The Djarra family are a proud Aboriginal family living in a regional town in Queensland. They are strongly connected to Country, culture, and community, but face ongoing challenges related to health and wellbeing.

The eldest child, Sarah, has asthma but finds it difficult to regularly access specialist healthcare because the nearest hospital with respiratory services is two hours away. Her grandmother, Aunty June, also has type 2 diabetes and relies on regular medication, but she sometimes struggles to afford prescriptions.

While the local Aboriginal Medical Service provides excellent culturally safe care, the service is often underfunded and stretched. The family sometimes feels frustrated that mainstream health systems don’t always respect their cultural values, such as including extended family in health decisions.

Despite these challenges, the family draws strength from their Elders, community networks, and cultural practices, which provide support, identity, and resilience.

• How does limited access to healthcare services affect families like the Djarra family?

• In what ways does culture act as a source of strength and resilience for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander families?

• How do systemic issues (e.g. funding, cultural safety in healthcare) contribute to inequities?

• What role can governments and communities play in improving outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander families?

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When I think about my time at university, what stands out most is the constant balancing act required just to stay there. My family was not poor, but they were not in a position to financially support my studies. From the beginning, I had to work alongside studying. Government support helped, but it wasn’t enough, so work was not optional—it was necessary. I structured my week around survival rather than learning. I worked night shifts early in the week and attended classes during the day, often with very little sleep. By the weekend, I was exhausted and trying to catch up on assignments. There were times I missed classes because I couldn’t afford to turn down a shift. Other times, I submitted work that didn’t reflect my ability. I remember realising that I wasn’t competing on equal terms with other students, even though we were in the same classes. That became more obvious when I compared my situation to my peers. Many didn’t have to work. Their parents paid their fees, covered their living costs, and allowed them to focus fully on study. Some came from families where university was expected and understood. In contrast, I was the first in my family to attend, so there was little awareness of the workload or pressure. What felt overwhelming to me seemed manageable to others.

Looking back, I understand this through educational inequality, which I see as the way people have different chances of succeeding in education depending on their background. Access might be technically open, but the ability to fully participate is not equal. This also connects to cultural capital, meaning the knowledge and familiarity with systems that some people grow up with. I was learning how to navigate university while also trying to sustain myself within it. What I didn’t expect was how this would shift later. As I moved into postgraduate study, I was already working and could bring that experience into my learning. The structure felt more aligned with my career, and I could apply theory directly to practice. The discipline I had developed earlier became an advantage. I performed at a much higher level, becoming a Dean’s Scholar and receiving academic recognition.

This made me realise that while structural barriers can limit early participation, they can also shape different strengths over time. However, not everyone makes it to that stage. Many are filtered out earlier due to the same pressures. Overall, my experience showed me that success in higher education is shaped not just by ability, but by access to time, resources, and support.

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When I finished high school at 17, I was academically ready for university but not prepared for independence. My parents had been quite protective, which gave me structure but limited my exposure to how the world actually worked. Looking back, I realise I lacked confidence in navigating basic responsibilities and decision-making.Taking a gap year and working in a supermarket changed that. I moved into roles as an afternoon and night manager, which shifted my position from following instructions to being responsible for others. For the first time, I had to make decisions that had direct consequences. I wasn’t asking for permission anymore—I was the one giving it. I had to manage staff, resolve issues, and ensure things ran smoothly. That responsibility forced me to engage with the realities of adult roles in a way I hadn’t before.

Outside of work, I also began to understand everyday expectations—managing money, organising my time, and balancing competing demands. These were things I hadn’t fully encountered within my family environment. I remember realising that being an adult wasn’t something that just happened with age, but something you learn through experience. Looking back, I understand this through the idea of socialisation, which I see as the process of learning how to function in society—understanding expectations, roles, and behaviours. While the family plays a major role early on, my experience showed me that other institutions, like workplaces, are just as important. In my case, work acted as a form of secondary socialisation, helping me develop skills and awareness that I hadn’t previously gained.

