On 17 November 2026, the Senate will vote on a motion that could reverse major cuts to the NDIS. I am an NDIS participant with DeafBlindness, which means I live with both hearing and vision loss, and I am asking everyone who reads this to help.

WHAT HAS CHANGED

On 1 October 2026, the National Disability Insurance Scheme (Support) Determination 2026 came into effect. It cuts funding for social, economic and community participation supports by 50 per cent and improved daily living skills supports by 10 per cent. This funding pays for workers who help people get to appointments, go shopping, see friends and take part in community life.

The cuts apply to plans created or reassessed from 1 October 2026, and to plans renewed from 1 February 2027. By 30 September 2027, everyone receiving these supports is expected to have had their funding reduced. The reductions themselves cannot be reviewed.

A small number of supports are excluded, including employment supports and high-intensity supports. A plan variation pathway exists, but only for participants who already receive 24-hour funded supports. Many people who rely on family or occasional support workers will have no way to ask for that funding back.

The Grattan Institute found that these cuts account for $13.2 billion of the projected savings over four years, about one-third of the total NDIS savings, and said they fix nothing in the scheme's design.

WHAT THIS MEANS FOR ME

Support workers help me communicate, move safely, access my community and read mail and forms. With fewer funded hours, attending medical appointments and managing daily life becomes far harder. Getting out independently is exceptionally difficult for me, so less support means more time alone at home. I am far from the only participant facing this.

WHAT CAN STOP IT

Senator Steele-John has given notice of a motion to disallow the determination, to be moved on 17 November. If the Senate agrees to it, the determination ceases to have effect. For that to happen, senators need to change their minds, and hearing from people affected is what moves them.

HOW YOU CAN HELP

Email your state's senators before 17 November and ask them to vote in favour of the disallowance motion. A short message in your own words is enough. Tell them who you are and why this matters to you or someone you love. Every Australian Counts has campaign information and resources here:
https://everyaustraliancounts.com.au/stop-the-cuts-fix-the-system/[41]

Please boost this post so it reaches as many people as possible before the vote.

#ProtectOurNDIS #NDIS #AusPol

Hello everyone. After a five month break, I'm back and settling in here. For anyone new, I'm a Melbourne postgraduate student with a background in neuroscience and peer support. I tend to write longer, reflective posts about faith and the small moments of daily life, and I love it when a post turns into a good conversation in the replies.

For those who remember me, there is some news. I have almost finished my Master of Counselling and will graduate around July 2027. I have also stepped away from my choral scholar role after several years of singing in the choir. Church is something I'm rethinking at the moment, and I find myself drawn towards contemplative and liturgical spaces while I work out what comes next.

Music remains close to my heart. Classical music and live concerts are where I'm happiest, and you may catch me chatting along during ABC Classic broadcasts. I'm also a longtime Apple user who enjoys swapping app tips. I'm looking forward to reconnecting with familiar faces and meeting new people here.

#Introduction #CounsellingStudent #ClassicalMusic #ChoirLife #Melbourne

It’s been quite a week. Running an interview process to find a new support worker has taught me more than I bargained for.
Ableism is still very much alive and well. Some applicants appear unable to read a job ad, submitting completely irrelevant information. And the number of people who have no idea how to interact with a service dog in 2026 staggers me.
We have so much further to go.
#Disability #Ableism #ServiceDogs #GuideDogs #DisabilityRights #NDIS #Accessibility

I'm trying this new app I heard of called Perspective Intelligence. Apparently it keeps everything on my device, but I have a few questions for anyone who may use this app. If I add memories, are they stored on my device? Also, what is the difference between standard chat and model-only? It does not often answer my questions when I ask. For example, I asked it for the time in a country and I got a message asking about reminders. #perspectiveintelligence #appfeedback #techsupport

It been so long since I posted. Finally able to post after a mental health crisis

Wondering if Mastodon is really the right space for me. Even with 10,000 characters, my last post still felt cramped. I have so much to say, and trying to pour that into any fixed container is a challenge. Perhaps Substack suits my long-form tendencies better. Is lengthy content considered poor etiquette here? Genuinely curious what others think.

