I Surrender.

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The past 6 months have been, probably, the greatest shift in the way my brain works.

Around February I experienced a new bleed, one I’ve never experienced, and it was serious enough for me to reach out to the hospital.

Historically, I’ve avoided the hospital. As I say it out loud, I feel I sound irritational, because someone with my condition shouldn’t be putting off a trip to the hospital when I need it. This time I couldn’t and so I reached out. I let the ocean of anxiety wash over me, and I surrendered to the fact that I needed help.

Frankston 2026.

It’s been a long time since I last spoke with the team at the hospital. Turns out a lot has changed since I last spoke with them.

I was educated on support frameworks completely new to me for people like me, and as the doctor explained this to me, I knew I had to make a decision.

Which leads me to the title of this post.

I surrender.

“To surrender, Transitive verb – To give up completely or agree to forgo especially in favor of another“

This one event set off a chain of events that forced me to surrender on different fronts.

I’ve had to surrender to the fact that I’ve experienced things that a vast majority of people have not, and that these experiences, as much as I’ve historically fought against them have in fact impacted me.

I surrender to the fact that I am different and have different needs as well as support.

Admitting this publicly still sparks feeling of anxiety. Like the flickering of a candle flame, or the sparks from a campfire, after putting fresh wood in it.

And so began my journey of healing and support.

My girls, 2026

I started Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy. Which I can only describe as incredible. Admittedly, I was incredibly skeptical going into it, but instead of fighting, I allowed myself to be open to the support.

One of the first sessions, we recalled a memory from my childhood, a memory that would trigger a feeling of panic throughout my body.

I was nine or ten years old. My parents had been renovating the bathroom and had left a sharp tile on the shower floor. While in there, I slipped and ended up with a gash on my elbow. I still have the scar 30 years later as a reminder.

I still recall the sound of the blood dripping onto the vinyl flooring of the kitchen. The towel they’d used to wrap my elbow was so full of blood that it was overflowing. The pain from the pressure my dad was applying to the wound still stands out. I remember begging them to take me to the hospital.

In that moment, I felt so vulnerable, so at the mercy of others decision making. Which in hindsight is probably one of the contributing moments of my personality.

I can’t rely on luck.

I don’t deserve to die.

I fight for my right to be here.

I survive.

As we walked through this memory during EMDR, I experienced the most fascinating thing. My brain began to recontextualize the memory.

I was again in the kitchen, the sound of the blood hitting the vinyl floor.

My parents weren’t there, they’d been replaced by my wife.

Instead of a scared little boy, I was the grown man now. A man who’s achieved things, who loves and is loved.

There was urgency, but I wasn’t panicked.

My wife asking me what we needed to do, and I knew what I needed to do to be safe.

I had the support from the one individual I have surrendered myself to. My wife.

I knew I was going to be okay.

Melbourne, 2026

As I type that memory out, the feelings of panic and anxiety don’t have power anymore. They’re replaced by my confidence, my knowing that I have someone who will support me. I still fight to survive, but I’m not alone.

I’m finding myself feeling not as sharp, or intense, in fact I’m feeling physically more tired. This is pretty typical side effects of EMDR, but I think from years of running on overdrive, I’m finding that as my body adjusts to not running on anxiety twenty-four hours a day, but I’m trying to be kinder to myself, to allow myself to rest and heal.

Reflecting on all this, I wish I had allowed myself to surrender a long time ago, but, in saying that I’m glad I did this sooner rather than later.

Cheers,

Cody.

Liminal

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I had to read the dictionary definition to remind me, but I think “liminal” is the best word to describe my feelings right now.

liminal

adjective

1. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.

2.relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
Oli, 2025.

I observe my wife transitioning into her new career, launching her own business.

My eldest daughter, about to start high school, my youngest about to change primary schools.

Even my day to day has become liminal in it’s nature.

Am I uncomfortable? Not really, but I think it elicits certain feelings depending on what it is I’m observing. It’s a complex mix of pride, grief, joy and love. Different dimensions of love.

Seagulls and Poetry.

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I’ve written about this before, but I often find myself being drawn to recurring themes, places.

These images are for me, and the recurring themes I consider the poetry of my life.

This process of maintaining this little blog, documenting my images, I do this for me, because it helps me understand…..me.

Ten years ago, I posted this image. I previously would look up and would see the freedom of birds. I would yearn for that. The freedom to be free of this fuse burning out over my head.

But that was ten years ago I posted that photo. I recognise I’m different now.

Seeing these images of the gulls, fighting and squabbling in front of me from my most recent trip to the beach, it stirs different feelings in me.

Mornington, 2025.

I stand, I watch the mayhem unfold from a position of curiosity and in this moment, I see the rhyme of the visual poetry. It rhymes with my current day to day and who used to be.

I have a feeling wash over me, I feel removed. I am an observer.

And in this moment, I realise. I’m actually free.

Gratitude washes over me.

Bosom Beach, January 2025

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The smell of salt water, hot chips and battered fish fills the air. The sounds of my families laughter fills the air. I’ve got no shoes on, my feet covered in sand, I feel the grass beneath me.

I stare out over field. I suddenly feel lonely. I take this photo. My senses are flooded again, salty smells, sounds of love, and a connection to home beneath me, the lonely feeling is now fleeting.

I’m grounded again, and I’m feeling better.

Sometimes you get dragged out into the ocean. Don’t panic.