This also made me think about how some people can remain dependent on family structures if they don’t have access to other environments that push them into new roles. Without that transition, it would be easy to remain in a kind of extended childhood, where independence is delayed. The experience of managing others also changed how I understood responsibility and authority. It made clear that roles in society come with expectations and consequences, not just status. Overall, taking a gap year was less about delaying university and more about becoming ready for it. It made me realise that independence and capability are shaped by experience and exposure, not just age, and that different pathways can play an important role in that transition.

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One of the earliest experiences that shaped how I understand inequality was visiting my maternal grandmother in a public dementia facility. At the time, I didn’t have the language for it, but I remember feeling uncomfortable and unsettled. She had early-onset dementia and Alzheimer’s disease, and by then had lost both her independence and financial control. The facility felt restrictive and impersonal. Residents were lined up in chairs for most of the day, many restrained to prevent movement. Some were sedated, others called out without much response. My grandmother, who I had known as expressive and active, was now quiet and immobilised. I remember leaving with the sense that something about it wasn’t right, even if I couldn’t explain why.

That feeling became clearer when I later compared her experience to my grandfather’s. As a World War II veteran, he had access to a well-resourced care facility. His environment included structured activities, meal choices, regular visits from health professionals, and more consistent staff interaction. He maintained a sense of dignity and routine. The contrast made me realise that ageing is not experienced equally, even when care needs are similar. Looking back, I understand this through the idea of social determinants of health, which I see as the conditions in society that shape people’s health outcomes—things like income, access to services, and support systems. In my grandparents’ case, my grandfather’s veteran status gave him access to better care, while my grandmother, without those resources, was placed in an underfunded system where care focused more on management than wellbeing.

This also reflects broader social inequality, where resources are distributed unevenly. I began to see that the system was not necessarily responding to need, but to access. Practices like restraint, which I once just found confronting, now seem tied to institutional pressure—limited staff, high demand, and risk management priorities. It also made me think about how different groups experience this system. Elderly people without financial resources, particularly those with complex conditions like dementia, are more likely to end up in under-resourced care. Families who lack knowledge or confidence in navigating the system may also struggle to advocate for better options. Migrant families, in particular, may face additional barriers. This experience made me realise that ageing is not just a biological process but a social one. The level of care and dignity someone experiences at the end of life is shaped heavily by access to resources and institutional support, rather than need alone.

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How taking a gap year helped socialise me far more than the institutions of family or education…..

When I finished high school at 17, I was academically ready for university but not prepared for independence. My parents had been quite protective, which gave me structure but limited my exposure to how the world actually worked. Looking back, I realise I lacked confidence in navigating basic responsibilities and decision-making.Taking a gap year and working in a supermarket changed that. I moved into roles as an afternoon and night manager, which shifted my position from following instructions to being responsible for others. For the first time, I had to make decisions that had direct consequences. I wasn’t asking for permission anymore—I was the one giving it. I had to manage staff, resolve issues, and ensure things ran smoothly. That responsibility forced me to engage with the realities of adult roles in a way I hadn’t before.

Outside of work, I also began to understand everyday expectations—managing money, organising my time, and balancing competing demands. These were things I hadn’t fully encountered within my family environment. I remember realising that being an adult wasn’t something that just happened with age, but something you learn through experience. Looking back, I understand this through the idea of socialisation, which I see as the process of learning how to function in society—understanding expectations, roles, and behaviours. While the family plays a major role early on, my experience showed me that other institutions, like workplaces, are just as important. In my case, work acted as a form of secondary socialisation, helping me develop skills and awareness that I hadn’t previously gained.

This also made me think about how some people can remain dependent on family structures if they don’t have access to other environments that push them into new roles. Without that transition, it would be easy to remain in a kind of extended childhood, where independence is delayed. The experience of managing others also changed how I understood responsibility and authority. It made clear that roles in society come with expectations and consequences, not just status. Overall, taking a gap year was less about delaying university and more about becoming ready for it. It made me realise that independence and capability are shaped by experience and exposure, not just age, and that different pathways can play an important role in that transition.

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