If you had asked me even a few weeks ago to tell you everything I knew about Robin Bailey, I’d have been able to tell you exactly three things:
- She’s one of the most well-known personalities in the Australian media;
- She lives and works in Brisbane, a stalwart of the local scene; And
- Her first husband and the father of her children, Tony, died by suicide in 2014.
Ask me that question today, and I can tell you a whole lot more because Robin’s memoir, Flamingos Aren’t Born Pink, easily takes the crown for the most honest book I’ve ever read.
That’s how I open our conversation – she, in Brisbane, me, in Sydney, on a sunny afternoon, the faint sound of kookaburra song ringing in my ears (you’ll understand why that detail matters when you read the book). Once she’s finished laughing a surprised, hearty sound, and making sure I understand it’s only honest from her perspective, she says quietly, “I didn’t write it to be published. Not in the beginning. I wrote it to get it out of me.”
Robin Bailey; Image Supplied
From the grief of losing Tony and then her second husband, Sean, to terminal cancer, owning the messiness of an affair, and doing it all in the public eye, Robin gets a lot out. It only became a book after a friend who’d been badgering her to read it, finally got the chance and thought “it could really help people.”
Using the metaphor of a flamingo that turns pink over time, Robin Bailey’s book is ultimately about change, and moving from the depths of darkness to a life of colour.
The initial manuscript was tens of thousands of words longer, less a book and more a purging diary, penned in the 12 – 18 months after Sean’s death, not quite a year into their marriage. It was a way for her to work through the maelstrom of emotions that came from losing two husbands, “How the hell did this happen and how the hell did it happen to my boys?”
Her boys are Fin, Lewin and Piper, now all in their 20s, who seem like, at least to me, remarkably well-adjusted, grounded and emotionally intelligent, in-tune young men, considering well… everything.
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How do I know that? Because they each wrote a chapter in the book, before reading their Mum’s words, entirely independent and honest. That was the suggestion of editor extraordinaire Kelly Fagan, a name I was all too happy to see in the acknowledgements, given she helped me publish my own story, I’ll Let Myself In. It was Kelly, who helped refine the book into what it is today, pulling loose threads together and helping Robin turn her “real time processing” into a memoir that, while radically honest and devastatingly sad, is also absolutely packed to the brim with life.
I get the feeling radical honesty is the only way things run with the Baileys these days.
For a tale that spans so much of her son’s childhoods and is an intricate unfiltered look at continuing to show up and live, while moving through grief and balancing coming of age, it makes perfect sense for them to get the last word – something they each playfully tell you, doesn’t happen very often in real life! Not with their mum who’s built an incredible career in making her life accessible to others.
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Besides, for all the strong opinions this book has conjured both from people in Robin’s life and her faithful albeit vocal audience (and there have been many), theirs was the only opinion that counted. “It’s not just my story, it’s theirs too. We’ve been through a lot together so I’m very protective of that.”
Our interview takes place, the day after the 12th anniversary of Tony’s death, a day that irrevocably changed their lives forever. A choice made in a moment Robin believes would’ve eventually passed. In fact, that’s what she wants people to consider, “the huge and lasting impacts of their decisions. (She’s) never had depression but she’s loved someone who did and if she’s learnt anything from the grief, it’s that you have to live life moment to moment. When it’s glorious, enjoy every second. When it’s not, tell yourself this too will pass.”
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That lesson to make the most of every single moment? That’s exactly how Robin lives her life now, an ethos reinforced in vivid technicolour through every moment with the love of her life, Sean. They stole time like nobody’s business and did a bloody good job of it. I never thought I’d laugh or smile so much while reading about the trials and tribulations of cancer. And yet, that’s exactly what Robin hoped for, wanting to highlight the love and hope that can exist inside grief, as she traverses trying to crack open big conversations about the way “we do death and the things we could change to make it easier.” For starters, not feeling ashamed to smile or laugh because “feeling those things doesn’t mean you’re dishonouring the person you loved.”
What’s next for Robin Bailey? If things were different, she’d be living a quiet life somewhere in the country, “loving herself sick” but that’s not the story she got. Instead, she’s manifesting the book will be a springboard for something probably bigger and louder, a path that she hopes might even lead her to Drew Barrymore’s couch, Oprah’s tearoom or on book tour with Elizabeth Gilbert. I for one would LOVE to see any of that happen.
Flamingos Aren’t Born Pink by Robin Bailey is out now.
(Feature Image Credit: Supplied)
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