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Well, I posted something last week, and I pushed it out in a bit of a rush. It’s been so long, and I’ve been radio silent for so long, I got a little bit over excited and just published it.

Now we’re at the end of the week, I’ve had some more time go through images, and to think about what I wanted to say.

Mornington, Feb 2024.

Last time I posted, I spoke about a personal project I was kicking off.

The good news is that I’ve got everything in place to start. I’ve got the tools, the plan and the contracts ready to go, I just need to do it.

I was about to say “the bad news”, but after reflecting on it I’m not sure if that would be true.
After some convincing, my sabbatical became short, and I’ve been back to work. On top of this, had a minor health scare. Happy to confirm I’m completely healthy, just the joys of getting older and living with VWD.

Kiama, April 2025.

But just touching on why I titled this post, and more importantly, why I’m not upset about the fact that I’m behind on my goal.

Australians, especially ones who were raised on the coast like I was, you’re imparted some wisdom at a pretty young age specifically when swimming at the beach. Rips are strong currents that pulls you out into the ocean very quickly. The advice is to not fight against it, as the strength of the rip will burn you out and before you know it you’re too tired to keep your head above water.

Instead, you conserve you’re energy, swim out of the rip, instead of against it, and then swim back to the shoreline.

I’m currently in the rip and not panicking. Waiting for the right time to swim out and get back to my shoreline where I can pick up where I left off.

Kiama, March 2025

In the meantime, I’ll look for opportunities where I can find my joy. Going through these images has brought me a lot of joy, so I think I just need to make space for me to shoot more.

Unless I get pulled into another rip. Let’s see how we go.

Treading old grounds again.

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Hi, It’s me again. It’s been a while.

Box Hill, 2024

My last post was about being kinder to myself, and so, I’ve been taking steps to improve my health, physically, mentally and spiritually.

I made a big decision recently, which was difficult. If we talk about kindness, part of that for me is to have a creative outlet. I’ve been fortunate enough to have avenues within my professional career to have that outlet, but more recently I could feel the tide going out on my current day job, and so I decided to return to a personal project I’ve been planning for a while. (I’ll share more about that when I kick it off in full swing.)

Richmond, 2024

This big decision was bittersweet.

People are a big part of what motivate me and so losing that day-to-day connection is hard for me. I’m leaving behind some people, who I hope to be my friends for the rest of my life, and so that’s the bitter part of this bittersweet feeling.

The sweet feeling is knowing that I’m working on something that I’ve wanted to do, and for so long. I’ve treated my body of work as a hobby. Photography, my personal expression has taken a back seat while I pursued my career in the corporate world.

Box Hill, 2024

This big decision means I’ve flipped my body of work take the front seat again.

Pursuing something I have complete creative control again brings me joy, and so I’m excited to kick this project off. Excited to put something out in the world and see how it responds in turn.
I feel like I’m treading on old grounds.

Even if it fails, I don’t mind. I just want to create, say something I want to say.

That will make me happy.

Trying to be kinder to myself.

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I’m currently lying in my bed, energy levels low. Fading in and out of sleep, in a dream-like state. This feeling is oddly peaceful, but sparks of anxiety and anger flash occasionally. It’s a bit like a storm cloud rolling in. This might make this post a bit incoherent, so I’d ask for some consideration when reading this, as it might take a few sharp turns.

For those who are squeamish when it comes to blood, maybe skip past this one, as I’ll be talking about some graphic scenes and including old photos from the archive where I’ve captured some of my experiences living with Von Willebrand’s Disease.

With Von Willebrand’s Disease, I’m prone to spontaneous bleeding, ranging from small gushes to something you’d see in horror movies. Unfortunately for me, it’s closer to horror movies.

Coughing up blood. 2012.

I wake up covered in my own blood, my body shaking due to a fight-or-flight response that was triggered before I’m even conscious. I gasp for air, cough up more blood, and sit in the dark, listening to my body. It’s my nose, right nostril, not just dripping but running with blood like a running tap. “Apply pressure and calm down,” is what plays through my mind. Six hours later, I’ve slowed it to a drip, but I’ve lost a lot of blood. Being a larger one, this wipes my energy levels completely and brings my mental health to its absolute knees.

My bed in Westmead Hospital. 2012

With the exhaustion that comes from substantial blood loss, my mind floods with prior trauma. All of it surfaces when I’m vulnerable. It becomes a complex feeling of deep depression, anxiety, anger, and frustration. Over the past decade, I’ve also developed new feelings that have started to creep in: shame, insecurity, and embarrassment. These new feelings are tied to the fact that I have people who depend on me, because when I’m like this, I can’t be the usual person they need me to be.

This is not to say that they make me feel this way; it’s actually the opposite. I think when you love someone so much, you just want to be the best you can for them. So when I’m not my usual self and become emotionally radioactive, that’s where this feeling of shame and embarrassment creeps in.

My blood washing down the drain. A familiar scene.

My wife has observed this cycle, which I’ve described in the past as an emotional car crash, for over 16 years now. She consistently reminds me to be kinder to myself. Through her persistence and love, I’m starting to understand what she means. Historically, I’d push myself, but I’ve realized now that it just prolongs the healing. I’m just not well during that whole period, and as a result, I suffer, and so do the people around me. I don’t want that.

What I’m learning is that being kind to myself isn’t just doing nothing, but it’s taking ownership of when I’m not okay and investing my time into being better. That’s what I want instead.