What are the opening hours?

Monday 9am - 5pm Tuesday 9am - 5pm Wednesday 9am - 5pm Thursday 9am - 5pm Friday 9am - 5pm

http://www.strokefoundation.org.au/, https://informme.org.au/, https://young.strokefoundation.org.au/, https://enableme.

Stroke Foundation, 461 Bourke Street, Melbourne (2026)

03/09/2026

From Dale, "Before my stroke, I was retired and enjoying a full and active life with my family.

I played basketball regularly, swam in the ocean, went to the gym, and spent a lot of time renovating our home. My wife Heather and I were planning to travel and looking forward to what came next.

Life was exciting. There was a certainty about it.

I’ve always been passionate about making life better for my wife and my family, and retirement gave me more time to enjoy the life we had built together.

Then, one morning, everything changed.

It was around 11am and I was tidying up at home. I was carrying a plastic table downstairs and had a drill bit in my mouth.

When I reached the ground floor, the drill bit fell out. I leaned the table against the kitchen island and turned around to pick it up. Before I could, the room started spinning.

At first, I thought I had vertigo. I lost my balance and made my way over to the lounge to sit down. Then I began vomiting violently.

My two sons were home at the time, and I yelled out to them. My son, Bailey came to help me. I told him something wasn’t right and that we needed to call an ambulance.

About 15 minutes later, I began having trouble swallowing and noticed the left side of my face was going numb. I knew something serious was happening.

I called Triple Zero (000), but the call disconnected and we had to call again. I remember a paramedic arriving in a car, My eldest son Max was by my side and assisted the paramedic until the ambulance arrived.

I also remember being in the ambulance with the lights and sirens going, watching the cars move out of our way and then pull back onto the road behind us. I was taken to Sunshine Coast University Hospital – a place I knew very well.

I had retired from there only a year or so earlier after working as a Clinical Nurse in Adult Mental Health.

Now I was arriving as a patient.

My son Max, had called Heather, who was still working at the hospital as a Clinical Coach in Mental Health, and told her, “Dad has had a stroke.”

She arrived at the Emergency Trauma room just as I was being wheeled in. What I had thought was vertigo was a stroke associated with a vertebral artery dissection, affecting an area of my brain involved in balance.

Recovery isn't always something you can see...

One of the biggest things I’ve had to come to terms with is that I have had a brain injury.

I’ve had to think about things I never expected to think about, including the possibility that my life could be shorter than I had imagined. Heather and I have had conversations about what our lives might look like if I were to have another stroke.

There are also the day-to-day challenges.

I experience neuralgia and regularly lose my balance. Fatigue is a big problem, and I often need to sleep in the afternoon. I don't sleep well at night, and since my stroke I have also developed atrial fibrillation. But if you looked at me, you probably wouldn't know I have had a stroke.

I'm a big, strong man. I was going to the gym before my stroke, and I’ve worked hard to stay physically strong since.

In some ways, that is one of my strengths. But it also means much of what I live with is invisible.

I’ve always liked to dress well, too. Even during recovery, I would put on one of my beautiful jackets and dress like there was nothing wrong. That was part of how I approached things.

Realising life had changed...

While I was in hospital, I had time to reflect and realised life was going to have to change. At first, I thought I might need to buy a golf cart just to get around our property.

We lived on an acre and a quarter, and eventually we made the decision to fast-track selling it because I simply couldn't keep up with the physical work the property required anymore.

That wasn't the future we'd planned.

But I'm a determined man. I've always had an ability to turn my dreams and ideas into reality, and having a stroke hasn't taken that away from me. I've just had to rethink what some of those dreams look like.

The people who helped me through...

My family and friends have been incredibly important throughout my recovery.

So have the paramedics who came to my home, the staff at Sunshine Coast University Hospital and the rehabilitation team who helped me afterwards. Having people around me who believed in my recovery and supported me made a real difference.

