Turning a turbulent time of her life into a cabaret stage show is very on-brand for Em Rusciano.
The flamboyant, fun and unfiltered writer, singer, podcaster, songwriter and comedian doesn't mind a bit of drama.
When her marriage of 25 years ended, Rusciano found herself at a crossroads. Questioning the stories women have traditionally been sold about romantic love, she turned that reckoning into a sharp, funny and deeply personal cabaret that combines powerhouse vocals, theatrical spectacle and humour.
Addicted To Love is a show for anyone who has left a relationship, a job, or an old version of themselves, and wondered what comes next.
"I was an enormous romantic," Rusciano tells Weekender.
"I absorbed the idea that romantic love was the ultimate prize; the thing that would validate you and make your life complete. I'm less interested in that mythology now.
"I don't think romance is dead. I just don't want it sitting at the head of the table demanding to be the most important relationship in my life.
"Love can be found in friendship, family, creativity, community, a brilliant audience and, occasionally, someone remembering exactly how you take your coffee. I still believe in romance. I'm just no longer prepared to worship it."
The show is rated 15+ due to its "strong" language and adult themes. Rusciano's musician father, Vincenzo, is a member of her backing band on tour. Does this mean certain topics are taboo?
"Look, my dad Vincie probably hears things no Italian father should ever hear his daughter say. But he's mastered the art of onstage selective hearing, and after years beside me professionally, very little surprises him," Rusciano replies.
"Plus, he was a muso in the '70s. He's seen and heard far worse than anything I could trot out onstage.
"He's also in the biz, so he knows that if I talk to him during the show, he needs to ham it up. Vincie is everyone's favourite member of the show, and believe me, Vincie knows it."
True to form, no two Addicted To Love shows are the same. Audiences can expect the unexpected.
"In 15 years of touring, I don't think I've stuck to the script once," Rusciano says.
"I'm so unreliable that my producer, Lucy, has to sit side of stage with a microphone and redirect me like a drunk raccoon she's caught rummaging through the bins.
"I get distracted by audiences. I want to hear their stories, walk among them and sing with them. Sometimes the show runs over and we find ourselves in a two-and-a-half-hour glamorous hostage situation."
Rusicano's "big break" was Australian Idol. Season two, in 2004, to be exact.
"At the time I had no idea it would lead to anything," she says.
"I'd never sung publicly. I was a young stay-at-home mum in Adelaide studying interior design, and before that I'd been an elite junior athlete. Dad was the musician in the family, so I'd always been surrounded by music and knew I loved to sing, but it never occurred to me that I might do it in front of actual people.
"Once I started, I knew I had to find a way to weave singing into my life. Anyone who remembers season two will know I was quite some distance from being the strongest singer, but I've spent 20 years working on it, and it's now probably my favourite part of performing.
"I certainly couldn't have predicted Idol would lead to whatever strange hybrid creature my career is now."
Rusciano likes to have different pots on the boil. Is that a by-product of her ADHD, I ask, or is she simply multi-talented?
"Obviously I'd prefer to land on multi-talented, but ADHD has definitely entered the chat," she says.
"I'm intensely curious, I need novelty, and when something interests me, I want to learn everything about it immediately.
"My career makes much more sense to me now. I'm not unfocused, I'm a multi-disciplinary artist with an extremely excitable nervous system.
"You also need to be a Jill of all trades to survive in the Australian entertainment industry. When I started in comedy, the fact that I also sang was weirdly controversial. It seemed to piss off some comics, as though singing were a cheat code or a crutch. I almost stopped, then thought, why on earth would I possess all these skills and only use them one at a time?"
Rusciano was diagnosed with autism and ADHD in 2020 at the age of 42. Not afraid to share her story, she quickly became an advocate for neurodivergence and in 2022 spoke at the National Press Club of Australia about the need for ADHD to be recognised as a primary condition under the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS).
Rusciano is now able to look back at her younger self and recognise the signs.
"There were so many," she says.
"The sensory overwhelm, emotional intensity, justice sensitivity, hyperfocus, impulsivity, perfectionism, and the exhaustion after social situations. I could perform in front of thousands of people, then be unable to answer a text.
"My entire career can now be traced fairly neatly back to undiagnosed ADHD and a spectacular appetite for risk. If something felt scary and wildly beyond my abilities, I was immediately drawn to it.
"I entered a singing competition having never sung publicly, walked into breakfast radio having never set foot in a broadcast studio, took up stand-up without ever having told a joke, and now I'm writing a musical with my best friend, despite neither of us having written one before.
"Understanding my brain replaced shame with context. It allowed me to stop treating myself like a defective neurotypical person and recognise that my whole career has been built on thinking, 'I've never done that before. How hard could it be?'. It seems to have worked out OK."
Why do girls and women continue to fly under the ADHD radar?
"Because most of the diagnostic models were built around how ADHD and autism tend to present in boys," Rusciano says.
"Girls are often better at masking, people-pleasing and turning their distress inward. They may be labelled anxious, dramatic, difficult, overly sensitive or perfectionistic rather than recognised as neurodivergent.
"Many women become incredibly competent at appearing fine while privately using every ounce of energy to hold themselves together. They are often diagnosed only when motherhood, perimenopause, burnout or some other major life change makes masking impossible.
"We were not missed because we had no symptoms. We were missed because people were looking for the wrong ones."
Helping others, and giving them a voice, is rewarding for Rusicano. She finds it fulfilling in many ways.
"I know what it's like to be in the middle of a huge life change, searching for something that might reassure, educate or empower you, and not finding quite what you need," she explains.
"Not because there aren't brilliant resources out there; the sheer volume of information can be completely overwhelming. I need it streamlined, reassuring, occasionally delivered in glitter and, ideally, with some music.
"That's what gives my work purpose. The entertainment industry can encourage you to become very preoccupied with yourself, and occasionally major in your own misfortune. Turning the light outwards and thinking about who might need what I'm making gets me out of that very quickly.
"Being useful has saved me from myself more times than I can count."
It helps that Rusciano is, and always has been, an open book.
"I'm also the editor, and occasionally the legal department. I've always overshared, partly to connect, but also to avoid being misunderstood," she explains.
"I thought if I could just find the perfect combination of words, I might control how people perceived me, preferably in flattering lighting. I'm a recovering people-pleaser, but luckily I found a career where my inability to shut up about my love life or the weird rash I woke up with could be monetised.
"These days, though, I understand that honesty doesn't mean unlimited access, especially when a story also belongs to my children or someone else.
"As a single parent, there are absolutely times when I feel alone and frightened, but the truth is, I often felt that way in my marriage because my ex-husband and I had grown so far apart.
"Immediately afterwards, I felt like I was in free fall, but I also felt free. The future I'd assumed was waiting for me had disappeared, and suddenly I had no idea what shape my life would take. At first that was terrifying. Now it feels a little exciting.
"For the first time, I feel like I get to have a real say in what happens to me."
Rusciano has written books and joked candidly about finer details of her life on stage. Is she still searching for something or simply expressing herself?
"Probably both," she says.
"I think every project is me trying to understand something by dragging it into the light, putting a frock on it and singing at it.
"I'm always searching, but not necessarily for one final answer or perfect version of myself. I'm interested in what happens when we stop pretending we have it all figured out.
"Also, I become unbearable if I'm not making something, so this is better for everybody."
