Emmalynn

‘Disability seems to be a real catch-22, in me trying to get a job or me trying to do some education, tertiary education. I don't feel like ticking the drop boxes saying I am a person with disabilities because I know from experience that that entails a bit of prejudice and almost patronising behaviour from people.’

Emmalynn, early 20s, doesn’t feel comfortable defining her disability.

She lives in a regional city and said she had ‘limited choices’ about the schools she attended.

In primary school, the special education unit was a 10-minute walk from the rest of her cohort. She didn’t really engage with the other kids in the unit because, except for having a disability, she felt they didn’t have ‘much in common’.

Emmalynn’s transition to high school ‘wasn’t fabulous’, she told the Royal Commission. The nearest school with a special education unit was 30 minutes away, so she was separated from her neighbourhood and primary school friends.

‘I didn't have the opportunity to have play dates … or hang out after school because they were just too far away.’

Emmalynn found the subject choices at school ‘tricky’. She did drama, which she ‘absolutely enjoyed’. But in second semester she had to do another subject. She wanted to repeat drama but the principal gave her ‘the thumbs down’.

‘The drama around not being able to attend drama, made me slowly disengage from school.’

Emmalynn disengaged completely after one of the teachers became frustrated and called her ‘a moron’.

‘I was in tears because I had never experienced a teacher just acting out like that and losing his cool completely.’

Emmalynn took a break from school and then in year 11 ‘decided to give it just one more try’.

She was very good at English and writing stories and wanted to do an advanced English subject.

The teacher told her she belonged in English communication, not the advanced class.

Emmalynn became disheartened and stopped going to school.

She decided to ‘seek out some training … maybe get a little job’. She saw some ads for a large disability employment service (DES) provider and registered with them.

At the first meeting, a staff member asked Emmalynn to describe her disability.

‘The wanted me to tick some boxes’ on a list of 100 conditions. But Emmalynn didn’t identify with any of the conditions. ‘So, I had to explain myself for 10 minutes of what my condition entailed.’

Emmalyn told them she loved plants and horticulture and would like to work in a retail store or garden.

‘He told me no, he doesn't have any industry connections, and that I would have to go out on my own and apply by myself. Whereas I thought training entails helping me write a resume or helping me to gain resilience in the workforce.’

Over the next 12 months, Emmalynn hardly heard from the DES except for ‘a few phone calls’.

Each time she spoke to them, she felt ‘very depressed, like it was something [she] had done wrong’.

Eventually, Emmalynn went in to see them. They told her, ‘Oh, we have nothing for you.’ They said she was no longer a client.

‘And that was the end of that experience with the DES, and it really shook me.’

Not long after this, Centrelink contacted her and questioned her about her jobseeking.

Emmalynn became concerned that her experience with DES would affect her disability support payment.

‘I've got a bit anxious, because I have no other mode of earning a living. It kind of felt like a threat that I had to re-join that employment workspace … I’m not eager to join the DES ever again.’