#Mastodon #LongForm #Writing #Substack #FediEtiquette

It is the start of my second week off from uni, and on Thursday, I'll be at the Melbourne Recital Centre for Erin Helyard performing Bach's Goldberg Variations on harpsichord. Thirty variations unfolding from a single aria, each one its own universe of mathematical precision and emotional depth. I remember Helyard conducting Handel's Messiah with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra in December 2024, and I was in the chorus. His direction brought out those moments where text and music fused into something transcendent.

This week, I should finally get access to my units at the new uni. My Learning Access Plan is now active, which feels good after so much advocacy. These accommodations will create conditions that enable my brain to show what it can do rather than what it can't.

Music has always been the language I understand most fluently. In the architecture of Bach's variations, there's something about the way complexity emerges from simplicity that mirrors how I experience learning itself. One foundational idea, endlessly transformed. Each variation is a different lens, a different pathway to understanding. Perhaps that's why the Goldberg Variations feel so essential right now. They remind me that depth isn't about covering more ground but about exploring what's already there with greater attention.

The space between finishing one semester and beginning another holds its own music. Rest isn't absence. It's the silence between notes that gives them meaning.

#ClassicalMusic #Bach #GoldbergVariations #Harpsichord #BaroqueMusic #MelbourneRecitalCentre #AuDHD #Blind #DisabilityAccess #LearningAccessPlan #CounsellingMasters #MusicAndIdentity #Reflection

I've just noticed from my mona app has been re-named mona6. What is this?

I'm searching for an iPad app where I can import my PDF textbooks and easily search for chapters to read. The Kindle app isn’t very accessible with these files. Would Voice Dream Reader or EasyReader work for this? Any other recommendations welcome. #Blind #Accessibility #EdTech

I am posting a recording from our church choir of Saint Richard’s Prayer.

Today I sang soprano instead of my usual alto. After years on alto it felt new and challenging. I still freeze sometimes in rehearsal since changes in music directors and difficulty getting scores. It is improving, slowly but surely.

I am on a short break from my master’s program, though I will still study a little. Week after next I will help with a seven day online autism wellbeing event, supporting the team with editing and drop-in sessions for facilitators.

I just received my first assessment back and was surprised with a High Distinction. The work was exhausting, but the result feels encouraging.

This week I am taking things a bit easier and sharing this music with you.

#Choral #SacredMusic #ChoirLife #Soprano #AutismWellbeing #MastersLife #VocalJourney #Melbourne #ChurchMusic

I am autistic and have other disabilities. And like many, life has been shaped by exclusion, by being told I had to prove my worth and being treated as if my differences were flaws. That is why Donald Trump’s recent claim has cut so deeply. He said that autism could be prevented if mothers avoided paracetamol in pregnancy.

This is not true, and there is no credible scientific evidence that paracetamol causes autism. In Australia, the Therapeutic Goods Administration has said paracetamol is safe in pregnancy when used correctly. Autism Awareness Australia has stated there is no single cause of autism, and the Queensland Brain Institute has explained that autism arises from a complex mix of genetics and environment, not from one factor or one drug. These are facts.

What disturbs me most is the falsehood and the message underneath it. It suggests autistic people are broken and need fixing. It says our lives should have been avoided. This reflects the medical model of disability at its harshest: treating people as conditions, as deficits, as problems to be eliminated. I have lived with that view pressed on me from many directions. In classrooms where teachers assumed I could not learn. In communities that treated access as optional. In workplaces that demanded I change rather than the environment. These words from Trump echo every time I was told that I was less.

When I think of these remarks, I think of autistic children who will grow up hearing that they should not exist. I think of parents who will carry guilt, believing they did something wrong. I think of how easily this same logic spreads to every disability. If autism can be framed as awful, so can blindness, deafness, mobility impairments, or mental illness. This is the danger.

