School was difficult
I became a young carer at the age of nine. My youngest brother was officially diagnosed with severe autism around that time.
He is nonverbal. He cannot tell us when heʼs in pain, when heʼs hungry, or what he needs. And at nine, I became one of the people responsible for figuring that out.
My brother needs help with toileting, feeding, personal care, getting dressed. Medical appointments never seemed to end.
As a child of recent immigrants, I became a bridge. I translated not just languages, but the entire healthcare system. At ten, eleven, twelve years old, I was sitting with adults trying to understand medical terminology from reports or conversations, then explaining it to my parents, and advocating for what my brother needed.
If youʼve ever worked around the healthcare system, you know itʼs difficult. One thing meant another. When one healthcare professional said yes, it could also mean no in another part of the system. Even healthcare workers had their own interpretation. I was constantly translating between what we needed and what they thought we needed.
School was difficult. I stayed quiet about all of this. I didnʼt tell my teachers. I desperately wanted to tell my school counsellor. I wanted someone to know, someone who might give me more time for assignments or understand why I was always exhausted.
But I was scared.
If I told them, they might call protective services. I thought Iʼd get my family in trouble. So I said nothing.
I pulled all-nighters after caring duties, trying to understand homework and assignments.
Exam periods were harder. I tried to retain information while juggling and managing someone elseʼs needs. I missed a lot of school and social interaction during my youth.
For a long time, I thought I was the only one living like this. I didnʼt know anyone else who had this kind of responsibility. I later learnt there are hundreds of young carers flying under the radar here in Australia. They stay silent because theyʼre scared or because they donʼt realise what theyʼre doing is called caring.
For many families, caring canʼt be a one or two-person job. When it takes a village, everyone in that immediate family becomes part of the workforce. Otherwise, the village burns.
Over a decade of caring taught me skills I never expected to learn. I learnt that advocacy is survival. I learnt to push, to ask multiple times when they say no, to find another entry point when one door closes. I learnt resilience that keeps you going because there is no other option.
I learnt strength I didnʼt ask for but carry with me now. I also learnt that caring is work. Unpaid labour. While youʼre contributing to your familyʼs survival, youʼre invisible to nearly every support system around you as a young carer.
When I finished high school, I didnʼt know what to do next. Iʼm ambitious, and the resilience Iʼd built made me believe I could do more. So I decided to pursue university. That came with its own challenges. I wasnʼt eligible for HECS. I worked to pay my degrees upfront, attended lectures, completed assignments, and continued caring at home.
Three full-time roles blended into each other.
Thatʼs when I found my local carers organisation. They supported me through my tertiary education. I received a local scholarship then was encouraged to apply for the Young Carer Bursary. Without that help, I wouldnʼt be standing here, having graduated with my Bachelor and now working in IT.
Many young carers donʼt know that help or support even exists.
Statistics show young carers across the country are struggling to juggle their future. They wonder if theyʼll ever catch up with their peers. They wonder if theyʼre allowed to want something for themselves. We need structures that recognise unpaid labour.
We need education support across the entire school journey that does not require young carers to prove theyʼre struggling. We need systems that donʼt make advocacy feel like a full time job.
Young carers deserve a better future. Theyʼre there, and they need you to see them. They deserve a future that doesnʼt require sacrificing everything.