James Lander, a contemporary photographer from Nambucca Heads, shares his story on overcoming trauma, flirting with suicide and learning how to share his story for the greater good.

I was six weeks old when I entered foster care. I moved around a few families in between Bundaberg and Brisbane until I was seven. Throughout that time I spent a few years back with my birth mother in Bundaberg before eventually moving down to the Mid North Coast with my Aunty.

I’ve never looked back.

To have someone who was my constant, my stability, was a pretty incredible feeling. Sure, my life before the move was traumatic, but you have to remember that was my normal. That was until Aunty Robyn took me in – she’s my absolute rock; I still call her three times a week. She also married the most wonderfully patient and kind man, Lyle. He has taught me so much simply by being there for me. But most importantly, he taught me a different side to masculinity I hadn’t really encountered; patience, kindness and zero aggression. Absolute legend – he really helped me reshape my world and ultimately gave me a sense of direction.

Despite that at-home support, it was a different story outside those four walls. Back then, mental health was never really widely talked about. The resources and events available to help start the conversation didn’t exist and it just felt like society in general wasn’t ready to go there. So I edited my life story. If it came up with mates at school, I’d do the quick three-minute rundown: ‘She’s not actually my mum, she’s my Aunty Rob, whatever’ – that was it. People just knew what they needed to know and it was done.

The finer details came to the surface much later in life.

My birth mother has schizophrenia and a couple of other things going on. But we’re still in touch, we always have been. In my view, I’ve got a mum and a mother. They both love me dearly and it was always pretty cool getting two sets of presents.

I never knew my dad. I don’t know when he committed suicide. I don’t know whether it was before I was born, or around the time I was born. I’ve actually never said that publicly before. I’ve avoided everything to do with it my whole life, things like Father’s Day especially. But not now. I’m learning to lean in – I’d love to have kids one day and as I grow older, my view of the world is shifting. Doors are opening and have allowed me to feel comfortable about communicating with other people, about myself, my life experiences and my struggles.

It took me a while to get there though.

Straight out of school I studied psych for a year. That didn’t work out. I was having too much fun, going to raves, caught up with drugs and alcohol, all that sort of stuff. I was young, 15 when I started. Drugs were a thing before I’d even had a beer; it was pretty wild.

But for me, it was a beautiful escape.

Soon after, I started a chef’s apprenticeship. Hospo was good because I lost the weekends. The alcohol stepped up a bit, but the drugs faded out. I had some pretty cool gigs too – I worked at the resort at Uluru, spent some time cruising the Whitsundays as a personal chef on a private yacht, before heading back to Brisbane to work at The Venzin Group, Little Clive and finally The Priory.

It was great, but ultimately I wasn’t happy with who I was as a chef. I wasn’t angry or anything, just frustrated with the industry. At the start I was frothing on it, loved every second. But after 18 years, I was really starting to recycle stuff creatively and it was time to explore something more fulfilling.

That’s where photography comes in. It had always been there. I started doing sunrises and landscapes – it was about the alone time. It felt like a reset. And in the past few years, after moving back down to the coast, the business side of it has developed slowly and organically, spurred along by a few incredible people in my life and a really supportive creative community. I was still working as a head chef to begin with, but having that time out and a creative outlet had obvious benefits workwise, too. After time away for photography, I’d step back into the kitchen calmer, better. It gave me something to look forward to outside of work and also something to connect to people with.

I’m shy. I can be a bit awkward. But the camera is like a security blanket and actually makes me engage with other people, chat with them, photograph them. I’ll never stop trying to get better at it, and I’m still learning every day. Combining photography with my love of live music helps too, that’s something I know and can comfortably lean into. I’ve been going to music festivals since I was 16 years old and have always loved it; the feeling you get and listening to the different styles of music. But I think what I love most is seeing the freedom people experience in those moments – that emotion, that intimacy, that body movement that comes from one little drop at the peak of a song, there’s so much in that. At first, you feel like you should be focusing on the musician – but the crowd is where the emotion’s at, you can see it in their faces.

When photographing festivals, I put my earplugs in, the sound’s dialled back and I just watch people express themselves. It’s pretty cool. It’s about trying to read people too. I will go back to study one day soon, social science this time – the way people interact with one another absolutely fascinates me.

