A few weeks into our meetings, we decided to open our circle to a disability support worker. I thought it was crucial to have someone who could provide professional guidance. It was then we met Dana.
Dana wasn’t like us. She wasn’t a superhero, and she hadn’t lived our lives. But she was a professional disability support worker – an experienced one who had spent years helping people in our situation. She walked into our meeting with an air of calmness that filled the room, her smile a beacon of reassurance.
Dana listened to us, to our stories of heroics and to our tales of struggles. Then, she spoke. “It’s okay to mourn your old selves, to wish for what once was. But it’s also important to look ahead, to see the opportunities waiting for you.”
The truth was, we needed her. We needed someone who could guide us through the process of learning to live with our disabilities, of integrating back into the world. Dana’s presence was a constant reminder of the practical realities that we had to consider. She helped us think about our living situations and the need to adapt our homes to suit our new normal.
And, as if on cue, we found an opportunity. A complex of SDA housing near Adelaide, specifically designed for people with disabilities. It was a chance for us to reclaim some semblance of independence. There were a few initial doubts, especially from Mary, but we reassured her that we were still a team, still there for each other, no matter where we lived.
The SDA housing wasn’t just a place to live. It was an embodiment of our new journey, a symbol of our decision to embrace change. We toured the facility, each of us awed by the thought and care that had gone into its design.
Dana smiled, watching us, “This is just the beginning. There’s an entire world out there waiting for you.”
It was a comforting thought, a glimpse of the possibilities that lay ahead. We might have been disabled superheroes, but we were superheroes nonetheless, and we were ready to tackle this new challenge.