For 17 years, I lived in a place called Hamilton South, a humble housing commission estate in Newcastle, NSW, known locally as ‘Lego Land’. It was a place filled with people seeking escape — often through substances. I thought that was how everyone coped.

These were my neighbours, my community.

As a child, Tamara would create imaginary worlds and characters to escape from her reality. Source: Supplied

At home, my mother struggled with her own demons. A survivor of the Stolen Generations, she bore scars too deep for parenting, turning to alcohol and violence to cope.

But in the confines of my room, I created a world of my own. I clutched my pencil and drew the characters of my dreams, crafting places I’d never seen. My little hands would work until they blistered.

Escape as a ritual

At night, while my mother drowned herself in alcohol, I’d sneak pot into my room and smoke, retreating deeper into my cocoon.

The next four years were a blur of addiction, with barely a month of sobriety.

Hitting rock bottom

I relapsed after her death. At her funeral, I was high, burying my grief under the haze of drugs. For a year, I spiralled again.

I realised no hero was coming to save me. If I wanted change, it had to start with me.

Fighting for life

I thrived on the challenge, pushing myself to excel.

But work was simply another distraction from my emotions. And my success came at a cost.

Confronting the emptiness

It needed love, connection and acceptance.

Tamara says she has learned to not rely on emotional crutches and listen to her own thoughts. Source: Supplied

My dad’s family, my friends and the community of Lego Land had been my support system all along. They loved me through every stage of my journey, scars and all.