Soon after, she took on her child’s half siblings in a kinship care arrangement – three extra children who needed a safe and loving home. As kinship care is unpaid, her income disappeared overnight while her household doubled in size.

Ann did everything she could to keep her rental, using up her savings until there was nothing left. With five children in her care, and another on the way, she suddenly found herself homeless when her landlord reclaimed the property for his own family.

For six months, she lived in her dad’s house, seven people crammed into a single room. “It was chaotic, uncomfortable, and heartbreaking,” she recalls., but she had to keep the kids safe.

Two of the children are of Aboriginal descent, and Ann makes sure they stay connected to culture wherever she can financially. Two of the children are also autistic, bringing added complexity and significant out of pocket costs.

Eventually, she was offered a Homeswest property, something she describes as “a lifeline”. Even so, full rent would be impossible. “There’s no way I could make it work without the subsidised housing,” she shares.

Once settled into their new home, Ann quickly realised that survival meant making sacrifices at every turn. Summer heat became an impossible dilemma – run the air conditioner, turn on fans, or buy enough food for the week. Even water use had to be monitored with precision. And when the school year rolled around again, the costs became overwhelming. “Each child had a $200 booklist,” she explains. “Multiply that by five, then add shoes, bags, uniforms… You don’t have the option not to pay or your kids stand out.”

Mental health support brought another layer of difficulty. Some of the children required specialist care, and Ann herself struggled under the weight of responsibility. “You either eat or you try to get an appointment to get medication or additional medical help. Even then, you only get half back; if that. It’s such a tight squeeze.” She doesn’t drink, she doesn’t smoke and she hasn’t bought herself a coffee in five years. Yet every week brings new choices no parent should have to make: medication, medical appointments, or food.

Everything changed the day she checked her bank account and found it empty. With nothing left to feed her children, she bought flour and frozen vegetables and tried to make it stretch. “I always thought there were people worse off than me,” she says. “I didn’t want to take from anyone.” But she realised she needed help, and that’s when she came to Foodbank.

Walking through the doors, she felt her shame melt away as staff welcomed her with warmth, respect and dignity. “Being treated like an equal makes such a difference,” she reflects. A volunteer once told her, “You’re doing a great job.” Another time, someone offered her a hug on a particularly overwhelming day. Those small gestures, she says, “give you back a little piece of your sparkle.”

Now, every Monday, she fills her trolley with fruit and vegetables “a huge thing for us” and staples she can transform into filling meals. She’s become an expert at stretching ingredients: adding lentils to bolognaise, grating in vegetables, cooking in bulk and prepping meals for the week.

Her kids go to school with sandwiches, fruit and snacks, things many families take for granted but that help her children feel like they belong.“You don’t want your kid going to school without something cool,” she says. “You just want their approval and a smile.” Foodbank helps her give them that.

One of the most heartwarming moments came recently, when she discovered cakes available at Foodbank. After years of being unable to celebrate birthdays, she was able to take home two cakes which was enough to celebrate her autistic sons’ birthdays, along with a belated celebration for their father. “For the first time in years, we invited family over,” she beams. “We had fruit, chips, cake – the kids were thrilled. It was huge.”

Foodbank also provides little joys that make a big difference; treats, snacks, even toys for the family dog and cat. “My trolley is always full,” she laughs. “Especially with teenage boys who eat a lot!” But beneath her humour is a deep truth: “I couldn’t survive medically without Foodbank. Considering all of the health and mental health challenges my family has. It would be impossible.”

What she treasures most is the dignity and humanity she feels each visit. From having her shopping weighed and packed to volunteers reminding her she’s doing an incredible job, she leaves feeling seen and supported. When her one of her autistic children had a challenging moment in store, the compassion of volunteers helps her feel grounded rather than judged.

Ann is like so many people who push themselves to breaking point before asking for help. She grew her own vegetables, stretched flour and eggs into endless meals and denied herself every small comfort – until she had no choice. Today, thanks to Foodbank and the generosity of donors, she can offer her children nutritious food, snacks to help them fit in and the chance to enjoy a more normal childhood.

Coming home from Foodbank is now a moment of excitement. Dinner is sorted, the week’s prep begins and for a little while, the weight lifts. “I can send my kids to school with a sandwich, fruit and a few snacks,” she says. “It means everything.”

Most of all, she feels human again. “Everyone is treated the same. You feel seen as a person.”

And sometimes, all it takes is a smile, a kind word, or a warm hug to restore a little bit of light.