How the Outback Cured My FOMO — and Sparked HERRD

Being a police family has been quite the life — especially once we moved west for my husband’s country service.

My first real introduction to outback life was in Charleville, about 750 km west of Brisbane. We packed up our young family of six and moved to a small town we had never even visited.

Police accommodation was provided, so we simply rocked up to our new home after only seeing a few photos from a soon-to-be neighbour.

I still remember our first night — sleeping on stretchers, waiting for our belongings to arrive. I ran a bath for my daughter and called out to my husband, “There’s something wrong with the pipes!” He calmly replied, “No… that’s just the water.”

Turns out, that smell wasn’t the pipes — just our pungent introduction to bore water and outback life.

But it was also our introduction to something else: a slower pace, wide open space, and the reality that every trip to family, the beach, the mountains or even a shopping chain was now a big trip.

Then came the real surprise.

My husband applied for a remote posting to a place called Mungallala.

When we arrived, we were big news. Neighbours dropped by to have a look and say hello. It was a one-cop town — and we lived at the station. I used to joke that you could hold your breath driving from one end of town to the other.

They said our family of six brought the population up to 30… though I’m sure it was closer to 80. I was never quite sure.

There were no shops, no petrol station — just a small primary school, a morning post office, a tiny library open limited hours, a mill… and our police station.

It was quiet. Simple. And at times, deeply lonely.

As someone who thrives on connection and people, I had to face my fear of missing out head-on.

Initially, this was during COVID, and my husband was often away for long stretches — working at borders and in city quarantine. While he was off with the army and his blue family, I was in the middle of nowhere with four kids and no nearby support.

At one point… I cracked.

But somewhere in that breaking point, something shifted.

I began to change — to adapt.

The quiet beauty of the land started to wrap itself around me. They call it Sky Country. The sunsets and night skies, thick with stars and the Milky Way, became something I’d never known in the city. Satellites passing overhead. Wildlife at our doorstep — birds, koalas, echidnas, emus, kangaroos… and yes, plenty of flies, bugs, mice, snakes, and giant goannas.

You didn’t need to check the calendar for seasons — you felt them through what wandered into your yard.

And in the middle of all that, I created HERRD.

Building an online homeschool community across Australia gave me connection again. It softened the silence. People checked in. I had purpose. I wasn’t as alone.

I grew, too.

There was no room left for FOMO — Fear of Missing Out. Instead, I learnt IMBF — I’m My Best Friend.

And as a family, we grew closer. We were each other’s world most days. We embraced the pace, the peace (well… maybe not always for my husband — policing in small towns can get very real), and the space to just be.

I learnt to find joy in the quiet. In the land. In the ordinary moments.

By the time it was time to leave, I was happy to stay.

I had warmed to our place in the sticks and red dirt.

I knew moving to a bigger town might bring back a different kind of isolation — being surrounded by people, yet still lacking those deeper connections, especially as a homeschooling family with few others around.

But I’ll always be grateful for our time in Mungallala.

Where we played “faux farmers” with poddy lambs, guinea pigs, chickens and dogs.
Where we ran a community garden with the kids.
Where my husband’s “office” was just outside the door.
Where my kids played more than they screened.

But I’m mostly glad that the bush cured me of FOMO.

Because out there, your best friends are your family… and yourself.