Through all of this, I've also discovered something about myself.

I'm stronger than I thought I could ever be.

I've always been grateful for the fortunate life I've had, but since my stroke, I'm even more aware of it. I appreciate my wife, my family, and my friends. The opportunities I've had and the things I'm still able to do.

One thing I want more people to understand is that stroke isn't something that only happens to older people. It can happen to younger people, too.

And the effects aren't always obvious; my disability is largely invisible.

Someone can look strong and healthy on the outside while living with the effects of stroke that other people simply can't see. That's why I think it's important to talk about stroke. When I have the opportunity, I tell people I've had one.

Keep moving forward...

For someone who has recently had a stroke, my best advice is to make sure you have support around you. Reach out to your health professionals, your GP and allied health team. Ask for the help you need.

Stay strong and work hard on the areas that have been affected by your stroke. Recovery takes effort, and I've tried to stay as strong as I can, both physically and mentally.

My family, friends, and the team at Sunshine Coast University Hospital have given me hope along the way, and now, I keep looking forward.

I'm incredibly proud of the way Heather, my boys, my family and friends have always been there for me.

What I want for the future is actually pretty simple.

I want to stay healthy, to keep planning trips overseas with my family - and most of all, I want to keep exploring the world with my beautiful wife.

I love you, Heather. Thank you for standing by me.

If this story resonates with you and you have question, please call the team on StrokeLine 1800 787 653

02/09/2026

During the Australian and New Zealand Stroke Organisation Conference in Brisbane, we were proud to present Liverpool Hospital a plaque recognising their certification as a Comprehensive Stroke Centre for the next four years.

It’s a well-deserved achievement for the hospital’s dedicated multidisciplinary team, who are always looking for ways to improve their service and provide the best possible stroke care for their community.

Stroke Centre certification recognises hospitals that meet national standards across all areas of stroke care – from emergency assessment and treatment, to quick access to brain scans and ongoing care in a stroke unit.

Pictured are Alan McDougall, Stroke Medical Lead, and Stanica Andrijevic, Nurse Unit Manager of the Stroke Unit. South Western Sydney Local Health District

01/09/2026

Some friendships change after stroke.
Toni says the people you thought would stay sometimes don’t, and that can be one of the hardest parts of adjusting to life after stroke.

But there can also be something unexpected: new friendships.

People who understand. People who don’t need you to explain everything. People who simply get you.

Stroke can change a lot - including who you share your journey with. And while losing old friendships can hurt, finding people who truly understand can mean the world.

Has stroke changed your friendships, and what have new connections meant to you?
Call StrokeLine 1800 787 653 to connect in with the Australian stroke community.

31/08/2026

Glenn has sent this blog from his hospital bed - and although very raw, I think many people may resonate with it....

To the people who disappeared after my stroke.
I don't know if you'll ever read this.
And honestly, I don't know if I need you to.
But there are things I've carried inside for a long time that I need to finally say.
When I had my stroke on August 18, 2020, my entire world changed.
I was still the same person inside.
I still had the same heart.
The same memories.
The same love for the people who mattered to me.

But suddenly, I needed help.
I couldn't move the way I used to. Do the things I used to love. Unable to return to the job I loved and hoped to do until my mid 70’s, the loss of income and so much more.

I couldn't do things independently.
I struggled to communicate.
I struggled with my emotions.
I was scared and at times I still am
I felt like I had lost my entire identity.
Yes I may have said some things in anger and frustration, but that is what happens after such a trauma destroys your life.

And that's when I learned who was really there.
Some people stayed.
Some people checked in.
And to all of you who did I can't thank you enough.

In this time through stroke advocacy and raising awareness I have met some beautiful survivors etc and together we support and encourage each other never to give up.
And some people simply disappeared.
That hurt more than I can explain even to this very day it hurts.
Because when you're already grieving the life you had before your stroke, losing people you thought would always be there feels like another loss on top of everything else.

