Laying The Foundations For A New National Loneliness Initiative

An expert in mental health services policy and service design, Melanie Wilde is focused on driving measurable impact in the delivery of mental health services, formerly CEO at Mental Health Community Coalition. She has 20+ years’ experience in policy, programs and campaigning at organisations including the Foundation for Alcohol Research and Education, CARE, Federation of Community Legal Centres and United Nations Refugee Agency.

She is an advocate for LGBTQIA+ communities as a Board Director at Meridian and holds a Master’s in Public and Non-Profit Administration from New York University, with degrees in Political Science and Law (with Honours) from the Australian National University. When not working, Melanie juggles motherhood and participates in Canberra’s incredible creative arts community. Read on for our Change Maker interview with Melanie!

Describe your career trajectory and how you got to your current position.

I am the CEO of the Foundation for Social Health, a national charity I founded to address Australia’s loneliness crisis. Before this, I led the peak body for mental health services in the ACT, where I saw how the crisis of disconnection drives our growing mental health challenges.

Over the past twenty years, I’ve worked across a vast range of social and environmental justice issues—everything from large-scale international NGOs to grassroots community services. I’ve worked in the mountains of northern Pakistan, Kakuma Refugee Camp in the harsh desert where Kenya borders Sudan, and in remote Aboriginal communities in Australia. I’ve worked with homeless youth, women fleeing family violence, people trapped in the justice system, and communities living with deep systemic disadvantage.

Two stories—two lives—illustrate the lessons I’ve learned across all this.

The first comes from early in my career, when I worked with CARE Australia. At the time, I liaised with government bodies to secure funding for international development projects. One of these— a clean water program in Cambodia—seemed straightforward. Build wells, bring water closer to homes. And we did. But it wasn’t the clean water that changed lives, it was what happened around the wells. Freed from hours of backbreaking labour, women gathered there to talk. As trust and connection built, they shared knowledge of maternal health, contraception, and their rights. Within a few years, maternal deaths fell dramatically. Women began to push back against family violence. We thought we’d brought water: what we’d actually brought, by accident, was space for connection.

Years later, while working with Aboriginal and Community Legal Services in Melbourne, I heard the story of an Aboriginal woman who had spent her life entangled in the justice system despite being surrounded by services—housing, mental health support, income assistance. As Jill Prior, her then-lawyer and now a judge and renowned justice advocate, said, ‘No amount of services can replace genuine connection.’ This woman needed something no service could provide: friends and family who actually cared for her. Not as professionals, but as people.

This is the poverty we don’t name in Australia. Not just the poverty of unequal resource distribution—but the poverty of social bonds. It’s a hidden driver of our cost-of-living crisis. When every collective good—housing, childcare, elder care, healthcare—becomes a privatised service, survival turns into a transaction, and people are reduced to numbers.

Think about it: in the days of the Harvester Judgment, a family could survive comfortably if one person worked around 40 hours a week. That was enough to put food on the table, pay the bills, and nurture a family unit. Now, we’ve doubled that labour expectation. Two people working full-time is often barely enough to cover the same basics.

At the same time, we’ve shrunk the size of families and eroded the systems of support that used to hold them together. What once was shared – caring for children, elders, or even the everyday challenges of life – is now outsourced, with families scrambling to pay for things that used to come from community and connection.

This fraying of social bonds doesn’t just increase costs; it leaves people profoundly isolated. It’s a poverty of time, care, and relationships – things money can’t easily replace. And that’s the crisis we need to name.

These lessons have led me to where I am today: the founder of the Foundation for Social Health. We have a simple but radical goal: to fight the loneliness crisis not with more programs, but with more relationships. To rebuild the social bonds that hold us together, that make us not consumers or clients, but human beings. To build the wells around which we gather to drink, to talk, and build lives worth living.

What does this role mean to you?

This role is not just a job; it is the culmination of everything I’ve seen, learned, and lived. It is a chance to confront a crisis that often hides in plain sight, to bring people together in ways that are radical in their simplicity. For me, it is deeply personal. As a single mother, I’ve felt how shrinking social structures leave us paying for what used to come from community— care, time, and support.

But more than that, this role is about hope. It’s about proving that we can build a society where everyone has a place: a place to heal, a place to learn, a place to feel safe, a place to belong.

Take us through a typical day of work for you.

 Every day begins with my son, whose non-stop energy is both a joy and a challenge. Once he’s off to childcare, my workday starts. I move between strategy meetings, advocacy work, and connecting with our partners. Some days are spent deep in research; others are full of public speaking or writing policy submissions.