These ideas do not stay in speeches. They shape policies, schools, healthcare, and workplaces. They decide whether disabled people are offered jobs or whether society sees us as worth investing in. If disability is framed as a burden, exclusion is normalised. If it is framed as a tragedy, pity replaces equality. If it is framed as preventable, our very existence is questioned.

I want to say clearly that autism is not a disease and does not need to be cured. Autism is part of human diversity. Autistic people bring creativity, honesty, focus, persistence, depth, and community. We are musicians, writers, carers, scientists, leaders, neighbours, friends. Our lives are meaningful. Our contributions are real. We are not mistakes.

In fact, the autistic scholar Dr Damian Milton speaks of the “double empathy problem,” which reframes autism not as a lack, but as a difference in communication between autistic and non-autistic people. Autism is not the absence of humanity, but a different way of being human. That reframing is what society needs, not rhetoric that blames mothers or devalues children.

I also know this is not only about the United States. Here in Australia, we face our own battles with underfunded systems, with access treated as optional, with stereotypes that devalue our lives. Harmful ideas spread quickly across borders, and when a leader with influence speaks them, they ripple out everywhere.

So let us be clear. Autism cannot be prevented by avoiding paracetamol. What must be prevented is the harm caused by words that tell disabled people they are less. We deserve respect, dignity, access, and a fulfilling life. That is not optional. That is not negotiable.

To every autistic person: you are not broken. You are not a problem. You are worthy as you are. To parents: do not carry guilt. Carry pride in your children and the richness they bring.

We must confront misinformation. We must resist the medical model when it reduces us to conditions. We must insist on the truth: barriers come not from our neurology or bodies, but from inaccessible environments and prejudice. Autism is not something to be eliminated. It is something to be understood, respected, and embraced.

#AutismAcceptance #DisabilityRights #Neurodiversity #ActuallyAutistic #DisabledAndProud #RespectDignityAccess #NothingAboutUsWithoutUs #StopAbleism #InclusionMatters #HumanRights

Wide, sandy beach scene with soft, light-colored sand in the foreground. The sand has visible ripples from the wind and several clear, scattered footprints leading in various directions, some deeper, some more faint, showing human activity but no people currently present. The midground transitions from sand to a gently sloping wet area where small waves are washing up, creating a thin, foamy shoreline.

Beyond the shore, the ocean is a deep blue-green, with choppy, medium-sized waves rolling in and breaking into white caps as they approach land. There are darker patches in the sea, indicating possible deeper water or shadow from the clouds above. Near the horizon, the color of the water darkens further.

The horizon line is straight and unobstructed, dividing ocean from sky. The sky itself is filled with thick, dynamic clouds in varying shades of gray and white. Some clouds look heavier, hinting at potential rain, especially towards the right side. However, breaks in the clouds reveal patches of vibrant blue sky, particularly at the top left area, suggesting that the weather might be changing or clearing. The lighting is diffuse due to cloud cover, so there are no harsh shadows, and the overall scene feels cool and breezy.

In the distance, on the far right part of the water close to the horizon, there is a small, faint vertical object which might be a buoy or marker, painted yellow, adding a subtle focal point towards the edge of the scene. The entire atmosphere feels calm yet brisk, with the sea’s movement and the pressing clouds evoking a sense of solitude and tranquility.

I’ve been thinking deeply about the word normal.

That word has hovered in the background like an invisible ruler for most of my life, measuring how well I fit into the world. As a blind and neurodivergent person, I have been reminded again and again through systems, spaces, and attitudes. My existence is seen as outside that invisible line.

Normal is presented as harmless, even kind. “One day you’ll live a normal life.” “We just want you to be normal.” But beneath those words sits the demand to shrink yourself, hide what makes you different and mould your life into shapes never made for you. The cost is enormous. One learns to police themself constantly and feel shame for moving at a different pace, communicating in unsettles others, or existing outside the blueprint.

