Kate Jensen
"People here—even when I feel like I haven't done enough to help them—they’re always so appreciative of whatever I can do. I can't do everything that I want to do, that's not possible. But I know, for some, it is making a difference for them."
"I was working long hours and feeling like I didn't see my kids very much. I wasn’t home to put them to bed. I was just kind of stuck. We thought, ‘No, let's not. Let’s do something else.’"
Many kids don’t know what they want to be when they grow up. It’s a common adolescent experience that, for many, hangs around well into adulthood.
Kate Jensen did not have this problem. She decided she wanted to be a psychologist at fifteen years old. “I remember writing it in my grade 10 yearbook,” she recalls. “We had to say what were we going to do in the future. I wanted to be a psychologist, probably before I even knew what one was.”
Kate had an innate curiosity about people. She was the one the other kids turned to when they had a problem, and her empathetic nature made people feel comfortable opening up.
Once she finished high school in her hometown of Adelaide, Kate immediately began studying to become a clinical psychologist. She started working as soon as she was registered and, as a younger psychologist, many of her patients ended up being children. “I don’t know what it is,” she muses. “But when you're the new, younger staff member, for some reason, they give you all the kid stuff. Maybe it’s the ability to connect with children. But I've always had an interest in working with kids, and now I've done some things to specialise in working with young children—behavioural difficulties, parenting skills, play skills. I became really interested in that area.”
Kate spent four years in an honours program and then another five completing a PhD. The day she handed in her thesis, Kate got on a plane and left Australia. She was ready to experience something new.
I was working long hours—after-hours, weekends—in private practice, and feeling like I didn't see my kids very much. I wasn’t home to put them to bed. I was just kind of stuck. We thought, ‘No, let's not. Let’s do something else.’
Kate spent a year working as a psychologist in Bangladesh, then moved to Denmark where she worked with expats and international students. In Copenhagen she met Rasmus. They had twin girls, and for the next five years lived a comfortable, but busy, life.
“Copenhagen was an amazing city to be in as a single person or a couple,” Kate says now. “But once we had children lugging two babies up the stairs in an apartment building… I just couldn’t do it. We moved out of the city and commuted into Copenhagen every day on motorways. I was working long hours—after-hours, weekends—in private practice, and feeling like I didn't see my kids very much. I wasn’t home to put them to bed. I was just kind of stuck. We thought, ‘No, let's not. Let’s do something else.’”
Kate and Rasmus thought about where in the world “something else” could be. They wanted nature, and space. Knowing their neighbours was important to them—Rasmus had fond childhood memories of growing up in a small community, where everybody knew one other, and they wanted the same for their girls. They wanted to grow their own food, and they wanted rolling hills instead of motorways. They chose Tasmania.
“Now, I still commute,” laughs Kate. “I probably commute the same amount of time. But my drive now is pastures and cows and sheep and mountains and waterways. The drive now is nice.”
Kate’s drive takes her across Northern Tasmania, from her home in the Tamar Valley to two towns on opposite banks of the River Tamar; Georgetown and Beaconsfield. She works for Tasmania’s Department for Education, Children, and Young People as a school psychologist, dividing her time between schools and Child and Family Learning Centres (CFLCs)—places for families with children from birth to age five and expectant parents to attend in their local community. Kate’s work is diverse; she works in partnership with teachers, students, children and their families. Schools make referrals to Kate and the student support team, who then support the student. Kate also does one-on-one assessments and works in classrooms with teachers, on broader strategies to support students. Kate works with a wide range of ages, which she views as an opportunity to support families from every angle.
“I feel like I get to work across the whole community, in a way. There are a lot of cross connections. At the CFLCs, I work directly with parents and caregivers as well, so we can work within that scope. It’s a really nice thing about my role. The CFLCs, I think, are pretty uniquely Tasmanian.”
CFLCs build on the existing strengths of families and communities and build capacity, working in partnerships with parents, caregivers, families, communities, and service providers to improve the health, wellbeing and learning outcomes for children.
At CFLCs families can access services and supports and connect with other families. They can enjoy a range of activities, participate in playgroups, explore the indoor and outdoor play spaces and parents and caregivers can participate in parenting skills programs. Families can see a Child Health and Parenting Service nurse for health checks and access social workers, speech pathologists, and psychologists just like Kate.
A foundational principle of Tasmania’s CFLCs has been to improve place-based service access in local communities. CFLCs support families to access and connect with services within their community.
I can't do everything that I want to do, that's not possible. But I know, for some, it is making a difference for them.
In Northern Tasmania, Kate and her family have found exactly what they were looking for. They have space. They grow their own vegetables, and they have chickens. There is wildlife on their doorstep. And Kate finds her neighbours and strangers alike have a genuine friendliness, something she’d missed while living in Denmark. It feels special.
“I have reflected a little bit about why I love working in the communities that I am,” she says. “People here—even when I feel like I haven't done enough to help them—they’re always so appreciative of whatever I can do.
“I can't do everything that I want to do, that's not possible. But I know, for some, it is making a difference for them.”
We worked with northern Tasmanian photographer Nick Hanson for this Tasmanian story.
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