MELBOURNE: Nearly 50% of us live with at least one chronic health condition, and millions are living with a disability. I’m one of them. For a long time, I didn’t believe I had a future worth planning for, let alone a career. Then, at 19, everything changed. I survived a suicide attempt that resulted in the loss of both of my legs. Some of the most meaningful work I’ve ever done has come directly from this experience, but it hasn’t followed a linear 9-to-5 pattern.

I’m not alone in that. A growing number of disabled women are taking to social media to share their stories, connect, and reshape how disability is seen. With Disability Pride Month underway, I’m sharing my story and the stories of four other women about how their disabilities have shaped careers beyond the traditional workday.

Lauren McDonough, Founder of LUMAURA, keynote speaker and mental health advocate

Before becoming physically disabled, I had almost no relationship with work. My mental health made sure of that. Throughout my teenage years and into early adulthood, I lived with depression and PTSD. I spent long periods either unable to get out of bed or in psychiatric hospitals. Building a career, making plans and even imagining a future beyond the next hour often felt impossible.

Then, at 19, everything changed. I survived a suicide attempt that resulted in the loss of both of my legs.

During my recovery, I started writing. Not because I had a plan, but because I needed a way to express what I was feeling. At first, it was simply a diary. But as I began sharing my thoughts and recovery online, something unexpected happened. People didn’t just support me; they saw themselves in my words. They shared their own stories, their own struggles, and told me they finally felt understood. That connection sparked something in me: the realisation that maybe the hardest experiences of my life could become a source of hope for someone else.

Today, my work looks nothing like I ever imagined it would. I spend my days writing, speaking, appearing on podcasts, collaborating with brands, and having conversations about mental health, suicide, disability, body image, fashion, resilience, and what it really means to rebuild a life. As a bilateral amputee, I’m also passionate about challenging outdated beauty standards and increasing disability representation, helping people see that beauty, confidence, and style belong to everybody.

“As a bilateral amputee, I’m also passionate about challenging outdated beauty standards and increasing disability representation, helping people see that beauty, confidence, and style belong to everybody.”

“Most recently, I founded LUMAURA, a movement dedicated to changing how society understands and responds to mental health and suicide. Through keynote speaking, education, and community conversations, we’re helping people build the understanding, confidence, and practical tools to support someone who is struggling because what happens after someone says, “I’m not okay,” matters.

For a long time, I didn’t believe I had a future worth planning for. Now, I have the privilege of spending my life helping other people believe that they do. I never would have chosen what happened to me, but if sharing my story helps people feel less alone, encourages someone to ask for help, or changes the way another person responds to someone in pain, then I know something meaningful has grown from the darkest chapter of my life.”

Jaimie Rose Sheil, freelance writer, content creator and disabled model (@jaimierosesheil)

I grew up expecting to work a 9-5 job. Since I was young, I knew I wanted to research the stars, and so I studied astrophysics for seven years in pursuit of that goal, often working far more than 8 hours a day during my honours and PhD years. The high intensity, competitive, academic world wasn’t just a job to me; it had become embedded in my identity. When I got sick, it quickly became clear that I couldn’t work in that way, but I resisted giving it up — working from hospital beds, trying again and again to continue my PhD, but it just wasn’t manageable. In the end, I came to the realisation that even if I miraculously completed my studies and got a job in the field of my dreams, I wouldn’t be able to actually do it. My wheelchair, a harsh treatment protocol, 3-4 medical appointments a week, frequent hospitalisations, pain, fatigue, and brain fog are part of my everyday and will be part of my future, so a 9-5 can’t be.

It took me a long time to find work that could fit around my illness and be accessible to me. These days I am a freelance writer for several publications, primarily in the continued medical education space as a patient advocate. I also do some modelling to increase disabled representation in fashion, and I share my story on social media through content creation. Working as a freelancer enables me to fit my work around the treatment and medical appointments which keep me alive and allows me to work largely from home. This flexibility is crucial for me as there are days of the week when surviving is a full-time job and I’m not capable of being traditionally productive. However, my illness and disability have also taught me to make the most of the times I can, and you wouldn’t believe what I can get done in those fruitful moments, even if it’s at 9pm!

Working as a freelancer enables me to fit my work around the treatment and medical appointments which keep me alive and allows me to work largely from home.

The biggest shift for me has actually only happened recently. Although I’ve been working my way for 18 months now, I only recently started referring to what I do as work. The notion of work being something you do at a traditional workplace between 9am and 5pm was so deeply ingrained that I was completely devaluing my own job! Thankfully, now I understand that what I am able to produce has value regardless of what time of day I made it or whether I made it sitting on the couch or in a studio. Employment might look different now, but I love what I do, and I wouldn’t and couldn’t trade it for traditional employment.

Naomi Kilmany, disability advocate and content creator (@naomikilmany)

I’ve always been very career driven. I got my first job at 12 (no, that wasn’t allowed) and I worked continuously up until I was 21. Doing everything from nannying, to acting and marketing. I was also studying journalism and sociology full time.