Normal polices everything. It sets the speed of pedestrian crossings that change before I can cross safely. It shapes the design of offices where quick talkers are rewarded and slower processing is dismissed. It lives in classrooms that label difference as disruption and hides in moral language, as though being “normal” is the same as living a good life. However, these are not natural truths. They are decisions made by architects, teachers, policymakers and employers. People defend the idea of normal with familiar lines. They say the world cannot bend for everyone, or that people have to fit into society. They say difference makes others uncomfortable. "To hard" always means too hard for those already at ease. “Fit into society” ignores that society is built by human hands, and what is built one way can be built another—Impactsl and heavy. There is the loneliness of being invisible and present in a room, but recognised only for how well you perform a version of yourself that others accept. There is grief for the years lost to masking, passing and striving to appear “close enough” to normal. There is the exhaustion of having to argue every day for dignity. The myth of normal doesn’t just exclude but also limits what humanity could be.

So what do we do? The solution is to let go of normal and stop pretending it is real. Society needs rules for safety and fairness, but those are not the same as demands for sameness. We commit to rules that guard dignity and protect people from harm, without flattening the richness of difference.

The way forward is not charity; nor is it praising people like me for “overcoming.” The way forward is rights and recognising that when someone asks for accommodation, they are not asking for a favour. They are asking for what is required to participate fully. Access is not an extra.

This means building streets, classrooms, workplaces, and systems that expect variety. Listening when people say what they need and respecting those needs are part of our shared responsibility. It means refusing to equate belonging with passing as normal and recognising that belonging must never be conditional.

As a blind and neurodivergent person, this is not abstract but a part of daily life. It is waiting in offices where names are reduced to numbers. It is streets that demand a pace I cannot match. It is conversations where my way of speaking is read as wrong. And it is the constant reminder that “normal” was never designed to include me.

I refuse that word. I refuse the shame it carries. I refuse to disappear into a mould that was never real.

The truth is, nobody is normal. We are all different. The choice is whether we keep clinging to a myth that divides us or build a world where difference is expected, respected, and valued.

I know which world I want to live in.

#Disability #Neurodivergent #Blind #Ableism #Inclusion #HumanRights #Accessibility

I should have listened to others about writing on the Mac with VoiceOver and a Braille display. Microsoft Word is sluggish, adds random characters, and makes uni work a nightmare. IA Writer was the most stable of the alternatives but still sluggish, although it didn’t insert random characters. On macOS I couldn’t find a way to convert from Markdown to Word format like I can on iOS. Nisus Writer was also better than Word but still had quirks. I have to work in a document that contains all the questions, and IA Writer did a great job of converting it to Markdown. I’m now thinking of trading the Mac in for an iPad, which I know works well with Markdown and Word conversion. I love the Mac in other respects, but this one issue is a deal breaker. I’m also having problems browsing the web using Braille. I want to use the rotor like on iOS, but it won’t work at all. Even though I know there are headings on the page, I get a ding every time I try to use the rotor. #VoiceOver #BrailleDisplay #MacAccessibility #BlindTech #MacOS #MicrosoftWord #UniLife #iPadPro

I woke up feeling flat. No spark, or real reason. It is a deep deep heaviness that settles in sometimes. A good coffee outside helped. The warmth, the stillness, the routine of of my Monday. That kind of grounding works better for me than trying to force a mood shift.

Tonight I am attending an online group for autistic people. It will be my first time and I have been looking forward to it. One of the things I already appreciate about the neurodivergent community is how much detail is given about events. People actually explain what to expect and list options. They do not assume you will know. That matters to me as I need to know how things will run before I join in. Unstructured situations are exhausting.

This group sounds amazing! You can join with or without your camera. You can speak, or type in the chat, or you can listen if that is what works. I am highly verbal, but speaking can still be hard. Sometimes the words are in my head, but I cannot get them out. It is not just about anxiety. It is about processing. It is about how much effort it takes to speak clearly when your hearing is unreliable and your brain is working through five layers at once. I have to concentrate on how the words feel on my lips. Reading is easier. I can read a chapter, absorb it, and retain the meaning far more efficiently than spoken conversation.

Today I have been preparing for lectures and tutorials. My autism and learning subject is focusing on different models of disability. I already knew about the social and medical models, but the charity model was new to me. That one is built on pity. It treats disabled people as objects of sympathy. It frames support as something to be given out of generosity, not rights. It highlights deficits instead of needs.