I didn't need anyone to fix me.
I didn't need anyone to feel sorry for me.
I didn't need you to have all the answers.
I just needed you to stay.
I needed someone to say, “I'm still here.” “Is there anything you need?”
Only your ongoing support.

Instead, some of you walked away when I needed you the most.
And for a long time, I wondered what was wrong with me, that answer is nothing,
I’m strong positive and independent and a fighter and will never give up.
I wondered if I had become too difficult.
Too different.
Too much.

But I've finally realised something:
My stroke changed my life, but it didn't make me less worthy of love, friendship, or respect.
You leaving doesn't define my worth.
And as painful as that was, I had to learn how to keep going without you.

I've had to rebuild myself piece by piece.
I've had to learn how to do things with one hand.
I've had to learn how to walk differently.
I've had to fight for my independence.
I've had to face days when I didn't recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror.

And somehow… I'm still here.

Maybe you thought I wouldn't make it this far.
Maybe you forgot about me.
Maybe you moved on with your life.
That's okay.
Because I've moved forward with mine.
I don't carry the same anger I once did.
But I won't pretend it didn't hurt.
It did.

Today, I'm choosing something different.
I'm choosing to surround myself with people who celebrate my progress instead of focusing on what I lost.
I'm choosing to be proud of every tiny victory.

And most importantly… I'm choosing me.

So to the people who disappeared after my stroke:
Thank you for teaching me that not everyone who starts the journey with you is meant to finish it with you.
I lost people.
But I found strength.
I lost parts of my old life.
But I'm building a new one.
And maybe I'm not the man I was before my stroke.
But I'm becoming someone even stronger.
You may have walked away when I was at my lowest.
But look at me now.

I'm still here.
I'm still fighting.
I'm still healing.
And I'm still UNSTOPPABLE.

28/08/2026

INVITE: Living with swallowing difficulties after stroke can affect so much more than eating and drinking. It can impact confidence, social connections and everyday life - and it’s something many people experience quietly.

We’d love you to join us for an upcoming webinar exploring life with post-stroke dysphagia, the challenges of accessing swallowing rehabilitation, and how telehealth could help make support more accessible.

Hear from Dr Emma Wallace from the University of Sydney as she shares insights from her research, alongside Karla McKenzie, who will share their lived experience of navigating dysphagia after stroke.

You’ll also hear from Lisa Yates about the support available through Stroke Foundation.

Whether you’re living with dysphagia, supporting someone who is, or simply want to learn more, you’re invited to join: https://strokefoundation.zoom.us/webinar/register/WN_D2QmqZ-yQg2eWquxw2Q1Aw #/registration

27/08/2026

From Glenn, "In January 2025, at 48 years old, I had the first of what would turn out to be two strokes that year.

Before that, I was your average middle-aged bloke. I didn't run marathons and probably drank a few too many beers, but I didn't smoke, I ate fairly well and hadn't had many health issues.

Then one morning, everything changed.

I was woken by a pain in my head unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

People often describe having the worst headache of their life when they have a stroke. For me, it wasn't a headache. It was an explosion.

My head went bang, and there was instant pain.

My wife called an ambulance and within a short space of time I was nauseous, unable to open my eyes, barely responsive and slurring my words when I tried to speak.

I was taken to Bendigo Hospital, where a CT scan showed I was having a haemorrhagic stroke in my cerebellum caused by high blood pressure.

From there, I was transferred to the Royal Melbourne Hospital.

Those first few days are a blur. Fortunately, I didn't need surgery to relieve the pressure in my head, but the stroke had affected the right side of my body. I couldn't walk, could only say a few words, had limited, blurred and double vision and couldn't taste.

I remember knowing I was in hospital and knowing there were people climbing all over me trying to help, but it was surreal.

I was lying there thinking, Is this actually happening? Did I really just get woken up by this explosion in my head and now I'm having a stroke? Are you kidding me?

