Late last year, as was reported in the media at the time, the Australian Taxation Office obtained default judgment against me for unpaid tax.

Ultimately, I am responsible for that. It should never have happened. I am working—with the assistance of my accountants and lawyers—to fix it, as quickly as possible.

But the piece published by the ABC did not tell the whole story. And, in a way, what it omitted was of greater public interest than what it contained.

In fairness to the journalist who wrote it, he contacted me, and invited me to comment before he went to press. I declined, because the only honest explanation I could give required me to speak about something I had kept private, including from those I love most, all my life.

But I did speak to him, told him the following, and more, off the record. And, to his credit, he withheld it. I suspect, that explains what some have noticed was the article's strangely generous tone.

Having had the chance to talk candidly with the people I care about most, and having spent the last few months working on these difficult issues with the help of expert professionals, I am now sharing it publicly.

I am doing that because I don’t want rumour to do the work that truth should do, because some of you deserve to hear this from me, and because sharing it once, publicly, is easier for me than having to explain (or avoid explaining) the distressing details again and again.

What I set out below is not offered as an excuse. It is an explanation. It is not an attempt to persuade you of anything, or rehabilitate my reputation. It is just facts. Make of them what you will.

Those who've been the victims of sexual violence may prefer not to read on.

When I was in my final years of primary school, I was sexually abused by my headmaster during one-on-one music lessons for the better part of a year. His name was Mick Twomey. He was later imprisoned for similar offending against another boy at the same school. I have carried the guilt and shame of what happened to me, in silence and with intense self-loathing, for decades.

For most of my adult life, I have experienced and endured a deep sense of worthlessness that I did not properly understand. It expressed itself in self-destructive personal neglect: ignoring my own needs, avoiding personal administration of all sorts, and—most importantly—failing to meet basic personal obligations that a responsible adult should meet.

In the last few years, those problems became acute because of a series of related professional and personal circumstances by which my underlying trauma (and unmet psychological treatment needs) were exacerbated. Instead of acknowledging and dealing with them, I ignored them and concentrated on caring for my family and my work.

The personal work I have been doing recently, assisted by professional help, has helped me understand that untreated trauma can distort the way a person relates to themselves, to safety, and to responsibility. It can leave you striving outwardly to be accepted, while privately treating yourself as undeserving of care.

Having a busy and successful practice is not inconsistent with being a person haunted by constant inner destructiveness. Throughout my 16 years at the bar, my work gave me an entirely plausible way to simply ignore the constant inner torment. In many ways, I became good at my job because it gave me a way to ignore the things I didn't want to confront about myself.

That, I have come to discover, is one way that those who've experienced trauma of one kind of another sometimes deal with it. I suppose it seems obvious in retrospect.

What happened to me occurred almost 40 years ago. And I only told anybody—my immediate family, and some very trusted confidants—for the first time last year.

My task now is, and for some time has been, to repair the damage, learn the lessons, to safeguard the future. Being able to be open about all of this, finally, will (I hope) help enormously.

I continue to be good at my job. Even better than before, because I've confronted the things that I tried to ignore (but which distracted me) for so long.

I am fortunate: my wife and children have supported me with generosity and loyalty. My parents and family have been loving and supportive. Friends and colleagues who know the truth have shown me considerable kindness. In particular, the response of junior members of the profession suggests to me that its future is in very good hands indeed, and that the considerable effort in Australia around lawyers' mental health in recent years, both in the profession and in the academy, has not fallen on deaf ears.

But not everyone receives the kind of support I have been blessed to received and which, if I'm honest, a part of me still feels I don't deserve.

Because of fear of how they may be received, many survivors never disclose their suffering at all. For men of my generation in particular, there was not (and I think continues not to be) the language, permission, or safety around speaking about childhood sexual abuse.

And even though the issue has become much more widely-understood and acknowledged, for many of us to whom it occurred before those public insights were gained, silent private suffering remains the status quo.

Shame thrives in silence. So does avoidance.

And so, it is for those people, ultimately, that I'm sharing this story. Because if it helps even one other person, it will have been worth the humiliation I feel in doing it.

If you are somebody who experienced trauma that you've not dealt with, I encourage you to find somebody you can trust with whom you can speak. For me, doing that has made all the difference. I only wish I'd done it years ago, before needlessly damaging myself by trying to go it alone. Don't do that to yourself.

Please.

To anyone else reading this: if someone discloses childhood sexual abuse to you, the first response matters. A compassionate, trauma-informed response can help; a careless or punitive response can cause untold harm. I know that both of those things are true because I experienced both. Try, as best you can, to see the frightened child behind the adult in front of you (even if they appear to be an accomplished adult). Educate yourself.

For my part, I am continuing to do the professional and personal work required to put this right.

To those I have let down, I unreservedly apologise. In particular junior members of the profession. I'd have preferred always to have been an example rather than a cautionary tale. I'm particularly sorry to you.

I accept there will be some for whom none of this matters, and to whom I will be thought irredeemable. I acknowledge you. Those in my position are, rightly, held to a high standard and expected to meet it. Sometimes, there is more to apparent failure than meets the eye.

To my many friends, both in and outside the legal profession. Your compassion and kindness to me and my family, in my darkest moment, has fortified me more than I will ever be able to tell you.

Come what may, my best years now lie ahead of me.

If any of this causes you distress, please seek professional services where you are. In Australia, phone LifeLIne on 13 11 14.