Turning Pain into Purpose: The Journey That Inspired Get Out

For years, I battled clinical depression, anxiety, and borderline personality disorder. I did everything I thought I should — regular sessions with psychiatrists and psychologists and diligently taking my medications. Yet, nothing seemed to work. I was stuck in a cycle of despair, barely leaving the house, drinking heavily, carrying extra weight, and sinking deeper into hopelessness. Even though I didn’t have active thoughts of ending my life, I often wondered if I neglected myself long enough, maybe I’d fast-track my way out. At the time, that felt like the easiest path.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe that I was in that place only two years ago. A place where joy seemed unattainable, and I had all but given up on the idea that things could get better. But life has a way of forcing us to confront our truths, often when we least expect it.

For me, it started with a comment — a cruel jab from a stranger online. I’d posted a photo on Instagram, and someone wrote: “Gee, you’ve let yourself go. You used to be so hot. What a shame.” At first, I was angry. How dare they? But deep down, I knew they weren’t entirely wrong. I’d let myself go, physically and emotionally. That comment stung because it held up a mirror to all the ways I had been letting myself down, too.

Then came the second blow: one of my oldest friends from Sydney passed away from an accidental overdose. We used to joke in our early twenties that if we were still single at 40, we’d get married. Now, as I approached that milestone, they were gone. Their death hit me like a freight train. It wasn’t just grief — it was the realisation that if I didn’t change my path, I might be the next one my friends were mourning. I felt something beyond numbness for the first time in a long time. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live.

I checked myself into a remediation centre — a decision that would change everything. There, I tackled not only my mental health but also my relationship with alcohol, which had spiralled out of control after years of grief and loss. It was in that space, away from the noise, that I discovered something profound: therapy and medication were essential, but they couldn’t do the work for me. True healing requires action.

In the centre, I reconnected with parts of myself I’d forgotten or neglected — painting, music, yoga, and even group exercise — activities I had abandoned because of COVID anxiety or the excuse of “not having time.” These weren’t just hobbies; they were lifelines. They reminded me how essential connection is — to ourselves and to others. It became clear that the cure for loneliness isn’t found in isolation but in meaningful bonds, shared experiences, and accountability.

When I left the centre, I made two promises to myself: to stay sober (21 months and counting) and to rebuild my life with intention. I joined a team training gym for fitness and found a tribe that shared my passion for health and growth. I lost over 18 kilograms, but more importantly, I shed the weight of my old life. Every photo from that time reminds me of how far I’ve come and why I never want to return.

This journey — the highs, the lows, and the lessons in between — became the foundation for Get Out. I wanted to create a space where people could find the connections, accountability, and community that saved me. A place where you didn’t have to fit into nightlife or dating apps to belong. A platform that celebrates everything from book clubs to sports teams, knitting circles to gaming nights. A hub for real, meaningful connection.

I’m sharing this because Get Out was born from some of my darkest times. I don’t have all the answers, and no single platform will cure loneliness. But I believe in the power of community — the glue that holds us together when life gets tough. If we can become the go-to hub for finding events, activities, and support in one place, we’re creating something truly special.

Get Out isn’t just a platform. It’s a vision of what community can be: a space where everyone belongs, and no one has to navigate life alone.