DISABILI-DIT

disabilidit Words by Alexandra Sudlow-Haylett

It’s taken 6 years, but I’m finally on the cusp of finishing my degree.

In a 2020 report, The Australian Bureau of Statistics reported that only 16.1% of disabled people had a bachelor’s degree or higher. That statistic gets much worse for autistic people, as only 8.1% of us had the same. As I draw closer and closer to the end of my time at university, it’s hard not to think about how many of us don’t make it, and how I became an exception.

My entire education had been patchy up until I entered university. I would up and walk out of primary school, entirely incapable of being there. I was in and out of home school, and often my studies were unsupervised. In high school, I tried again, but I left in year 10. No matter where I went, or how I was integrated into classes, none of it mattered. Support was non-existent and I could never stay longer than a year.

Falling through the cracks at every possible opportunity meant that I never saw myself going to university. I made it here through a very supportive bridging program, but almost every semester here has sent me to some of the darkest places I’ve ever been. Burnout, lack of support and social isolation have formed the foundations of my degree. Inappropriate comments about my disabilities from academics and staff were only window dressings, just details that would tip me over the edge on a bad day.

Every experience I’ve described here I also found in the wider community of disabled students here at the University of Adelaide. For the first time in my life I met people like me, who understood how hard it was to be here, to stay here. Who knew about the physical, emotional, and financial costs of being a disabled student, about the burden of fighting ableism and how much we sacrifice for the bare minimum of support. I’ve joked before that I’ve gotten more from my work with the Disability, Illness and Divergence Association (DIDA) than from my studies. It’s not entirely a joke. The University has plans for an Access Room on the North Terrace campus because of DIDA’s campaign over the past year. Before I left, I wanted to ensure that I left this campus a better place than when I found it. For now, I stand to be successful. I ask that the current cohort holds the university accountable so that disabled and ill students no longer have to leave campus or hide in toilet cubicles for privacy.

I am endlessly grateful to our membership at DIDA, who have trusted us with their stories. I am also grateful to the allied academics and staff who stand with us even when our stories can be confronting.

As I leave this institution, I’m still haunted by a thought: “I shouldn’t be here”.

I remember all of us who have failed courses, stepped away, or left this institution entirely.

I see you, and it is not your fault.