The GOLDEN HOUR
Tyler Mahoney is the Australian star of the popular Discovery Channel franchise Gold Rush, and a fourth-generation gold prospector. In this edited extract from her new book Gold Digger, Mahoney shares her personal and professional struggles and how she go
We were about to start filming my third season of Aussie Gold Hunters when Mum and Dad called me to say they wanted to pull the pin on it. I tried to convince Mum and Dad to sign the contract with me, but I could tell they were done. Financially, that hurt. The show was the one thing each year that allowed me to get in front and put a good chunk of cash in my savings. I was also starting to appreciate what Aussie Gold Hunters was doing for my social media presence, which I really wanted to grow.
Meanwhile, Llyrus, my business partner for another project, was also going through some hard times – so we had put a hold on that too. It seemed like everything I had been working towards in my career was ending.
That familiar darkness started to descend on me – that feeling of helplessness so intense that I couldn’t imagine ever feeling normal again. My depression had stormed back in. I don’t think it was necessarily triggered by what was going on in my life; it had been sitting there staring at me, unacknowledged, for the past six months. Therapy and medication helped, but I’d abandoned those; having so much on had meant I was able to keep my mental health issues at bay.
It’s like I had been treading water and it was just there, tugging me down slowly as I focused on just keeping my head above the surface. Once I felt like all my hard work on my career was slipping away, the depression grabbed me by the ankles and pulled me under. No matter what I did each day, I could not keep my head above the water anymore.
On a logical level, I actually felt quite positive about my career. I knew it would be okay – I would work it out and the universe would have my back, like it always does – but I just couldn’t seem to tell my brain that. It’s bizarre to know you are fine, but not feel it at all.
Around this point, for the first time ever, I started cutting my legs. I should have been admitted to a psychology ward at this point. That episode was very out of character. The cuts were almost my attempt at begging for someone to realise I needed serious help. I don’t blame anyone for this except myself; it
wasn’t the people around me who needed to force me into a psych ward. I needed to do that myself, but I just didn’t know how.
The trouble with me going home and telling my parents, or anyone in my life, was that I had completely sheltered them from what was happening with my mental health. I had not told a single soul besides Max, my partner at the time, about my bipolar diagnosis; I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t say it out loud. It was so much easier to keep my mouth shut than to try to explain what was happening.
I don’t know why I was so petrified to tell my parents – they are extremely supportive. I think it was partly because I was still finding it hard to show pain and vulnerability to my family, and partly because if I told the people closest to me it would make it real. Plus, I knew they would ask me all about it, which was a conversation I didn’t want to have. It was so much easier to try to pretend like it didn’t exist. Eventually though, the truth will out.
Over the next year or so, things would get
progressively worse before they got better. Although some amazing opportunities came my way, I also went through massive changes and real lows. I landed my dream job on another TV show two weeks after I self-harmed for the first time. I was working at the bar – having gone back to hospitality to supplement my income from The Prospectors Club – when I missed a call from our family friend, who had been a director on Aussie Gold Hunters. He had rung to gauge my interest in appearing on a show following an American named Parker Schnabel and his quest to trace gold rush routes across the globe, uncovering treasure on the way.
I was keen for anything. I am so lucky that this friend had my back and pushed to have me on the show. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have had the opportunity. I still had to go through an audition process, just so the highups could make sure I wasn’t a dud, but within two weeks of that phone call, I was on a plane to Canada to meet Parker.
Not even a month later, we were on the road filming Gold Rush: Parker’s Trail – a pretty big TV show.
I decided to completely bury that I had selfharmed, and got on with my new job. So much of my self-worth was tied to my work and, in the name of succeeding at it, I have an innate ability to act completely sane through some of my most unstable times.
Having so much of my self-worth tied to my career is not necessarily a good thing – it’s in fact something I’m trying to unlearn.
One perk of this ability to mask my symptoms, however, is that my mental illness has impacted my career so minimally that colleagues would have zero idea about the horrific depressive episode I was coming out of. That wasn’t because we weren’t close, or because they didn’t care, but because I was so good at saving face.
I was afraid my mental illness would ruin the thing I cared for the most. It was almost like living a double life. I’d always get told, “Oh, wow. I would have no idea you were going through that”, and that was because I did everything in my power to make sure they didn’t.
The following months were a complete blur. Once I left Perth to film the TV show, Max and I broke up. I spent what felt like a whole lifetime with a person who became a stranger overnight. We had grown up together, moved in together at 17 and gone through life lessons and turmoils together that many couples don’t experience in a lifetime.
All these feelings were put on hold though because I set off to travel Australia filming an international TV show. My mind put the breakup on pause.
It wasn’t a conscious decision, but my brain would not allow me to process the breakup or feel any emotions from it just yet. It was the end of a seven-year relationship, and the only time I cried was out of guilt when my ex rang in tears.
I left him during an emotional storm to travel the country and I will always carry some guilt for that. I would try my hardest at night to sit down and process what was happening, but my brain would not let me.
I would do my best to grasp my emotions about the situation, but just sit there, blank. My brain was dissociating as a coping mechanism and there was nothing I could do about it.
In hindsight, it worked; I got through the trip
with no major breakdowns. It was seamless, and I had the time of my life – but a lot would change when I got back to reality and had my old life to deal with.
I started seeing someone new straight after the breakup because I had a hole I needed to fill. I would have preferred to be with someone who did not fill my emotional needs, who did not treat me well, than have to be alone with myself.
I wish I could go back and tell myself to lean into solitude – and even learn to love it – because until I did, I would have settled for anyone who could help me escape it.
I wish I had learned self-love, so I didn’t go searching high and low for someone else to fill that void.
I had to learn these lessons the hard way, and created a mess because of it.
With the benefit of hindsight, I can see that something pretty spectacular emerged from the rubble of that period in my life. It was another butterfly effect in action, and this chain reaction affirmed my belief that things exit my life to create space for what’s truly meant for me.
Suddenly everything made sense: the businesses not moving forward, Max and I separating, losing my spot with Aussie Gold Hunters.
Parker’s Trail came at the perfect time and, in a way, it saved me.
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