Learning everything again...

My recovery started at Royal Melbourne Hospital and, after about 10 days, I was well enough to be transferred back to Bendigo Hospital to continue rehabilitation.

I had to learn to walk, talk, and feed myself again. I had to work on my balance and slowly regain my vision. Basically, I started from scratch.

The occupational therapists would have me putting pegs on cups, picking up toothpicks and using tweezers to pick up ball bearings. I had a mess going everywhere, but all those little things were helping my brain and body learn how to work again.

I worked incredibly hard.

If the physios told me to do 10 exercises, I'd do 20. If they told me to walk around the ward twice, I'd want to walk around it 20 times. I was supposed to eventually move to the rehabilitation ward. In my head, I decided: Rehab ward be damned. I'm getting out of here first.

Maybe I was lucky, or maybe I was stubborn, but I'm sure my wife would tell you I was stubborn long before I had a stroke.

After another 10 days or so, I was well enough to go home and continue my rehabilitation as an outpatient.

Eventually, I regained enough independence to return to work and drive again — things that, in those early days, I never imagined I'd be able to do.

Learning to say yes...

I was determined, but that doesn't mean there weren't moments when I struggled.

There was a point when I felt like I'd given up. I couldn't even get dressed and I remember thinking, What's the point? But, somewhere along the way, I realised I had to start saying yes.

Yes, to getting up, yes to rehab, and yes when someone asked if I wanted to have another go. I learnt pretty quickly that when the physios or other staff asked, Do you want to?, my answer needed to be yes.

That shift made a huge difference for me.

My two adult kids were also a big part of my motivation. I felt like this was a real teachable moment for them. Here was their dad in a situation completely outside his control. I wanted them to see that I wasn't going to throw the towel in.

It wasn't about showing them that I was definitely going to walk again or drive again, because I didn't know if I would. It was about showing them that whatever situation I ended up in, I was going to make the most of it.

If that meant walking with a frame, using a wheelchair or not being able to use one side of my body, then that was the situation I was going to make the best of.

Thankfully, my recovery went far beyond anything I could have imagined in those early days.

Then came another stroke...

What I didn't realise was that my stroke journey wasn't over.

Later that year, after working with our mob of sheep, I noticed my right hand and foot had gone numb. The numbness extended to my elbow and knee, as well as my right cheek and shoulder blade.

The symptoms were completely different from my first stroke, so I thought I'd pinched a nerve or done something similar. I went to the doctor the next day and, a couple of weeks later, an MRI revealed a small clot.

I'd had another stroke.

Thankfully, I've continued to recover, but I've been left with effects that aren't always obvious to other people.

“I still know I've had a stroke”

I look okay.

I've returned to work. I can drive. I've regained my independence. I've had an amazing recovery and I know how fortunate I've been.

But as I used to tell people, I still know I've had a stroke.

I continue to experience fatigue, brain fog, problems with spatial awareness, emotions, problem solving, and confidence.

Every day there can be challenges that only I notice.

That's one of the difficult things about living with the invisible impacts of stroke. People see you looking okay, so naturally they think you must be okay. But you know you're not performing at the level you did before your stroke.

You forget things. You make little mistakes. You might forget a meeting or that you told someone you'd call them back. Sometimes you lose track of what you're saying.

Those things can really knock your confidence. For a long time, I didn't even know how to describe what I was experiencing.

That started to change when I reached out to StrokeLine.

Making that first call to StrokeLine 1800 787 653

Initially, mental health wasn't really an issue for me. I was too busy focusing on my physical recovery.

As my body, and just as importantly, my brain recovered, I became more able to comprehend what had actually happened to me.

That's when I started struggling.

I was feeling increasingly isolated. I was having trouble with my emotions and relationships. I knew I needed some help but acknowledging that and actually making that first phone call was a big step.

By that point, I'd had incredible medical care. But I still didn't know anyone else like me who had experienced a stroke.

