- Brendan Cullen experienced traumatic abuse as a young boy at school, but he was living his dream life when his parents asked him to work on their farm in his adult years
- When the farm was rocked by challenges, Brendan fell into deep depression as a result of the hardship and his earlier experiences
- But he found relief through open water swimming, inspiring him to take on one of the world’s greatest swimming feats
Here Brendan Cullen, 53, NSW, tells his story in his own words
Seeing the hole in my boots, I sighed.
‘I can’t afford a new pair,’ I told my wife, Jacinta.
Living on Mount Westwood station 140km north of Broken Hill, NSW, in the depths of drought I felt like a failure.
Brought up on Mount Westwood, I loved my parents and younger brother Lachlan, who despite losing his hand in a farm accident aged two, was unstoppable. We spent wonderful days playing and helping on the farm. At night the carpet of stars in the sky was incredible.
Aged seven, I was sent to boarding school, and later boarded with families for high school. I missed my family desperately.
Sadly I was abused by older boys. Scared and feeling unable to tell my parents or Lachlan, I wondered why it was happening to me, if somehow I’d caused it.
I threw myself into sport, playing AFL, and was thrilled to finally leave school.
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I met Jacinta through family friends on Mount Westwood as a teen, and we got engaged in 1995, marrying soon after in 1996.
At 29 I was so proud when my parents asked me to work on Mount Westwood. Living in the shearers quarters, then moving into the homestead when my parents left, it felt like a dream come true.
But now, in 2005, as severe drought took hold, the farm plunged into debt.
With three kids – Emma, then five, and baby twins Darcey and Charli – I felt like I was treading water.
‘We’ve got to leave,’ I told Jacinta, then 33.
‘It’ll be okay,’ she said, as supportive as ever.
I was inconsolable when I left.
In 2008 we moved to manage Avenel station, 40km away, and I worked like a demon. With a thousand head of sheep and cattle, I spent long exhausting days repairing fences and looking after the animals, barely seeing Jacinta or the kids.
To deal with the stress, at night I’d crack open beer after beer, often passing out, only to get up four hours later to do it all over again.
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When the mouse plague hit in 2011, the kitchen was crawling with hundreds of mice. They even chewed the kids hair in bed.
Knowing how hard droughts were for everyone in the bush, and sure I was letting my family down, I kept working hammer and tong.
As the drought went on, sadly the stock were starving and I had to euthanise many. It took a terrible toll.
Driving the ute out to fix fences, I’d shout at myself in the car, in total despair.
‘Are you in tears a lot? Are you on the grog too much?‘
At my lowest ebb, with Jacinta busy with the kids, I’d bury myself in my room and silently cry.
‘Are you okay?’ Jacinta would ask.
‘Fine,’ I’d say, desperate not to let her down.
But she knew I wasn’t, and in 2015 booked us on a Royal Flying Doctor Service life skills workshop.
Filling in a mental health survey – Are you in tears a lot? Are you on the grog too much? – I ticked every box.
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Empty and hopeless, something finally broke inside me.
With no idea where to go for help, I walked into the Broken Hill Base Hospital.
‘I’m no good,’ I told the receptionist.
Seeing a clinician, I was finally diagnosed.
‘You’ve got depression,’ the doctor said, prescribing anti-depressants.
I’d never felt so relieved. Finally, there was an answer for how I’d been feeling.
‘I’m so glad you got help,’ Jacinta said. ‘I’ve been struggling myself.’
We talked openly, and I discovered she’d been so worried about me.
Through counselling, I realised the trauma of childhood abuse, coupled with losing Mount Westwood and the terrible droughts had crippled me emotionally.
My brother, Lachlan, started open water swimming so, inspired, that year I joined Broken Hill aquatic centre – and loved it.
Visiting the Brighton Baths, Vic, in 2018, I saw an advertisement for swimming the English Channel. Intrigued, I spoke to open water swimming legend Mike ‘The Tractor’ Gregory, who said he’d train me.
‘You’ve got a challenge,’ I laughed. ‘I live in the middle of the desert!’
So I began swimming in the Menindee Lakes, near the Kars Station I managed. It was so muddy I could barely see anything. One day, I put my head to the side, opened my mouth and a carp plopped into it.
Spluttering, I laughed at how crazy it was to be training 600km from the nearest beach.
Finally, in July 2022 I flew to England with Jacinta and Emma, Mike and my support team. The twins stayed with family.
As I got into the water in Dover Mike said, ‘Just keep swimming until you hit something.’
So I put my head down and swam through the dark water, determined to give it my all.
With feeds every hour, I kept on going, stroke after stroke.
Dodging a huge swarm of jellyfish, when I hit the treacherous stretch known as the swimmers’ graveyard after 14 hours, a rough tide dragged me well off course.
My shoulder and groin hurt and I began to get crook with the cold.
But I kept going.
Then my left hand dragged through sand.
‘Stand up,’ Mike said, beside me.
Looking up in amazement as Mike hugged me, I cried, realising I’d made it to France, having swum a gruelling 64km in 17 hours.
Emma and Jacinta were so proud and we raised $26,000 for Lifeline.
I swam the English Channel again in 2023 in a relay, and in 2025 swam the 32km Catalina Channel in California in 13 hours.
Now I’m an ambassador for Lifeline and a champion for the RFDS’ ‘We’ve Got Your Back’ (WGYB) mental health peer support program.
It means so much to help people doing it tough in the bush. I wrote my book The Desert Swimmer to share my story and to help others.
I owe so much to Jacinta, my kids, Lachlan and my parents.
And I’d never have done it if I hadn’t walked into Broken Hill Hospital to ask for help.
