The Good, The Bad and the Ugly of Disability Life

If there’s one thing I’ve learned living with a disability, it’s this:

No two weeks are ever the same.

Some weeks you feel strong, motivated, independent and unstoppable.

Other weeks feel like you’re stuck in a never-ending battle with your body, the government, paperwork, finances, injuries, and systems that somehow make life harder instead of easier.

These past couple of weeks were those weeks.

A couple of weeks that perfectly summed up the good, the bad, and the ugly side of disability life.

Let’s start with the good.

I’m still working.

I’m still training.

I’m still pushing forward.

And honestly, I’m proud of that.

People with disabilities are often underestimated. Society sees the wheelchair before they see the person sitting in it. What many people don’t understand is how much determination it takes just to get through an average day sometimes.

 

Wheelchair life isn’t just “sitting down all day.”

 

It’s years and years of pushing.

Lifting.

Transferring.

Grinding your shoulders, elbows, wrists, hands and nerves into the ground just to stay independent.

And eventually, the body starts fighting back.

That’s where the bad comes in.

Right now, I’m dealing with multiple injuries caused by a lifetime of wheelchair use.

I have bursitis in both shoulders, tennis elbow and golfer’s elbow, radial and median nerve damage running from my neck down to my fingers in both arms, tendon damage in my left thumb, and ligament damage in my left wrist.

Not from a car accident.

Not from doing anything reckless.

Partly from sport.

Mostly from simply existing in a wheelchair every single day for my entire life.

The cruel irony is that the very thing that gave me independence is now damaging my body.

Simple everyday tasks are becoming harder.

Things most people never think twice about now come with pain, fatigue, frustration, or the question:

“Can my body handle this today?”

 

Like many people with disabilities, I finally reached the point where I admitted I need more support.

Not because I’m lazy.

Not because I’ve given up.

Because my body physically needs help.

I need support workers to help with everyday tasks I’m now struggling to manage.

I need extra physiotherapy.

I need hydrotherapy to help reduce pain and keep my body functioning.

These aren’t luxury requests.

They’re basic supports that could help prevent further damage and help me maintain my independence for as long as possible.

And honestly?

It becomes exhausting.

Not just physically.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

Financially.

Which brings me to another part people rarely understand.

I’m on the Disability Support Pension.

I also work three days a week.

And despite both of those things, it is still a struggle financially.

Bills don’t magically become cheaper because you have a disability.

If anything, life becomes more expensive.

Medical appointments.

Treatments.

Equipment.

Repairs.

Accessibility costs.

The hidden expenses never stop.

 

What frustrates me most is this:

I know I’m capable of working more.

 

I know I’m capable of earning more.

 

I want to work more.

 

But I’ve effectively been told there’s a limit.

 

A limit on how many days I can work.

 

A limit on how much I can earn before it impacts my support.

 

And that’s the contradiction I can’t understand.

 

The government constantly talks about wanting more people with disabilities in the workforce because unemployment rates are so high.

 

We’re encouraged to work.

 

Encouraged to contribute.

 

Encouraged to become independent.

 

But the moment you actually try to do exactly that, the system starts pushing back.

 

You can end up being financially punished for trying to improve your life.

 

It almost feels like you’re trapped in a system where you have to prove you’re capable enough to work… but not “too capable.”

 

And mentally, that’s exhausting.

 

People with disabilities should be supported into employment, not made to fear losing their financial security for trying to participate in society.

 

I don’t want special treatment.

 

I just want fairness.

 

I want the opportunity to work to my full potential without feeling like I’m being penalised for it.

 

The reality is that many people with disabilities are fighting battles most Australians never see.

 

As someone who has lived around disability my entire life — with deaf parents, my wife and sister in law in wheelchairs, and my own experiences navigating life in a chair — I’ve seen firsthand how exhausting the system can be.

 

And I know I’m not alone.

 

But despite all of that…

 

We keep going.

 

We adapt.

 

We survive.

 

We laugh when we can.

 

We find ways forward.

 

And right now, one of the biggest ways I’m choosing to keep moving forward is through my training.

 

On July 1, I’ll be competing in Adaptive HYROX Sydney at Olympic Park.

 

For anyone who doesn’t understand what that means, HYROX is not just a competition.

 

It’s a test of strength, endurance, determination and mindset.

 

And preparing for this event hasn’t been easy.

 

Training has been intense.

 

It’s been physically and mentally demanding.

 

Trying to prepare while dealing with multiple injuries has pushed me further than I expected.

 

There have been sessions where my body has reminded me of the damage I’m carrying.

 

There have been moments where it would have been easier to stop.

 

But stopping isn’t who I am.

 

I have spent my whole life adapting.

 

Finding another way.

 

Adjusting. I’ve adjusted my training load and style.

 

Pushing through challenges that many people never have to think about.

 

This preparation has been another reminder that disability doesn’t mean giving up on your goals.

 

It means finding a different path to reach them.

 

I have less than two weeks left.

 

Two weeks to keep building.

 

Two weeks to keep strengthening.

 

Two weeks to keep believing that all the hard work, the pain, the setbacks and the sacrifices will be worth it.

 

The job isn’t done yet.

 

And until I cross that finish line at Sydney Olympic Park, I’ll keep moving forward.

 

Because people with disabilities become experts at resilience whether we want to or not.

 

Not because we choose to be inspirational.

 

But because sometimes we don’t have any other option.

 

These past couple of weeks reminded me that disability life can be frustrating, unfair, exhausting and painful all at once.

 

But it also reminded me how strong people with disabilities really are.

 

We keep showing up.

 

We keep fighting.

 

We keep moving forward.

 

And sometimes, that is the biggest victory of all.