It was 1990 and it was the time of my life.

The  children were 6 and 8, and I was happily divorced. This Rottnest Island holiday represented a wonderful change in my life circumstances and one that would never be forgotten.

We spent five days in one of the huts on the island and I had recently started taking a new antidepressant called Prozac and was astonished how different and alive I felt after decades of treatment resistant depression. I felt I was part of the world around me, no longer caged in and isolated by depression.

I patiently and happily spent time digging sandcastles on the beach and running into the waves with two laughing children. We spent the hours of midday heat in the hut, where we read, played games on the floor, or napped.

We went to the bakery and bought warm fresh bread rolls or juicy hot meat pies. In the evening, we bought fish and chips. How different to the lack of appetite or uninteresting meals I used to experience. The children were delighted to be allowed to experience  ‘Rottnest holiday ‘ food.

Our bikes had come across on the ferry with us and we made sorties along the island roads. A quokka or two would find their way into the hut, looking for food, and I caught wonderful photos of the children squealing with delight with the furry little creatures.

We all slept well, with the clear salty air, far from the city noise and bustle, and worn out after a day of carefree play and fun.

It was the time of my life.