Speaking with StrokeLine was such a relief.

I think sometimes you worry, you're going to be a burden to people. There's also a fear that you're going to be judged. Then you speak to someone and realise they just want to help.

Through StrokeLine and connecting with other survivors, I started to understand that the things I was experiencing weren't just me.

I wasn't an idiot because I'd forgotten something. It wasn't embarrassing if I lost track of what I was saying. I'd had a brain injury - of course there were going to be things that were different.

Seeing other people sometimes lose their train of thought or struggle with the same little things I did was strangely reassuring. You think you're the only one this happens to until you realise you're not.

That understanding helped me become a bit kinder to myself. I laugh at myself a lot more now when I muck up a word or forget something.

The gap after hospital...

One thing my experience has really highlighted to me is the gap between hospital and getting back to everyday life.

The care I received in hospital was unbelievable.

When you're there, the physio comes to see you. The occupational therapist comes to see you. You don't need to recognise that you need their help.

I didn't know I needed a physio to teach me to walk again, but I did, and they taught me.

Then you recover enough to leave hospital and suddenly you're expected to get back on with life. You go from having all this incredible care and support around you to, Okay, now I'm on my own.

I wasn't prepared for that.

For me, StrokeLine became a steppingstone between those two worlds. It softened that blow. It gave me somewhere to turn when I realised that although my physical recovery had come so far, there were other parts of recovery I still needed help with.

If I ever felt myself heading in the wrong direction again, I would absolutely call StrokeLine.

I wouldn't have the fear I had the first time.

Because stroke recovery isn't black and white, it's a roller coaster. You're up, you're down, you're somewhere in the middle and then you might find yourself struggling again.

Knowing there's somewhere you can turn makes a huge difference.

Finding purpose through connection...

Reaching out also helped me connect with other stroke survivors.

I've met some wonderful people - both people who've experienced stroke and people working to support survivors.

I've also had opportunities to provide feedback on resources alongside other stroke survivors. That might seem like a small thing, but it gave me something I hadn't realised I needed: purpose.

You're doing your little part to hopefully make things easier for the next person who finds themselves where you were.

You just want to help.

Having things I was interested in, people I looked forward to talking to and something meaningful to contribute helped my mental health too.

I stopped worrying quite so much about all the little things because I had something positive to focus on.

The bakery is missing, but the bread still needs to be made.

One of the best explanations of stroke recovery I've heard came from another stroke survivor.

Imagine your brain is a small town. You've got the butcher, the bakery, the supermarket and all the other shops the town needs.

Then the bakery burns down. But the town still needs bread.

So, the supermarket starts making some. Maybe the butcher has an oven and makes some too. Eventually, between them, the town finds a way to make enough bread. But it's nowhere near as efficient as when there was a bakery whose job was to make the bread.

That's what my brain can feel like now. The bakery's missing, but the bread still has to be made.

My brain has found new pathways and workarounds that allow me to do so many of the things I did before.

That's incredible.

But it's also tiring.

Things can require more concentration and effort. I make mistakes. I forget things. Sometimes my brain simply gets tired.

Understanding why that happens has made it easier to accept.

Going back to where it happened...

Another important part of processing my stroke was returning to Royal Melbourne Hospital. Because those first few days were such a blur, my memories of the hospital had started to become a bit like a bad dream or nightmare.

It was becoming this monster in my head, and going back changed that.

I could see the wards as they really were, with a much clearer mind. I could put what happened into perspective and, in a way, park that period of my life.

It was also incredibly special to meet some of the staff who had previously only been voices to me, being able to look at them and say thank you was massive.

When you're lying there, you're in their hands. What those people do is amazing, and I'm not sure they always realise how much it means to the person they're caring for.

Being able to go back and thank them helped me process that moment in my life and move forward.

You don't have to do it alone...

Stroke has taught me how quickly life can change.

It's taught me resilience - and probably confirmed that I'm pretty stubborn.

