From ordinary women, come stories that are real and inspiring.


Sharing a moment from the lives of real women. A moment used to uncover their personal values and beliefs.

It’s about encouraging a respect for women, and a solidarity among women; the dignity and validation that comes from having an audience, albeit invisible, bearing witness to the story you tell; creating a moment of shared understanding of emotion between very different kinds of people. It’s Michel Foucault’s truth effect. That's why CSP talks to Aboriginal women, Muslim women, environmental activists, neuroqueer and queer mothers, women married to each other, old women, young girls. Any woman you see, any person you see, has a story, if you can be quiet long enough to listen. 


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Latest Episode: Teddy Bear

May 15, 2018

 Amy Martinez listens to the story of Isabelle from Belle and the Bear, in which Isabelle’s bear was stolen by her mother’s abusive partner.

“I feel like [the teddy bear] stands for something else that has been taken away from her.”

The sadness that Amy feels for Isabelle relates also to her own experiences in childhood. Now, as a young adult, Amy says she is starting to notice the ways in which people hold power over her.

For example, she had a boyfriend who was very controlling.

“He knew that I cared so much about him that he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it because he could say certain things to bring me back.”

Amy’s reflection is a curious mix of vulnerability and courage. It takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to publically experience and express strength and there’s a lot to be learnt here about emotional resilience and getting to

know yourself.


The Balloon

 "Hope is a spacious place. It's so full of possibility."


Chantale has a way with words that is a little hypnotic. And she has a way with ideas. Hope, for her, is a red balloon that expands your chest so you can breathe a little more easily. 


Much like her balloon, or more accurately, because of her balloon, this is a conversation that expands - into mental health, the vagaries of babies that interrupt interviews, what keeps us awake at night, climate change, what a better future means, Brene Brown's vulnerability hangovers, messiness - and into a conversation about conversation, stories and words. About the things that make us human. 


And here is the poem that she shares with us - it's worth lingering over:


357/365 // the balloon // #365daysofpoetry


Love, mistaking my heart

for a balloon,

took a deep breath 

and blew and now it sits

uncomfortably tight in my chest,

swollen against ribs

that creak under the strain

drifting upwards 

until my toes barely 

touch the ground 

I am adrift 

in newly awoken hope


(Chantale Roxanas)




Bundjalung Woman

Dei Phillips is a Bundjalung woman.

Fierce and compassionate, she is relentless as an activist and advocate for Aboriginal people in Australia. In trying to arrange this interview, we kept having to postpone. Dei is always busy, whether it be marching on Invasion/Survival Day or seeking legal representation for young Aboriginal first offenders.

She is a passionate educator about pre-colonial history and geography. When I finally got to talk to her, it was more than worth the wait. I got to hear about the importance of language, story, and place. These things form our culture and identity. I felt that I understood more about how utterly devastating it is to have them stolen. 

And it all began for Dei back in early primary school.

As a little girl, she found herself attacking a boy tormenting a small girl with cancer. While she regrets being in a physical fight, she learnt, in that moment, the feeling of strength that accompanies protecting someone else.


It was a defining experience, in terms of becoming an activist.


“That singular moment of watching this young girl, who was a white girl, be dehumanised for something that was completely out of her control.”

 The basis of activism, says Dei, is the desire to protect.


The only Aboriginal child in her inner-city primary school, Dei would sometimes be sent to stay with her grandmother, a thousand kilometres away. Here, she went to school with family and cousins. The contrast between the two experiences was quite stark. Going to school with her mob was freeing.


“You don’t feel frowned upon, you don’t feel like people are making judgements on you as much as when you’re the only Aboriginal in the school.”


I’ve tried a few times to write up more of the interview for these notes. I thought I was just struggling to condense all the themes of it down to a short piece. But I’ve realised that, as a Settler woman, a descendent of English and Irish, I don’t feel it’s my place to write up the knowledge that Dei gifted me in this interview. So, I hope you are able to listen for yourself.




Hostage in Iraq


Teresa Benetos was a nurse in Baghdad when Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. She’s writing a memoir about her time as a hostage in Iraq. 


Growing up in a traditional Irish Catholic household, it has taken many years for Teresa to realise that, as a woman, her story is of interest. After thirty years, she says, it is time to tell the story of ‘The Accidental Hostage.’


As a teenager, she battled with her father to be able to finish her Leaving Certificate at school and study to become a nurse. Against the background of an economic recession, Teresa was compelled to seek work in London, during the era of “No blacks, no dogs, no Irish.”


She left London and went to work in Belfast during the Troubles, the thirty-year armed conflict and political deadlock in Northern Ireland.

 Then, in 1990, she took a job in a hospital in Baghdad. Before she returned to Iraq after some leave, she had her fortune told: She would be surrounded by uniforms and there was months of worry ahead for her parents.


On August the 2nd, 1990, Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait and decided that foreigners were not allowed to leave. Teresa was one of about 200 Irish nurses held hostage. So long as they continued to work in the hospital during Operation Desert Storm, they were relatively safe.


As well as the fear of their own position, they experienced the vicarious trauma of treating the civilians impacted by armed conflict, including the pre-invasion gassing of Kurds, with children being carried on foot from Mosul with horrific injuries. Following the trade sanctions imposed by the UN, people were running out of food; the hospital was running out of medicine and supplies.


This is a story both harrowing and inspiring, as well as bearing historical importance. Reflecting on family, career and recovery from trauma, the interview reveals Teresa's strength and resilience. It also provides tantalising hints into her skill as a writer.


The conundrum of the story is a familiar one: Family. We flee into the world and sometimes end up longing to return. What Teresa wanted most, trapped in Baghdad, was the family and the parents she’d so desperately wanted to leave.