When my husband and I swapped city life for rural Tasmania, we were chasing our farming dreams and a deeper connection to the land. But with an infant son and another child soon on the way, what should have been one of the most beautiful seasons of my life quickly became the most brutal.
There was no mother’s group. No family or friends down the road. No local support network. And my husband was working 7 days a week. I was learning how to mother on my own, while trying not to come undone myself.
I had left behind the buzz of breaking news bulletins and the bright city lights of a successful TV journalism and corporate career. I was used to fast-paced days filled with scripts, stories and deadlines. But nothing prepared me for the quiet chaos of postnatal depression in a rural area, or the silent grief of raising a baby in isolation.
There was an invisible barrier I hadn’t expected: the vastness of rural life. Not just the physical distance between towns and people, but the emotional and social isolation I felt while mothering with no village.
Over time, I began connecting with other rural mums. First online, then over the phone, and eventually I turned that craving for connection into a side hustle.These women’s stories were different to mine, but often the ache was the same: Where is my village?
So, I built one.
In 2019, I launched Motherland from my living room, when my son was 10 months old. What started as a podcast has grown into a national charity supporting thousands of rural mums across Australia; women who are among the most under-supported in the country.
We talk a lot about the pressures on farmers, but not enough about the women raising the next generation on the land. These mothers are quietly navigating birth trauma, miscarriage, mental health struggles and identity shifts – often in places with no local maternity ward, limited childcare, shrinking services as well as increasing NDIS cuts. Alarmingly, over 70% of rural mums said that they’ve delayed seeking healthcare because they couldn’t access the right services locally in a recent Motherland survey.
When we talk about the beating heart of rural Australia and ‘resilience’ in the bush’, mothers are rarely part of the story. That needs to change.
And more to the point, we actually need to stop throwing the word “resilience” around so carelessly. It can be dangerous. It’s often used to gloss over suffering, silence vulnerability and glorifies ‘putting up and shutting up’. It tells rural mums to keep going instead of asking if they’re truly OK. True strength comes from being able to speak out and feel understood, not just soldiering on.
I didn’t start Motherland because I had a grand vision. I started it because I was desperate for connection and I knew I wasn’t alone.
Since then, I’ve spoken to thousands of women through our podcast, online mother’s group program and at our Motherland events. They’ve shared what it’s really like behind the farm gate. Their stories are raw, and often invisible to those outside rural communities. But they matter, and when shared, they remind women they’re not failing – the system is failing them.
Isolation is a mental health red flag. So is inadequate access to healthcare. So is parenting without a village. And yet, too often, rural mums are expected to just get on with it. To be resilient, no matter the emotional cost.
In 2024, we hosted Motherland’s first national conference in Tasmania. It sold out. Women flew in from every state. The energy in the room was electric – proof of how deeply rural mums need spaces to connect and feel seen.
That’s why in 2026, we’re doing it again. I’m thrilled to bring our second national conference to Toowoomba, Queensland, on 13–14 March, supported by the Queensland Goverment.
This isn’t just another event. It’s a gathering for women who are so often overlooked, a space to share stories, recharge, and remember they matter. With speakers like Gina Chick, Genevieve Muir, Julie Goodwin, and Anna Meares, it will be two unforgettable days: moving, uplifting, and full of connection. Scholarships are also available to cover tickets and travel and accommodation for those doing it tough, because no rural mum should be left behind.
I didn’t find rural motherhood. It found me, in all its beauty and challenges.
Motherland is the community I once needed, and now have the privilege of building for others. I’ve seen how one conversation can change a life, and I want every rural mum to know: no matter where you are, you are never alone.
Top photo – Pictured: Stephanie Trethewey, Source: Instagram/motherlandaustralia