Reece Walsh When I first met Freda Puru, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think too much of it. She wasn’t what I expected, not at all. At that time in my life, everything revolved around footy. NRL was becoming my entire world, and I was consumed by the grind—training at dawn, club commitments, Broncos expectations, media scrutiny, the pressure to live up to a hype I didn’t fully understand.
Romance?
Relationships?
Anything deeper than the game?
It wasn’t on my radar.
Football was the sun my days revolved around. Everything else felt secondary, background noise. I didn’t know how to balance anything outside of footy—my life was a schedule, a discipline, a chase. And honestly, part of me liked it that way. It was controlled chaos, and I understood chaos.
But Freda…
she walked into my life like a different kind of melody.
Not loud. Not wild. Not trying to impress.
Just real.
I wasn’t used to that. I was used to the noise—the crowds, the late nights, the adrenaline, the people who came and went depending on whether I played well that week. I was used to temporary connections, temporary attention, temporary everything. Life wasn’t built for stillness back then.
But she was steady—firm in who she was, thoughtful, sincere in a way that made you pause. And that was the part I didn’t see coming.
At first, I didn’t know what to make of her. I didn’t even know what I should be making of her. She didn’t fit into the life I was living, not in the usual way. She wasn’t dazzled by the league, or the fame, or the bright lights that follow you whether you ask for them or not. She wasn’t trying to be part of the chaos; she was like a person who had seen storms before and didn’t feel the need to stand in the rain just to prove a point.
She was grounded.
And I was not.
I remember thinking, Why is she so calm? Why is she so… sure? Everyone else in my world seemed to want something—from me, from my status, from my name. But she didn’t. She treated me like a person, not a headline.
That threw me off more than anything.
The First Real Conversation
There was this moment, early on, when I realized she wasn’t like anyone else I’d met. We were sitting outside after a long day—nothing fancy, just talking. And she said something like, “You seem tired. Not physically… inside.”
No one had ever said that to me.
People saw the athlete before they saw the boy. They saw the speed, the plays, the tries, the highlight reels. But she looked at me and saw something I didn’t know was visible to anyone else.
That conversation stuck with me.
I didn’t tell her that, of course—not then. Back then I was still trying to pretend I was invincible.
But that was the moment something shifted.
A Slow, Unexpected Pull
My life had always moved fast—too fast sometimes. People came in and out like revolving doors, and I figured relationships were things I’d worry about once I “made it.” I didn’t want anything serious; I didn’t trust myself with it. I didn’t trust my schedule, or my lifestyle, or the version of myself that existed under pressure.
But with Freda, nothing felt forced. There wasn’t a moment where she tried to rush anything or push anything. She let things unfold naturally, slowly, without expectation. And the scariest part? I found myself looking forward to seeing her again. Looking for her name on my phone. Looking for her voice in the middle of noise.
She became the quiet I didn’t know I needed.
At first, I tried to ignore it. Football was everything. I didn’t want distractions—at least that’s what I told myself. But eventually I realized it wasn’t a distraction… it was balance. She grounded me in ways I didn’t think were possible.
Understanding Her Strength
People see calmness and mistake it for softness. That wasn’t the case with Freda. She had a strength that wasn’t loud—it was internal, steady, unshakable. And I needed that more than I wanted to admit.
I was used to attention that faded, support that depended on performance, relationships that cracked under pressure. I didn’t expect anyone to stay long enough to understand the parts of me that didn’t show up on the field.
But Freda didn’t run from those parts.
She asked questions—the kind that made me think, the kind that I wasn’t used to answering. She made me reflect on things I usually tried to outrun. She made me want to be honest, even on days when honesty felt like weakness.
And the more I saw her, the more I understood that she wasn’t trying to change me—she just wanted to understand me. That alone was something rare.
The Moment I Knew
There wasn’t some dramatic movie-like moment where everything clicked. No fireworks, no sudden revelation. It was a series of small things.
The way she listened.
The way she carried herself.
The way she didn’t flinch when life got messy.
But one night, after a tough game—one where I’d played well but felt completely drained—I realized something. She didn’t congratulate me like the world did. She didn’t hype me up or tell me how great I was.
She simply said, “Are you okay?”
Three simple words.
But they hit differently.
Because after all the noise, all the pressure, all the expectations… that was the question I didn’t know I needed to hear.
That’s when I knew she wasn’t just someone passing through.
She was someone whose presence changed the atmosphere.
And that scared me.
But it also grounded me.
The Unraveling of Old Habits
Being with her made me confront parts of myself I used to hide. The insecurities, the fears of not living up to expectations, the weight of being young and successful and uncertain about what came next.
She didn’t let me get away with emotional shortcuts. She didn’t let me pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. She’d call me out—gently, but honestly. And instead of pushing me away, it made me trust her more.
I’d never had that.
Not really.
I was always the confident one, the fast one, the one who made moves on the field that people talked about. But off the field, things were different. I was figuring out who I was, what I wanted, and how to handle a life that didn’t always feel like mine.
Freda became the person I could say that to.
She didn’t judge.
She didn’t take advantage.
She didn’t use it against me.
She just listened.
And understanding came naturally to her.
Why She Became Important
People ask sometimes why she mattered. Why she stood out from everything else happening in my life at that time—the fame, the success, the attention, the opportunities.
But the truth is simple:
She was real in a world where a lot of things weren’t.
She didn’t need anything from me except honesty. She didn’t want to reshape me or benefit from the spotlight. She was okay with being low-key, private, steady. She valued peace more than attention—and I didn’t realize how badly I needed someone like that.
The NRL world is thrilling, but it’s also loud, overwhelming, and full of people who want something. Freda never wanted anything except for me to be myself—and to be better because of it.
That is rare.
And that is unforgettable.
The Evolution
As more time passed, things shifted in ways I didn’t expect. We grew—individually and together. We faced challenges, misunderstandings, distance, and pressure. But even on days when things felt heavy, her presence never felt like another burden. It felt like support.
She helped me see that life wasn’t just about the game. That I was more than the jersey. More than the highlight reels. More than the expectations placed on my shoulders.
She reminded me that I was human before I was an athlete.
And I needed that reminder.
What She Ultimately Meant to Me
Looking back, I can honestly say this:
Freda didn’t just enter my life—
she influenced the direction of it.
She changed the way I saw relationships, the way I communicated, the way I managed pressure. She taught me patience—not just with others, but with myself. She showed me the value of slowing down, breathing, and letting life unfold instead of trying to control every moment.
She was a steady rhythm in a world full of noise.
And whether we were perfect or imperfect, together or figuring things out separately, she played a role in shaping the man I became.
Not every important person stays forever.
But some people leave a mark that time can’t erase.
Freda was that for me.
She came into my life when I was all chaos—and she didn’t try to change it. She simply gave me a reason to find my centre. She helped me understand the parts of myself I used to hide behind footy. She helped me grow in ways I didn’t expect, ways I didn’t even know I needed.
That’s what makes her unforgettable.
And that’s why, even now, I can look back and say…
She wasn’t just someone I met.
She was someone who mattered.
Someone who taught me what real connection looks like.
Someone who helped me see the world—and myself—differently.
And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
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