month from now?

Do our workplaces actually create environments where people can say they’re struggling without worrying about how they’ll be perceived?

Do we notice the people who keep showing up, doing their jobs, caring for their families and supporting everyone else — while quietly carrying far too much themselves?

And do we remember that sometimes support isn’t a conversation about gratitude, resilience or self-care.

Sometimes it’s practical.

A meal.
A coffee.
Taking something off someone’s plate.
Sitting beside them.
Helping them navigate a system.
Remembering to ask again.

So yes — ask R U OK?

But please don’t only ask because the calendar tells you to.

And when someone tells you they’re not okay, perhaps the most important question comes next:

“What would be helpful right now?”

Mental health deserves more than a day.

It deserves relationships, compassion, practical support and spaces where people are allowed to be human.

Human first. Always.

— Wellbeing Support Space

09/09/2026

👋 A little reintroduction…

Hi, I’m Cate — a Social Worker and the person behind Wellbeing Support Space.

At the heart of my work is something pretty simple:

Human first. Then Social Worker.

Before the assessment, diagnosis, funding package, referral, behaviour, risk, paperwork or system — there is a person.

A person with a story.
A family.
Relationships.
Strengths.
Hard days.
Hopes for what life could look like.

My passion for social work has always been about understanding the whole person and the world around them.

I want to understand what happened?
What matters to you?
What has shaped you?
What are you carrying?
What gets in the way?
And what might make life feel a little more manageable, connected or meaningful?

My work has taken me across disability, rehabilitation, health, families, counselling and the NDIS. And if there is one thing it continues to teach me, it is that people rarely fit neatly into boxes.

Sometimes people don’t need another professional telling them what they should do.

They need someone willing to sit beside them, listen properly, understand the bigger picture, help make sense of complicated systems and work alongside them to figure out what comes next.

That’s the kind of Social Worker I continue to strive to be.

05/09/2026

💙 Happy Father’s Day.

A very special Happy Father’s Day to my Dad, Tom, and to my wonderful partner, Daniel.

I’m incredibly grateful for you both and for the love, support and care you bring to our family. ❤️

Today I’m also thinking about all the different people who experience Father’s Day in very different ways.

The dads, stepdads, grandads, foster dads and father figures.

The dads doing their absolute best while quietly carrying a lot.

The dads parenting children with additional needs, navigating appointments, therapies, systems, sleepless nights, big emotions and all the uncertainty that can come with parenting — while still turning up.

And I’m thinking about those for whom today is hard.

Those grieving their dad.

Those grieving a child.

Those who desperately wanted to become a dad.

Those with complicated or painful relationships with their fathers.

Those separated from their children.

And those for whom Father’s Day brings feelings that don’t fit neatly into a celebration.

There is space for all of it.

04/09/2026

I’m a social worker.

I work with disability. I understand the NDIS. I know about capacity building, inclusion, reasonable adjustments, regulation, behaviour, sensory needs and supporting families.

And then my six-year-old daughter was diagnosed with autism.

Suddenly, I wasn’t the professional sitting alongside a family.

I was the mum.

And being Mum is completely different.

I’m learning what it means to understand my daughter not through a professional lens, but through the everyday moments of raising her.

The clothes that suddenly don’t feel right.

The mornings where getting out the door feels enormous.

The big emotions over something that might look tiny to somebody else.

The planning, preparing and anticipating.

Wondering whether I should push her a little or recognise that she genuinely can’t manage something today.

Trying to work out when to accommodate and when to build skills.

Trying to protect her without making her world smaller.

And sometimes questioning myself constantly.

There is also grief in this journey, and I think we need to be allowed to talk about that without it being interpreted as grieving our children.

I don’t grieve my daughter.

She is funny, loving, determined, beautifully herself and deeply loved.

Sometimes I grieve the ease I wish she could have.

I grieve when I see how much harder the world can be for her.

I worry about whether people will understand her when I’m not there to explain.

I worry about school, friendships, belonging and what happens as she gets older.

And then there are moments where I realise how much she is teaching me.

To question what we call “normal”.

To stop measuring success against what everybody else is doing.

To notice the things underneath behaviour.

To celebrate progress that might be invisible to somebody else.

And to remember that sometimes surviving a difficult day together is enough.

I thought my professional experience would prepare me for this.

In some ways, it has.

But lived experience has taught me things no textbook, qualification or professional role ever could.

Because I’m not observing this from the outside.

I love the little person at the centre of it more than I can possibly explain.

I’m still learning.

I still get it wrong.

Some days I handle things beautifully.

Other days I’m exhausted, frustrated and wondering what the hell I’m doing.

I’m her mum first.

And right now, we’re learning this together.

04/09/2026

It is really important that participants and nominees are aware of the legislative changes in the NDIS.

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1HCFeAz9GG/?mibextid=wwXIfr