And then at 21, I had a rapid chronic illness onset. I became bed bound and reliant on a disability support pension to live. I quickly lost my sense of self, and soon enough lost sight of the future I had once pictured.

The transition from working and studying full time to being unable to leave bed for weeks was unbearable. I had always closely tied my value and sense of worth to productivity and my achievements. And this is still probably one of the hardest things I’m trying to unwire today. I felt isolated and lost. I felt like I had to grieve the person I was and the life I had once pictured for myself. It broke me.

I noticed that there was a huge gap in representation of disabilities in mainstream media, and I quickly became passionate about trying to help bridge this gap. With a background in acting and marketing, turning to social media felt natural. And being halfway through a degree in journalism and sociology, advocacy was an inevitable goal. It became not only a way to help others feel less isolated, but an outlet for me also. And even more importantly, it was accessible.

I felt like I had to grieve the person I was and the life I had once pictured for myself. It broke me.

Over time, things developed to where I could see content creation and advocacy as a real career opportunity. Now I’ve been creating content and helping raise awareness for issues faced by people with chronic illness and hidden disabilities for 3 years, and I can’t see myself doing anything else.

As I’ve gone through this journey, I’ve tried to decentre productivity, and stop using it as a way of measuring my worth. And perhaps most importantly, I’ve tried to stop comparing my levels of productivity to the people around me, especially those in able bodies.

I listen to my body, and I prioritise rest when I need it (although, I’m still working on the guilt-free part). But it’s a marathon, not a race. I’m taking it one step at a time and each day I’m excited to see what tomorrow brings.”

Jasmin, disability advocate, content creator and Librarian-in-training (@babeswithmobilityaids)

I worked as a paediatric speech pathologist for three years part-time as a sole trader, which on paper sounds flexible, and in some ways it was. But that same flexibility meant there was no continuity, and I never knew until the day whether I was walking into a full seven-client schedule or an empty one. From an autistic perspective, this was genuinely exhausting to manage, especially alongside the unpredictable income that came with it.

I loved working with kids and their families, and it was genuinely rewarding at times, but I didn’t have my AuDHD diagnoses yet. Looking back, I can see how much of that job relied on masking; being bright and bubbly in every single appointment, even on the days I didn’t have it in me. This, while also navigating the NDIS as both a provider and a participant, wore me down and contributed to a decline in my Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME/CFS). This forced me to reconsider my future career in a way I didn’t anticipate, and I went back to university to study to become a librarian. That way, I can still enjoy working with kids and use my existing skills, while also doing more menial work like cataloguing and book repairs to balance it out.

The fact that I went into the workforce part-time from the very start and have never worked full-time tells me something important about accommodations only going so far: even with them in place, my health and my needs can shift, and work has to be able to shift with them, too.

My disability still shapes everything I do, and accessibility has become my special interest, something I get to pursue through unpaid advocacy, through my studies, and hopefully soon as a librarian, with brand partnerships, casual university marking and the Disability Support Pension (DSP) helping fill the gaps financially along the way.

Right now, flexible hours matter more than almost anything else, and I choose casual and project-based work depending on what my health and other commitments allow. I know that moving back into a more traditional workplace once I finish my library course might be difficult, but I hope that if I balance it with project-based work, it will be sustainable for me.”

Saffy, AuDHD, disability advocate and content creator (@neurosparklysaffy)

I have never worked a traditional 9-5 job, however, I used to be an elite athlete and a university student for many years. I spent a lot of time juggling full-time studies, intensive training and competition periods, and casual work on the side. It was hard work, but very fulfilling at the time.
Since acquiring my chronic illnesses, I have had to quit all three of those pursuits due to my ill health. This has left me with a lot of grief over my lost passions, especially sport and study, and also a loss of the financial independence that my job provided me. In the time since leaving study, sport and work, I am very lucky to have found alternative work options.
Through my work as a disability advocate on social media, particularly on Instagram, I have built a large enough community to be afforded the opportunity to work with disability-inclusive brands on a paid basis. This work can be very sporadic, and whilst it doesn’t supply me with consistent financial stability, the ability to work to my own schedule and the bit of financial independence it has given me has been a game changer.

I am now able to do my work around my health challenges — if I have a good day symptom-wise, I prioritise doing more work, and if I have a bad health day, I can use that time to rest without guilt. I also do some casual work with a disability advocacy organisation one day a week. They are incredibly accommodating of me and my disabilities, allowing me to work from home, take regular breaks, and meet my access needs in whatever way I need.

I do all of my desk work for them from the comfort of my bed, thus conserving physical energy whilst I’m utilising my cognitive energy. This new way of working has changed my life for the better and afforded me a lot more independence in my daily life. It helps me to feel more similar to my non-disabled friends that are in their ‘20s, able to work regularly and gain financial independence from their parents.