Troy Burnell

All children need support

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Emotional sobriety

I’m walking because I’m a dad. There are some things in life you never imagine you’ll have to face as a parent. You spend years trying to protect your children. You teach them to cross the road, to get back up when they fall, to be kind, to be strong and to believe in themselves. But eventually you realise there are battles you can’t simply fix for them. This year, youth mental health has become very personal for me. I have seen firsthand how depression and anxiety can quietly become part of a young person’s world. How someone can laugh, go to school, play sport, spend time with friends—and still be hurting inside. And as a father, that is incredibly difficult to comprehend. Because when your child is hurting, every instinct in you says “I need to make this better.” You want to take away their pain. You want to carry it for them. You want to tell them everything will be okay. But sometimes you can’t. Sometimes all you can do is stay. Listen. Love them. And keep reminding them that they don’t have to face it alone. That’s what emotional sobriety means to me. It isn’t about being tough enough not to feel. It isn’t about pushing emotions down or pretending everything is okay. It’s about learning how to sit with the difficult stuff. To recognise when we’re struggling. To talk about it. To ask for help. And to understand that having overwhelming thoughts or emotions doesn’t mean we are broken. For young people, learning those skills can be life-changing. Because adolescence is already hard enough. School. Sport. Friendships. Relationships. Social media. Expectations. Identity. The pressure to fit in. The pressure to succeed. And sometimes, underneath all of that, there can be a young person silently thinking: “Nobody understands what I’m going through.” I want to help change that. I want young people to know that they can speak about anxiety. They can speak about depression. They can say they’re struggling. They can ask for help. And most importantly, they can know that their life matters—even when they can’t see it themselves. I’m walking for my own family. I’m walking for the parents who have sat awake at night worrying about their child. I’m walking for the young people who are fighting battles that nobody else can see. I’m walking for the families who have lost someone and for those desperately trying to keep someone they love here. And I’m walking because I believe we have to do better. We need to stop waiting until young people are in crisis before we take their pain seriously. We need to listen earlier. We need to talk more openly. We need to make asking for help feel normal. And we need to remind our kids that strength isn’t pretending you’re okay. Sometimes strength is saying you’re not. So, this October, I’ll put one foot in front of the other and walk. Some steps will be easy. Some won’t. But every step will carry a message: You are not alone. You are worth fighting for. Your story isn’t over. If you can donate, thank you. If you can’t, please share this page. But most importantly, ask someone you love how they’re really doing—and stay long enough to hear the answer. Because sometimes a conversation can be the difference between someone suffering alone and someone knowing they don’t have to. I’m walking because I’m a father. I’m walking because I care. And I’m walking because every young life matters. Share

My motivation

Having faced mental illness myself, as well as supporting family members through their own struggles, mental health has always been something close to my heart. This year, however, the journey has become much more personal. I’m taking part in the Black Dog Walk in October to help raise awareness, break down the stigma surrounding mental health, and support children and adolescents who are navigating challenges such as depression, anxiety, self-harm and suicidal thoughts. No child or young person should have to carry these struggles while simultaneously trying to navigate school, sport, friendships, family and everyday life. Every young person deserves to feel heard, supported and understood—and, most importantly, to know that they are not alone. I’m walking for those who are struggling silently, for the families who are trying to support them, and for a future where asking for help is seen as a sign of strength rather than weakness. If sharing this helps even one young person or family start a conversation, then every step will be worth it. Share