All those things combined have helped me start to communicate – making the right choices, living in the right place, seeking creativity and alone time. And the more I’ve opened up, the more the people closest to me have been able to help and offer their support. Six months ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD – I actually laughed. I thought I was bipolar. ‘Is that it? Sweet!’. Of course, depression’s there too and I’m also exploring an Attachment Disorder diagnosis. I’ve always had a resistance to relationships. Looking back, I’ve had some amazing girlfriends, but as soon as it got a bit heavy, I was out of there.

But it’s only recently I’ve started to figure out the ‘why’ behind that. It took me 37 years to reach out and start talking, but I got there. Friends have said some of my experiences aren’t normal. Sure, they’re normal for me, but as I’ve grown older they’ve led to me displaying certain behaviours – and now that I’m talking, I can get the support I need for that.

I think I’ve always flirted with the idea of suicide. My brain just tended to go there. I was punishing myself working 70-80 hours a week, getting loose and staying out till 3am and then back to work at 8am. I’d do that for weeks on end.

So yeah, I don’t believe choosing suicide is a simpler option, and it’s not solely a matter of courage. Suicide is a deeply distressing act with the most irreversible of consequences. I can understand why some may perceive it as the only way out, but because of my dad I just knew I would never go down that road. I know the impact of suicide. There is always another path. I don’t have kids of my own yet, but being one who was affected by it, I just know I couldn’t do that to anyone.

It doesn’t stop the thoughts – the idea is there because it was real and accessible to me from such a young age. There were discussions with family growing up, but it wasn’t really spoken about outside of that – it wasn’t the done thing in the 90s. But I knew what the word ‘suicide’ meant much younger than most.

Then I saw it again, through school, university and as a young adult. I just kept seeing it and thought, enough. No one really knows what the answer is, but for me it’s about leading by example when it comes to communicating. I’ve lost some mates to suicide and I’m devo that I didn’t get to have that phone call and be able to make a difference. But there have been a few people who have reached out to me in those moments, literally because they knew I’ve been through it – and that’s why talking openly is so important for me right now. Allowing individuals to embrace vulnerability and acknowledge their trauma. For instance, expressing words like, “I’m proud of you, mate. Thank you for opening up and sharing your story,” carries more genuine support compared to a sympathetic response like, “Oh, I’m really sorry.” And when people come to me, I’ll show the same care and support. I won’t freak out, I’ll just be there, ready to listen.

For other men who are struggling, the biggest piece of advice I’d pass on is to not be afraid to reach out. Recognise who the right supports are in your world and pick up the phone. Now’s the time to change the dialogue, right? Back when I was young, I was super sporty and – for lack of better words – didn’t want to appear ‘soft’. Talking about how we felt just wasn’t the done thing. Now, being older and with more resources available, people are learning to lean into their experiences and find the courage deep down to share them openly.

Find your people. Talk to them. For a long time I felt as though people couldn’t see what was happening. But when I moved back, I really did need the support – I needed eyes on me.

Getting back here has slowed everything down, surrounded me with the right support network and given me the opportunity to work on my photography. That was a big switch towards self-care. If I get a winning shot, that’s awesome, but the camera is literally a tool, the people and feelings I capture with it are what’s important. It’s unlocked a different way for me to look at the world, it’s made me more curious, more willing to chat about everything – and talking is better for everyone. Talking has the power to change someone’s path, even in the darkest of times. It gives your thoughts a voice and, ultimately, is the first step towards a brighter, happier place.

Discover his work…

James Lander is a Mid North Coast photographer whose work is not only vibrant and arresting, but pushes the boundaries between art and photography. Discover it for yourself online today.

Website | Instagram | Portrait of James by Jay Black

If you or someone you know is going through a hard time right now, there are a number of services available to help.

Beyond Blue | 1300 224 636

Headspace | 1300 659 467

Lifeline | 13 11 14

Kids Helpline | 1800 55 1800

SANE Australia Helpline | 1800 18 7236

Black Dog Institute

ReachOut

13YARN | 13 92 76

Suicide Call Back Service | 1300 659 467