Lisa Wilkinson - It Wasnt Meant to Be Like This

To my father, Ray Wilkinson, whose gentle,

loving star I still steer by.

CONTENTS

M Y BEAUTIFUL LATE DAD once told me that a person needs just three things to be truly happy in life: someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for.

I have been wonderfully fortunate to have experienced all three.

But none of it was guaranteed. None of it just happened. There were, in fact, many times when all three seemed unattainable, because so much of my life wasnt actually meant to be like this.

Growing up in Sydneys south-west, there were very few expectations placed upon me. Like every little girl in 1960s Australia, my life looked decidedly predestined: probably married by 23, with a bunch of kids before 30. And if I were to have a job, it was more than likely going to be limited to that small window before the arrival of kids because, from then on, a womans place is in the home. In most workplaces, pregnancy was grounds for dismissal, and in many others, so too was marriage; reliable childcare was almost non-existent; and womens wages were considered almost pin money because, really, the plan was... to get a man to support you.

If I wanted to venture down a professional or corporate path, the glass ceiling still decades away from even being recognised as a thing ensured that opportunities for women were rare. Meanwhile, the gender pay gap was just accepted as normal; reliable contraception was difficult to access; abortion was illegal; domestic violence was rarely spoken of; women were banned from drinking in public bars; getting any sort of bank loan or even a passport to travel was impossible without the approval of a male guarantor; and there was no such thing as a no-fault divorce.

And, oh yeah, bachelors were desirable, but spinsters were not.

If I were to marry, I would have had to promise henceforth to obey my husband for the rest of my life. As for the name I was born with, with its achievements, history and sense of self-identity? That would all immediately disappear. Just as my mother went from a 22-year-old Beryl Eastall to Mrs Ray Wilkinson, all trace of that young womans origins was wiped out, at least on paper.

None of it appeared right through my young eyes, and though the vision I had for my path forward was far from clear, I always felt that what was ahead for me was going to be a little different, more circuitous, less predestined.

By the early 70s, thanks to the efforts of generations of women before me, I could feel the ground shifting, as Helen Reddys rallying anthem for the ages, I Am Woman, filled the airwaves. That song demanded that we women raise our voices and finally be heard. It encouraged us to tell the truth of our stories and to listen to the stories of others, because staying quiet wasnt getting any of us very far.

But while I could sing along at the top of my voice to Helens unifying cry like every other young girl, it would take me decades to have the courage to finally find my own voice, and fully realise that I, too, knew too much to go back and pretend. Because when it comes to women speaking out against injustice, the societal pressure however subtle or unspoken is to say nothing, for fear of a possible backlash, or worse: being accused of trying to stand out. When, in fact, all youre doing is standing up. For yourself. And ultimately, all women.

As women, the rules we are taught from a very young age are conflicting: excel, but not too much; value your inner worth, but here, buy all this makeup; love your body, but why not buy these torture garments to smooth out all that unsightly cellulite while youre at it?

And when the prizes for women are so few, what does that do to our psyche? What does that mean for our desire to see other women succeed? How does it affect the camaraderie we feel with other women when we are all essentially set up to be in competition for the few tiny slices of the pie that were told exist?

It means that our choices become limited. And in a mans world, thats a win. For men. So as a woman, it can often feel like you cant win. And when you cant win, the temptation is to give up.

And there were times when I almost did. Times when the career moves I made felt too big, too high profile, too high pressure for me to believe I could succeed, and I lived with the daily knowledge that, with every challenge I took on, I was probably headed for a very public fall.

Ive often wondered why I keep doing that to myself. Why, just when I have felt comfortable in a job, proud of the work I was doing, and pretty sure of what each new day was going to hold, Ive decided to shake things up and move on. Why do I keep testing myself like that? Why the need to keep proving myself?

Perhaps because Ive never felt completely comfortable with the opportunities that have come my way over the years. As a kid from Sydneys western suburbs with no private schooling, a pretty ordinary pass in Sixth Form, no uni degree, no presumptions of entitlement, and a more than healthy dose of convict blood deep in my DNA, Ive always wondered: why me?

But when those opportunities did come along, I made damn sure I never wasted them. I also didnt want to disappoint those who were brave enough to take a chance on me. To keep moving forward, though, I had to learn to love myself along the way with all my flaws and foibles, contradictions and inconsistencies.

Not all of us are dealt the easy cards in life, but that doesnt mean you cant reshuffle the deck once youve seen the light and the possibilities of a better outcome.

My mother was dealt terrible cards, but she was a hero and a survivor. As a kid she was forgotten, ignored, and made to feel like she was an inconvenience. And yet, after everything she had been through, she was able to show up and keep going.

Ive been truly blessed by the good people I have had in my life who, over the years, have so unconditionally believed in, loved, and supported me. But Ive also seen people I didnt want to be like and situations Id never want to be in. I now know that those people have been my teachers, too.

So, in some ways, this is a book about both thanks and forgiveness, showing gratitude for the good angels and making peace with the bleak ones, because all of them have taught me valuable lessons.

To be human is an ongoing process, and part of that is making mistakes. Ive made plenty, as youre about to find out. The important thing is to always look for what we can learn from them to keep growing, keep choosing, keep evolving, keep challenging, and to welcome change when it comes.

And live with kindness. I hope I have.

TV is an unforgiving business where the stakes are often all or nothing, where worth is judged on daily ratings, shows and people are axed without warning, and egos can be made or broken by unrelenting scrutiny. It demands a strong backbone to cope with it all. And when you spend a significant chunk of a lifetime sitting in the public gaze, people can have a lot of ideas about who you are, and how you can be most easily defined. The good and bad impressions and suppositions others apply to you can make your head spin if you allow them to.

So, I dont know if my story will confirm what you already think you knew about me, or if maybe it will change your mind. All I know is, for me, its never really changed.

I always was, and always will be, Lisa Wilkinson from Campbelltown. A magazine junkie kid from the suburbs who lucked out big time.

And this, with all its mistakes and missteps, flaws, and fabulously unexpected joys, is my story...

Lisa Wilkinson

October 2021

The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it. J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan