What's it like going to a Mental Health Hospital?
An anonymous guest article
Today’s guest article pulls back the curtain that so many are afraid to look behind. It’s an amazing story of recovery, overcoming, and there’s no doubt in our mind that it could help one person make sense of their own struggle.
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What’s it like going to a Mental Health Hospital?
An anonymous guest article
January 2020
I found myself wondering… how had I ended up here?
The last two days at Queanbeyan Hospital had been spent fighting to stay afloat, ensuring I was safe until an admission could be arranged. The plan was set: a three-week stay at South Coast Private Hospital. I was scared. Terrified, even. But I knew I had to do something different if I was going to stay alive. The thoughts of not wanting to be here anymore became overwhelming, drowning out everything else.
I hadn't hurt myself yet but was scared I might.
Before leaving, I waited—wanting to be there for our son's first day of Year 3 and our twin daughters' first day of preschool. I needed that small moment of normalcy amid the storm. Then, with my best friend by my side, we set off toward Wollongong. Toward uncertainty, change and a chance to rebuild. All I kept thinking was, I won't be the craziest person there - surely others would be crazier. Would it be like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? Would people have straitjackets? Would people be walking around mumbling to themselves?
I had no idea what to expect.
When I arrived, they took me to the floor reserved for first responders and defence staff—an unexpected VIP section for people like me. A nurse checked me in, and then came the mandatory luggage search, making sure I wasn’t smuggling anything I could use against myself. My phone charger cord was confiscated, so I wouldn't harm myself. As a police officer I was used to being on the other side of searches. This felt surreal.
Then the nurse asked, “Do you have anything sharp?” I laughed, assuming it was just routine. That was until she unearthed a razor from the crusty bottom of my makeup bag. Cue the awkward explanation: “It’s just in there, you know? I didn’t put it in there for, well, that.” She didn’t say anything, but the sceptical tilt of her head made it clear—she wasn’t entirely convinced. I wasn’t sure whether to feel amused or insulted.
After being shown to my massive room—complete with a king-size bed and ocean views—it became immediately clear that this was not the looney bin I had envisioned. No padded walls, no ominous halls filled with whispers of insanity. This was less One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and more luxury wellness retreat with emotional baggage included.
Then came the grand tour. The art room, the gym, common areas with TVs and board games, a courtyard with actual trees, and a lineup of yoga and exercise sessions. Was this a hospital or a high-end getaway? I half-expected a spa menu.
But the real shock came when I started talking to people. One of the first questions I kept getting was, “How many times have you been here?” Excuse me—what? You mean people come here more than once? Don’t you just do the three-week program, emerge healed and enlightened, and never look back? These poor souls clearly didn’t have my level of determination. I would be one and done. I would be fixed in three weeks.
Note to reader: I ended up having six admissions over three years, including one intensive six-week stay. So much for one and done.
The weekly program provided structured, evidence-based support through daily group sessions as part of the Mood and Anxiety Inpatient Program. It focused on cognitive behavioural therapy, equipping me with strategies to manage stress, care for my well-being, and address challenges in a healthier way.
Beyond therapy, the program encouraged physical activity with group gym sessions, yoga classes, and daily walks—all designed to support both mental and physical health. Meals were provided, and my room was cleaned daily, allowing me to focus entirely on the work of healing. The only personal task was doing my laundry once a week, which was minimal effort.
Regular psychiatric consultations— twice a week—ensured individualised care. Through these sessions, I worked on refining my mindset, adjusting medication as needed, and developing strategies for long-term stability.
Prioritising my mental health was essential for me to be the best wife and Mum I could be.
Despite the initial guilt I felt about my husband managing our three young children at home while I was in hospital, I came to understand the immense benefits of this choice. Prioritising my mental health was essential for me to be the best wife and Mum I could be. It also helped me confront and battle suicidal thoughts, reaffirming my desire to stay present for my family.
I was worried about how my illness and hospitalisation might affect my kids—would this experience leave lasting scars?
However, we focused on supporting them by being open and transparent. We informed the school principal, preschool, and teachers about my situation. Each weekend, our children came to visit, and we made it a point to create positive memories together—whether it was going to the beach, swimming at the hotel pool, playing at Holey Moley, or exploring Wollongong’s parks. These moments not only strengthened our bond but also showed my kids that joy could still be found during challenging times.
We openly discussed my hospital stay with the kids reassuring them that it wasn’t something to be feared or kept secret. We let them know their teachers were aware and could provide support if they needed to talk. This openness proved invaluable. For instance, our son’s teacher encouraged him to write letters to me in class when he missed me, even mailing them herself. His school also offered welfare services, providing additional reassurance and care. The kindness and support extended by our school communities during this time were extraordinary, and I couldn’t have felt more grateful.
As I mentioned earlier, my journey to wellness has been far from straightforward. It has not been a "one and done" situation. My path to recovery has involved many stumbling blocks, as well as trying various therapies and medications. I underwent TMS (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation)—which, to clarify, is not the same as electric shock therapy—experimented with CBD oil, tried multiple medications, and participated in two specialised PTSD inpatient programs. One of these programs lasted six weeks and included exposure therapy, which involved discussing my traumas, recording them, and listening to those recordings.
Recovery requires persistence and a willingness to explore different avenues, and I wholeheartedly encourage anyone who feels it might help to consider a hospital stay. For me, it was truly life-changing. Don't let fear stop you from trying different therapies or medications through trial and error you will find the combination that works for you.
Flashforward to April 2025
The saying ‘the comeback is always bigger than the setback’ has taken on a profound meaning for me. Earlier this year, our twin daughters and son mentioned we hadn’t been to Wollongong on a holiday in a while. It has been two years since my last hospitalisation. We explained to the kids that it’s because Mummy hasn’t needed to go to hospital in a long time. The kids revealed they had forgotten that was the reason we went to Wollongong. They just remember it as a fun holiday place.
This Easter, we went on a holiday there together and enjoyed the beaches, the hotel pool, Holey Moley, and even a surfing lesson for the kids. They absolutely loved it! This felt like a full-circle moment—being well and truly enjoying fun experiences with my family.
Thank you!
Thank you for sharing 💖