For over three decades, I have made a living asking the questions. As a radio broadcaster and manager, I prided myself on having the “full picture.” I believed I understood the varieties of the human condition, and I certainly considered myself a “good ally” to the disability community. I did lots of interviews, I helped develop content, I used the correct terminology, and I slept well believing I was on the “right side of history”.
Then, two years ago, the script changed.
Becoming a lower-limb amputee didn’t just alter how I navigate the physical world. It exposed my own profound blind spots. In some ways, it shattered the illusion of my allyship and replaced it with a stark reality that no amount of research could have prepared me for.
Before, when I walked into a studio or a meeting room, my authority was taken as read. But as I returned to work, I started to find my capability was being questioned or debated before I’ve even reached the microphone.
But today, on International Day of People with Disability (IDPWD), I am reminded that my learning curve has only just begun.
I am taking part in a panel discussion here at work at today, sitting alongside colleagues who live with a range of different disabilities. Listening to their stories, I know my experience—visible, physical, obvious—is just one fragment of a much larger picture.
I have had to learn that disability is not a monolith.
There are 5.5 million Australians living with disability. That is more than 1 in 5 of us. But if you are picturing a wheelchair, you are missing the vast majority of the story.
- 90% of disabilities are invisible. They are neurodivergence, chronic pain, sensory impairments, and psychosocial conditions.
- It is not just about birth. While many disabilities are congenital, the majority are acquired. It is the only minority group that anyone can join at any moment—a car accident, a stroke, a fall, or simply the process of ageing.
By treating this as a “niche” issue in our newsrooms, we are ignoring 20 per cent of our audience. We are missing stories of innovation, resilience, and systemic failure because we are too busy looking for tragedy. Or “inspiration porn”, as disability advocate Stella Young oce described it. referring to stories about people with disability who are “amazing”.
Do you need to have a disability to report on it well?
No. You don’t.
You don’t need to be an amputee to understand the importance of a ramp, just as you don’t need to be a politician to report on parliament. Good journalism is about empathy, rigour, and curiosity, not just lived experience.
But let me tell you: it helps.
Having lived experience acts as a filter. It helps you distinguish between a “heartwarming” fluff piece and a story about systemic neglect. It stops you from asking “What happened to you?” and starts you asking “Why isn’t this building accessible?” It shifts the focus from pity to rights.
So, as I join this panel later today, I have rewritten my own editorial guidelines.
If you are an able-bodied journalist, your job today is to listen—really listen—without the filter of sympathy. And if you live with disability, speak up. Your perspective is not a “special interest”; it is the vital, missing piece of the national conversation.
For me, and others, this is where the story begins.
I’m an old nurse, years spent with people missing bits and pieces, who were disabled in some way but it wasn’t until my daughter was in a wheelchair that I realized how poorly designed the world is for those with disabilities who need a wheelchair. I always speak up about it, wherever I am, complaining loudly about the fact that I can’t even turn my daughter’s wheelchair around in their store. I may also deliberately bang into things, because I can be a pain in the ass:)
I think the majority of people in the world don’t like to think about people with disabilities because of the old saying, “there but for the grace of god go I”. They don’t want to be reminded that bad things happen, that they can happen at any time, and that those bad things can permanently change your life. It’s a part of denial maybe.
My daughter has an intellectual disability as well and can’t talk. People think she’s stupid. She’s not and she can read people so well. She’s also one of the most empathetic people I know.
I had a patient who could no longer talk due to cancer surgery and people ignored her or treated like she had an intellectual disability. She did not and I could only imagine how isolating it was for her.
I could go on, this obviously touched a nerve, but I’ll stop now. Thank you for reminding people to listen and to see people with disabilities.
These are great comments Pixie, thank you. One of the weird and unexpected things about becoming someone with a physical disability, is that I’m sometimes assumed to be a person with other disabilities, mostly cognitive. It’s actually happened to me at work, where I had one person, in particular, who started speaking to me much more clearly and loudly. I have spoken to other people who are amputees, and they’ve told me it happens to them. I’ve also had a few experiences, when i was in a wheelchair, where people in shops have looked over the top of my head. I was in a chemist once, with a carer, where it happened, where I had to say to the person, “Hey it’s my down here. I’m the one with the cash, and actually, my carer speaks English as a second language!!”