If I Don't, Then Who Will?

This week has forced me to confront the difference between control and acceptance—and what advocacy looks like when you can’t make the system move.

When You Can’t Fix It

I'm sitting here in one of the hardest weeks I have ever experienced. I've said this before about other times in my life, but this one hits differently because I have no power, no options, and no control and it is over a child in my life, home and heart.

Previously, difficult things have happened and, although they haven't always turned out the way I wanted, I still had choices. Usually, working through those options and being confident I was making the right decision was the hardest part. This time, that choice hasn't been given to me. I am faced with watching and being forced to accept. Nothing is moving quickly, and it feels like my voice has been muted.

Last week someone said to me, "Brooke, you are passionate, and everything you do, you do to the fullest. You don't accept anything that you don't feel is right." They said this during a conversation where I felt so defeated and so empty which has led to this reflection.

The Outside vs The Inside

I'm not the type of person who openly speaks about the hard stuff. I'd much rather hear about other people's lives. I think part of that comes from not always liking different opinions when they challenge mine while I'm still trying to process something. If I'm battling with something internally, I tend to close off. But if life is steady and the opportunity arises to talk about those same topics later, I won't stop talking. I genuinely love learning and I love moments where I can be educated or challenged in a way that helps me grow.

Throughout my life, family, friends, and even people who have only had minimal interaction with me have often commented on my outward demeanour. They usually say things like, "I was always too scared to talk to you," or "You're actually so nice." It has never offended me. I think it simply comes from being naturally reserved and keeping a very selective circle around me.

I choose to keep people in my life who bring something positive and contribute to my family in healthy ways. Likewise, I naturally distance myself from people or situations that create unnecessary negativity or disruption.

One thing I know about myself is that when I put my energy into something, I don't hold back. I don't accept doing things halfway - I am completely there. It really is the definition of a double-edged sword. During these times, everything else around me tends to take a bit of a back seat while I become obsessed with learning, understanding, asking questions, researching, and speaking with the people who know more than I do so that I can advocate appropriately.

I'm incredibly lucky to have found the person I have in my husband. During these moments, when I become consumed by something important, he quietly steps in and carries the areas of our family that I can't give my full attention to. He allows me to be where I need to be without making me feel guilty for it.

The Paper Trail

One thing I've discovered over the last few years, which I never expected, is how much I enjoy understanding policies and procedures. To many people they are just documents, but to me they are the standards that organisations should be held accountable to. They are what we rely on to provide consistency, legality, accountability, fairness, communication, quality, risk management, and continuous improvement.

Understanding them has helped me tremendously. They don't always provide the answers, but they provide a framework that allows me to ask informed questions instead of relying purely on emotion.

While sitting in this moment of feeling helpless and as though I've just lost a battle, I've started asking myself a different question.

Control vs Acceptance

What is control, and what is acceptance?

Letting Go Without Giving Up

I have a very good example of this from my own parenting.

When my sixteen-year-old started wanting to do all the things I believed weren't safe or were poor choices, I struggled enormously. He would say, "Mum, I'm sixteen. When are you going to let me grow up?" Every time he said it, my response was usually dismissive because all I could see was my little boy - the one who needed me for everything and looked to me for guidance.

After hearing that same message from him over and over again, I finally stopped and asked myself a question.

What was I doing when I was sixteen?

My mind immediately went to, "Thank goodness he isn't doing what I was doing." But then another thought followed.

Those experiences -good and bad -helped shape me. They taught me resilience, consequences, independence, and responsibility. They are some of my strongest memories because they were part of growing up.

If I protect my own children from every experience, what stories will they have to tell their own children one day? What lessons will they have learned for themselves?

It took time, but eventually I realised I couldn't control the fact that he was growing up, nor could I control every decision he made.

So I changed my approach.

Instead of trying to control him, I chose education.

He would say, "Mum, I'm staying at ...'s house tonight. I'm not asking, I'm telling you."

Instead of arguing, I would reply,

"You already know how I feel, and you know what I'd like to say. But what I will say is this: be safe. You know the difference between right and wrong. If something doesn't feel right, it's probably because it isn't. Call me anytime, for anything. I won't ask unnecessary questions, and I won't be angry. I'll simply be there for whatever you need in that moment. Ambulance officers and police aren't something to fear - they are there for a reason. If you need them, use them."

Looking back, I think changing my role from someone trying to control the outcome to someone providing education, support, and guidance made me a better parent.

Now I speak to all of my teenagers about self-advocacy, decision-making, and navigating adulthood. Instead of telling them what to do, I try to give them the tools and strategies to make good decisions for themselves.

A Different Kind of Fight

As I write this, I think that's exactly where my head needs to be with my current situation.

Perhaps my role is no longer to control the outcome.

Perhaps my role is to accept what I cannot control while continuing to advocate, educate, and guide in ways that genuinely empower the person living through it.

That doesn't mean giving up.

It means recognising that advocacy and control are not the same thing.

Acceptance doesn't mean I agree with everything that's happening, nor does it mean I stop asking questions or fighting for what I believe is right. It simply means accepting that I cannot make the decisions or force a system to change or move at the speed I want it to.

That is incredibly difficult because it challenges some of my deepest values - human rights, dignity, choice, fairness, and a person's right to have a voice.

Maybe this is the lesson I'm meant to learn.

Not how to fight harder.

But how to fight differently.

I think one thing is clear about who I am: I can't sit back and watch something happen if I genuinely believe it isn't right.

The interesting part is that I don't actually enjoy advocating. People often assume that because I do it so fiercely, I must like conflict or challenging systems. The truth is, I don't. I find it emotionally exhausting. It consumes me, sends me on an emotional rollercoaster, and sometimes brings out a side of myself that I don't particularly like. I become frustrated, impatient, and completely immersed in trying to understand every detail so I can make informed decisions.

If I had the choice, I would much rather spend my time living quietly with my family than writing emails, reading legislation, analysing policies, or challenging decisions. But when I believe something is wrong, walking away doesn't sit comfortably with me.

If I don't, then who will?

I often ask myself whether I should let it go, whether someone else will speak up, or whether I'm making things harder than they need to be. Yet I always come back to the same question:

If I don't, then who will?

That question becomes even more important when it involves children or young people whose voices are still developing or who are unable to advocate for themselves. They deserve someone who is prepared to ask the difficult questions, seek answers, and ensure they are treated fairly.

I've realised that advocacy, for me, isn't about winning every battle. It's about making sure that someone is heard. Sometimes that changes the outcome, and sometimes it doesn't. But I would rather know that I respectfully asked the hard questions than spend my life wondering whether staying silent would have made me complicit.

Perhaps that is simply part of who I am. I don't seek out these situations, but when they find me, I find it very difficult to look the other way.