By the afternoon, I’m focused on people: building relationships with our board, our supporters, and the communities we serve. No two days are the same, but every day is driven by the same question: How do we rebuild the bonds that hold us together?

What is the biggest challenge you’ve encountered in your career, and how did you overcome it?

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that NGOs alone cannot change the world. Early in my career, I found myself at the United Nations in New York, working as a human rights advocate. It was my dream job, or so I thought. But the reality was sterile committee rooms where people talked about extreme poverty without emotion or urgency, and at night there were lavish parties. I had no relationship of accountability to the women living in the poverty I was supposed to be addressing. It felt hollow.

At the same time, I became deeply involved in the Black Lives Matter movement. It was messy, raw, and profoundly human. People showed up not as professionals but as individuals, driven by purpose. That contrast taught me that real change doesn’t fundamentally come from systems, organisations, or jobs you are paid to do – it comes from people, from relationships, and from showing up with integrity.

Recently, I spent a few days with a man named Francois “Frank” Faber, the father of one of my closest childhood friends and someone who has been like a father to me as well. Frank has cancer, and we were celebrating his 75th birthday. It will be his last. As we talked about the Foundation and my frustrations with hypocrisies I’ve seen in the community and NGO sectors—behaviours I’m determined to avoid – Frank summarised everything I have come to believe by sharing a simple, powerful quote: God is what you do.

Those words are now tattooed on my body, a permanent reminder of the lessons Frank has taught me since I was a child, which my career has reinforced. There is no such thing as the “greater good.” There are only the choices we make. The ways we treat the people around us. What we do, every single day. And, most importantly, why we choose to do it.

If you could go back in time, what piece of advice would you give yourself as you first embarked on your career?

Be curious, not dogmatic. As an undergraduate, I saw the world in a pretty black and white way. Over time, I’ve learned the power of nuance. For example, the Foundation for Social Health has former Liberal, Labor, and Greens MPs on its board. Each was chosen for their integrity and shared commitment to values—not their party affiliations.

Instead of outbidding each other in what I call an “Oppression Auction”, which is how ostensibly “progressive” elites protect their power through token representation, we must organise around shared values, experiences and material interests. Judge people by their actions, not their performance of virtues. That clarity will take you further than ideology ever could.

How do you stay motivated to work in this field?

I stay motivated by the people I meet. Every conversation, every story, reminds me why this work matters. Whether it’s an Aboriginal elder sharing their wisdom or an isolated mum discovering connection through our programs, these moments reaffirm that change is possible.

The other major thing that keeps me going is the people I’m building this with. We’ve got a tightknit founding team at the Foundation, and they are such a talented and gorgeous group of humans. We are guided by a highly experienced, energised Board, and supported by generous founding partners (including businesses, philanthropic organisations and governments at all levels). I feel like so many people, from such a diversity of perspectives, want us to succeed. Together, we’re not just addressing a crisis; we’re building something new—something rooted in hope, connection, and the best of what people can bring to each other.

How do you unwind after work?

I am pretty extroverted, so I often unwind by spending time with friends – either by catching up on the phone, or sharing a glass of wine after putting my son to bed. I grew up in Canberra and came back here a few years ago, and I am so fortunate that so many of my childhood, university and other old friends are here and close by.

When I am too exhausted for company (which – as my son is young and I am new to juggling mum + work life – is often!) – I’m a fan of a good political thriller. I loved Total Control, starring the incredible Rachel Griffiths – my favourite actress. And here’s my surreal anecdote of the year: not long after I finished Season Two, I actually met Rachel at a party! She was so awesome – down-to-earth, whip-smart, and also completely hilarious.

Rachel is not just an acting powerhouse; she’s also a brilliant advocate for mental health. Years ago, she directed a short film that tackled a huge focus area of ours at the Foundation: male isolation, depression, loneliness, and suicide.

So, in the spirit of being cheeky (and just in case Rachel happens to be a Pro Bono reader), I’ll put this dream out there: Rachel Griffiths, we’d love to have you as our patron at the Foundation!

What was the last thing you: Watched, Read, & Listened to?

• Watched: Fisk Season Three. Kitty Flanagan is a comedic genius.
• Read: Model Minority Gone Rogue by my brilliant friend Qin Qin.
• Listened to: Jonathan Haidt’s podcast—he has such a compelling way of explaining the way that humans think.