Learning to belong
For Susie McLean, belonging didn’t arrive all at once. It grew over years of raising kids, finding her people and carving out space in a life that’s always moving. Her story is honest, steady and deeply human.
Tell us a little about yourself and where you call home.
I’m a mum first, a wife second, and everything else fits in around that.
It took me a long time to call Bathurst home. For years, I didn’t feel like I belonged here. But over two decades, I’ve watched this town grow and I’ve grown with it. Somewhere along the way, without realising it, this became the place I fit.
How did you find your people and your sense of belonging?
My mums group was the first time I felt like I had ‘people’. Seventeen years later, they’re still some of my favourites – women who cheer for my kids as loudly as I cheer for theirs, who’ve seen the best and worst of motherhood and stayed anyway.
Belonging also arrived in small, unexpected moments. Like the day a coffee shop owner remembered my name and my order. Sometimes it’s the little things that make you feel seen.
“Belonging didn’t arrive all at once. It grew in the small moments.”
What do you miss about where you came from – and what have you found differently here?
I grew up in Western Sydney, and sometimes I miss the anonymity. The ability to disappear into a crowd. To go somewhere and not know anyone.
I’ve lost touch with people since leaving Sydney. Some I miss. Others I don’t.
Here, connection looks different – slower, deeper, built over years of showing up. It’s not instant, but it lasts.
What does life actually look like for you right now?
Busy… so busy it feels like I forget to breathe.
A husband, three kids, a full‑time job, and a calendar that never stops filling.
Some days feel like a blur of drop‑offs, work, sport, dinner, repeat. On the hard days, good enough looks like toasted sandwiches for dinner and a pile of clean clothes that never quite gets put away.
It’s a lot. And I keep going.
Where do you find support when things get heavy?
Friends. Wine. And my 40‑minute drive to work – the only quiet part of my day. It resets me before everything starts again.
Crafting fills my cup too. If I can do something myself, I do it – nails, waxing, tinting, candles. It’s my way of staying grounded when life feels full.
What do you want your kids to know about the life you’ve built for them?
I’ve surrounded you with a community that respects who you are.
I’ve chosen sports clubs that value wellbeing over winning, and schools that focus on helping you become the best version of yourselves.
Every choice has been deliberate – to help you feel safe, valued and loved. Even on the days when life feels chaotic, that part has never changed.
What has shaped you most in your work and career?
I started with my organisation when I was young. It gave me the confidence to make tough choices. I’ve worked my way into management and I love my job and the people I work with.
But working in a male‑dominated environment hasn’t always been easy. I’ve had to earn my place in rooms where women weren’t always expected to be. I still notice the imbalance, but I show up anyway. I’ve learned to hold my ground quietly, steadily, without needing to be the loudest voice.
“I’ve learned to hold my ground quietly, even in rooms not built for me.”
Who has stood beside you through it all?
My husband. He’s seen me at my best and my worst, and he’s still here. When I fell apart, he picked everything up – the house, the kids, the day‑to‑day – and he let me heal for as long as it took. He didn’t rush me or ask for anything in return. That kind of steady, unconditional support changes you.
What have you learned about yourself along the way?
I wish someone had told me earlier to trust my instincts, especially as a mother. I second‑guessed myself for years, and now I can see I knew more than I gave myself credit for. I’ve learned I’m stronger than I think – not loud‑strong, but the kind that keeps going even when everything feels heavy. And I’ve had to let go of the mother I thought I had. Dementia has changed her, and the complicated parts of our relationship have only intensified. Letting go has been painful, but necessary. It’s a grief without a clear ending, and I’m still learning how to hold it.
What does community mean to you now?
I’ve found community through my kids – their friends, their families, the years of watching them grow together.
I still feel like an introvert in a world that expects extroverts, but I know I’m not the only one.
A platform like Chi Connects would have helped me see that earlier – that everyone is carrying something, even when they look like they’re holding it all together.