It's also taught me to focus more on the good things in life and the good things in people, because there are so many of them.

Most importantly, I've learnt that you don't have to do this alone.

If you're struggling after stroke, reach out, I found that people want to help you, not judge you.

For a while, I thought, Come on, you've had a great recovery. You've just got to fix these last few things and get on with it. I don't think that's the right approach anymore.

You've been through a massive trauma. Of course you might need help. Why shouldn't you get all the help you can?

Stay positive. Things can get better with time and effort.

And when you find yourself in that moment where getting up feels too hard, rehab feels too hard, or you're wondering what the point is, try to say yes.

Yes, to getting up.
Yes, to having another go.
Yes, to accepting help.
Yes, to reaching out.

For me, learning to say yes made all the difference."

If this story resonates with you and you have question, please call the team on StrokeLine 1800 787 653

26/08/2026

It can be hard living with a disability that others can't see. You might look "fine" on the outside, while dealing with challenges every day that people don't always understand.

26/08/2026

Stroke is one of Australia’s biggest killers.
It kills more women than breast cancer and more men than prostate cancer.
And here’s something many people may not realise: stroke happens in the brain.

Stroke is always a medical emergency. When a stroke happens, up to 1.9 million brain cells can die every minute.

That’s why knowing the common signs and acting quickly matters.
F – Face drooped
A – Arms can’t be raised
S – Speech is slurred or strange
T – Time to call 000

If you see any of these signs, call an ambulance immediately – even if the symptoms go away.

Don’t wait to see if it gets better.
Every minute counts. Every second matters.

25/08/2026

"That awkward moment when you’re trying to say goodbye… but instead tell your husband’s workmate that you love them..." - Amy
When you’re living with aphasia, sometimes the words that come out aren’t quite the ones you meant to say.
-
It can be funny - but aphasia can also be incredibly frustrating and isolating. Not being able to find the words you want, or having other people misunderstand you, can make everyday conversations feel exhausting.

So yes, sometimes you end up telling the wrong person you love them, and sometimes you just need people to slow down, listen and give you time.

Because aphasia doesn’t change what you want to say. It can just make getting the words out a whole lot harder."
Australian Aphasia Association

24/08/2026

From Yvonne, "When I had my stroke, I knew recovery would take time. Like many survivors, I was willing to try anything that might help me rebuild my strength, confidence, and independence.

About a year after my stroke, my occupational therapist (OT) told me about Queensland Ballet's Ballet for Brain Injury program. She had been involved in the pilot and believed it could help me continue my recovery. I was looking for ways to strengthen my body, rebuild pathways in my brain, and connect with people who understood what life after brain injury was really like.

I never imagined how much that one decision would change my life.

I still remember my first class in 2021.

My husband came with me as my support person, and although I was excited, I was also nervous. My mind was full of questions.

What if I can't do it? What if I embarrass myself? What if I get too tired?

Those fears disappeared almost as soon as I walked through the studio doors. I was welcomed with kindness, understanding, and encouragement. Nobody expected perfection. Everyone understood that we were all on our own recovery journey, and from that very first class I felt accepted exactly as I was.

Looking back now, that first session became one of the most positive and life-changing moments of my recovery.

Recovery in ways I never expected...

At first, I hoped ballet would improve my leg strength and balance, and it certainly did.

Over the past few years, I've become stronger, my balance has improved, my flexibility has increased, and I've built more stamina. Those improvements have also helped me get more out of my sessions with my physio and exercise physiologist because I've continued to challenge myself physically.

What surprised me most was how much ballet challenged my brain.

Remembering movement sequences, coordinating different parts of my body, and learning new routines exercises my memory, concentration, and coordination in every single class. It feels less like therapy and more like learning something joyful.

Emotionally, the impact has been just as significant.