The social model is stronger. It shifts the focus to the environment. It says that the problem is not the person, but the barriers around them. That makes sense to me. Public transport. Education systems. Physical spaces. Social attitudes. All of these create exclusion. But the social model has a gap. It does not fully address impairment itself or the supports a person might still need.

That is where the human rights model fits. It blends both perspectives. It says people deserve access and participation, but it also recognises that disability can bring real impacts and real support needs. It centres autonomy. It asks what the person needs to live with dignity and full agency.

This course is igniting something in me. I am not just studying for the sake of knowledge. I want to do something with it. I want things to change, not in vague ways, but in actual lives.

So yes. A flat morning. A helpful coffee. A good study session. And tonight, I will join a space where I do not have to mask or explain. That is something worth looking forward to.

#ActuallyAutistic #Neurodivergent #DisabilityJustice #AutismStudies #HumanRightsModel #AutisticCommunity #AutisticVoice #OnlineSupport #AccessIsEverything

Many people, including myself, have struggled with accessing good mental health care in Australia, so I thought I would break down how the system works. I will also discuss why it often falls short, especially for those of us who need ongoing support.

Let’s start with Mental Health Care Plans (MHCPs). On paper, they seem like a solid option. Your GP gives you a referral, and suddenly you’re entitled to up to ten psychology sessions per year with a Medicare rebate. That’s meant to mean lower costs, but most psychologists charge around $200 per session, and even with a rebate, you’re still left with a significant out-of-pocket expense each visit. Ten sessions in a year? That’s less than one session a month, which is nowhere near enough if you’re dealing with anything chronic or complex. If you need more support, you’re on your own. For lots of people, it isn’t financially possible. So, even with these plans, ongoing mental health care isn’t affordable. The only real option is crisis support or hotlines like Blue Knot; these are important, but no substitute for regular, meaningful help.

And then there’s the kind of care that’s on offer. In my experience, therapists tend to default to Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. I get why as it's evidence-based and well-structured. However, for me, it just hasn’t worked. I’ve found much more value in modalities like Internal Family Systems where there’s more room to explore, rather than “fix.” But finding a therapist who’s open to these approaches, let alone really skilled in them, is rare and they’re almost never bulk-billed. The type of care you can actually access is heavily dictated by what’s mainstream and what’s financially feasible, not by what might help you.

What’s frustrating is how often therapists seem locked into one way of working. There’s a lack of flexibility, a lack of listening. Sometimes, it’s like they’ve got a script. For example, I once saw a counsellor who suggested I “do more enjoyable activities,” as if that was some kind of revelation. When you’re already doing what you can, that kind of advice just feels dismissive. It highlights the gap between the world of mental health care and the realities of people’s lives, especially for those who don’t fit the mould. I'm worn out by therapy itself, the effort of advocating for myself, by the exhaustion of being misunderstood, and by the sense that the system isn’t built for people like me. It’s not that therapy is without value, but the way it’s delivered; both the limited access and the limited range of approaches can make it feel ineffective. And with my own late diagnosis of autism, I’ve become even more aware of how much the mental health system simply doesn’t see, let alone accommodate, neurodivergent adults.

So, what needs to change? I’d start with more sessions per year, and a lower out-of-pocket cost. No one should have to choose between therapy and paying the rent. We need bulk-billing and means-tested support for people who can’t work, or can only work part-time. The rebate system should cover a wider range of therapies, so people can actually choose what works for them, not just what’s cheapest or easiest to access. And therapists need to be willing to work flexibly, to be curious, and to move away from the idea that there’s one right way to “heal.” We need less cookie-cutter, more real-world, person-centred care.

The medical model still dominates mental health; the idea that everything is an individual pathology is part of the problem. It’s time for a shift toward a social and inclusive model, where the focus is on removing barriers, reducing discrimination, and building a system that recognises people as whole, complex individuals. That’s what I’d like to see, and what I believe a lot of us in the community would benefit from.

