Racheal Bingham

~ On the Canvas Of Service, 2022

Leading Seaman, Cook, Submariner (LSCKSM) Ret’d

Royal Australian Navy

Content Advisory:

The following story contains personal reflections from an Australian veteran that may include themes of trauma, war-related experiences, mental health struggles, and suicide. These narratives are shared with deep respect and the intent to honour service, foster understanding, and offer hope to those facing similar challenges.

If you are feeling distressed or need support, we encourage you to reach out. Help is available.

• Lifeline Australia: 13 11 14 (24/7 crisis support)

• Open Arms – Veterans & Families Counselling: 1800 011 046 (24/7 support for veterans and their families)

Please proceed with care and compassion.

The last time I was fully submerged in open water, I was a child. A swim class I’ve long forgotten—except for the feeling. Over the years, water became something I avoided. Unexplained. Unchallenged. So when I learned that Rach had spent part of her career beneath it, in the confined quiet of submarines, I felt both awe and a quiet pull of hope. I wished she’d agree to be part of Of Service. And when she did, I felt something shift.

From the moment I stepped into her space, I knew I was being given something rare. Not just access, but acceptance. Her home had warmth—layers of colour, memory, and intention. You could feel that every object had a reason. It was present in everything around her. And I felt the weight of that trust.

As we talked, the softness gave way to something sharper. She spoke plainly about how hard it had been to serve in a space not built to include her. Not just the technical demands of her role, but the loneliness that came with it—being young, being female, being watched. There was no self-pity in her voice. Only truth. A phrase she’d heard too many times—“You really have to harden up”—left a mark that still echoed as she said it.

The transition out of service wasn’t easy either. The intensity and order of Navy life didn’t transfer into civilian space. “It was like having too many balloons up in the air at one time and trying to bounce them,” she said.

She didn’t dwell there, though. Rach doesn’t live in the weight of what’s been. She lives in the practice of what she gives now. “They just need to be happy with who they are. By giving their ‘gold threads,’ they are purposeful.”

She talked about showing up. Not with noise, but with presence—the kind you feel when you know someone will catch you if you slip.

No need to make it poetic. What she gave was steadier than that.

Rach reminded me that healing isn’t always loud.

Sometimes, it’s just knowing someone has your back—even if you’ve only just met them.

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