The teachers, staff, and the other dancers have created something incredibly special. What began as a recovery program has become a place filled with friendship, laughter, encouragement, and genuine understanding. It helped rebuild not only my confidence, but also my emotional wellbeing.

Finding purpose again...

When people ask why I've stayed with the program for so many years, the answer is simple - because it gave me so much more than exercise.

I've seen amazing improvements in my affected leg, particularly around my ankle, and I've become much more aware of engaging my core muscles in everyday life. My affected arm feels lighter and less stiff than it once did, and movements that were once difficult now feel much more achievable.

But perhaps the biggest change has been inside me.

Stroke left a huge void in my life. Like many survivors, I struggled with depression as I tried to come to terms with everything that had changed. This community helped lift me out of that.

There's something incredibly powerful about being surrounded by people who don't need an explanation. We all arrived because of life-changing circumstances, yet together we've created a place full of hope, positivity, and possibility. We laugh together, encourage one another, and celebrate every achievement, no matter how small.

It gave me a new purpose, a new passion, and friendship that continues to enrich my life.

Even when other commitments have taken me away for periods of time, I always come back because this community feels like home.

Having a voice in my own recovery...

As my confidence grew, I found myself wanting to keep progressing.

Several of us who had been attending since the early days felt ready for more challenging movements and a faster pace. While the main class quite rightly welcomed participants with a wide range of abilities, some of us had reached a point where we needed the next step in our recovery.

Our teacher listened.

Together, we helped shape a five-week progression pilot program designed specifically for participants who wanted to continue building on the skills we'd developed. Being part of that pilot was incredibly rewarding.

The classes pushed me physically and mentally. They demanded more concentration, balance and coordination, and I would come home exhausted - but in the best possible way. I knew my brain was continuing to grow, adapt, and heal.

It reminded me that recovery doesn't stop. It evolves when we're given the opportunity to keep learning.

Why lived experience matters...

One of the things I've valued most about Ballet for Brain Injury is that participants are genuinely listened to.

Throughout my time in the program, I've been encouraged to share feedback, and that feedback has helped shape the program for future participants. Knowing that my lived experience has contributed to making the program even better is incredibly meaningful.

It reinforces something I now believe very strongly: every survivor's voice matters. Our experiences can help improve services, create opportunities, and make recovery better for the people who come after us.

More people deserve this opportunity...

Recovery after stroke or brain injury can be incredibly isolating. Many people face challenges with transport, fatigue, finances, or confidence. Too often, those barriers prevent people from accessing programs that could make a real difference.

That's why I'm so pleased to see Ballet for Brain Injury expanding into hospitals, aged care settings, and online classes.

This program has never been just about learning ballet.

It's about rebuilding confidence, improving physical and cognitive abilities, feeling understood and belonging to a community that genuinely cares. I've watched people arrive unsure of themselves, then slowly grow stronger, happier and more connected. Watching that transformation has been just as rewarding as experiencing it myself.

Everyone recovering from stroke or brain injury deserves the chance to experience that kind of healing.

Just give it a go - if you live in Brisbane!

If you're a stroke survivor wondering whether Ballet for Brain Injury is for you, my advice is simple. Give it a go.

You don't need any dance experience; you just need an open mind.

It's about so much more than movement. It's about rediscovering joy, rebuilding confidence, and reconnecting with yourself and others. The beautiful music, often played live by a pianist, creates such a calming, uplifting atmosphere.

Ballet for Brain Injury has enriched my life in ways I never imagined.

It might just surprise you, too. Qld ballet

Stroke Foundation

03/09/2026

02/09/2026

01/09/2026

31/08/2026

28/08/2026

27/08/2026

26/08/2026

26/08/2026

25/08/2026

24/08/2026

Address

Opening Hours

Telephone

Website

Alerts

Shortcuts

Share

Category

Listing takedown request

Monday	9am - 5pm
Tuesday	9am - 5pm
Wednesday	9am - 5pm
Thursday	9am - 5pm
Friday	9am - 5pm