If you’ve navigated the system, I’d love to hear your experiences—what’s worked, what hasn’t, and what you wish was different. I’m always keen for suggestions for future content, and I’m especially interested in what other neurodivergent or marginalised communities think about all this.

#MentalHealth #ActuallyAutistic #Neurodiversity #Ifs #Cbt #MentalHealthCarePlan #Medicare #Counselling #Burnout #SocialModel #Accessibility #AustralianPsychotherapy #Melbourne

Today at choir, there was a new director filling in. I felt anxious but kept it to myself, focusing on my music to stay grounded. Like most rehearsals, I didn’t join in the small talk. Small talk feels pointless. my brain doesn’t process conversation the same way in group settings. I can hear people talking, but it’s like there’s a disconnect between hearing and responding. This is not my hearing loss as I can hear perfectly.

We started singing, and things were going smoothly until I realized my copy of the psalm had different music from everyone else. I could mostly pick out my harmony, except for one short run of passing notes. The director noticed I wasn’t singing those notes and asked me about it. I said I’d remember next time, but I didn’t mention the music mix-up—I just froze in the moment. Later, a hymn tune changed and someone asked me directly if I had the music. I heard the question, knew the answer in my head, but couldn’t get the words out. In hindsight, I could have just nodded, but in the moment, it didn’t occur to me.

Before the service, two other singers were having a conversation nearby. I never know how or when to join in—is it okay to interrupt? Should I wait for a pause? I often end up just listening, not sure if it’s better to ask or to let them be. The rules feel unclear. There’s so much I don’t understand about group dynamics, even in a space I’m comfortable in.

I’m reflecting on how much of this is AuDHD in action—processing lag, executive dysfunction, social uncertainty. It’s like my brain has a different set of instructions for these moments, and I’m always playing catch-up.

I’ve been trying to explain this to my support worker but she just doesn’t get it. Maybe someone here will.

It seems totally normal for neurotypical people to take a week or more to reply to a message, or to go a long time without checking in. And that’s still considered a friendship.

But my AuDHD brain doesn’t work like that. I need regular, steady contact to feel connected. Not 24/7 messaging. Just something that says “you still exist to me.” A reply every couple of days. A “thinking of you.” Something that feels like I still matter.

When I don’t hear from someone, even for a few days, I spiral. I start wondering if I did something wrong. If they’re pulling away. If the whole friendship was one-sided. It feels like abandonment, even when I know logically it’s not.

I do understand that people are busy. Parents, for example, are flat out with kids and don’t have much free time. But I’ve noticed that even busy parents still have group chats they check in with every day or two. They make time for those connections. So it’s not just about being busy. It’s about who people choose to stay connected with.

So I feel like I’m stuck with two options.
1. Accept that this need will never be met. Just live with the loneliness and try to survive around it.
2. Mask really hard and try to adapt to the neurotypical standard. Pretend I’m OK with silence. Pretend I don’t care about being left hanging. Hide the hurt and train myself to respond less often so I seem “normal.”

Both options feel horrible. I hate that my need for frequent, affirming contact is seen as too much or too needy. I hate that this world wasn’t made for people like me.

Is there a third option? Something that actually works? Because I can’t keep doing this. It’s exhausting and it hurts.

Hi everyone,

I’m having some issues with my Brailliant BI 40 display. Until the last few days, it was working well, but now I’m having problems when using it with my iPhone.

It seems there’s something wrong with the keyboard on the display. When I try to do anything, I keep getting messages like “braille table unified” or “dot 4” and I can’t perform any actions.

I can still type in the editor and use the display in standalone mode, but I can’t do anything when it’s connected to the iPhone. I’ve tried a factory reset, but that didn’t make any difference. My BI 20 is working perfectly, so I don’t think the issue is with my phone.

Any ideas what to do?

Looking for a word processor for Mac that plays nicely with MS Word docs—good formatting, reliable APA 7 referencing, and solid VoiceOver support. I know Pages exists, but not sure how well it handles .docx. Don’t mind paying if it’s a quality product. Suggestions welcome!