I don’t need much. There’s only myself and my cat, Atlas. Just Pepsi Max, medication (yes, that is second to caffeine), pears, and cat food. If you asked him though, I’m sure he’d ask for a castle and then still wouldn't be happy. On the Disability Support Pension (DSP) though, castles are out of our budget. 

Instead, Atlas and I live in a tiny apartment in Melbourne’s inner western suburbs that is smaller than my parent’s garage. I can’t drive (thanks body), so I need to live near public transport and shops to maintain whatever independence I can for as long as I can. There’s no room in my flat for a washing machine or dryer. The blinds aren’t enough to keep the light, or prying eyes, out (I know this because I earnt the nickname ‘Library Lady’ early on in living here. I’m not too mad at that though – I’ve had worse nicknames, even taking the misgendering into account). The window doesn’t even close – it’s currently buffered with bubble wrap. I cannot call this apartment home.

Not just because renting can be so unstable. You have a guarantee for the time of your lease, but this might only be twelve months and then landlords might decide to sell (this happened to me last year, but fortunately they let me keep living there for now), increase rent, or they might want to stop renting it out and move back in themselves. But renting with a disability comes with so many additional challenges. 

First is the cost. It is hard enough on DSP, but there are so many people with disabilities that affect their ability to work that don’t receive adequate financial support from Centrelink. Also, if you have a partner you live with your payment will, at best, be decreased, if not withdrawn entirely. Rental costs can impact one’s ability to afford food, medical care, bills, etc. 32%, or 84,000 people, are in rental stress even after receiving both DSP and Commonwealth Rent Assistance (CRA). Without CRA it increases to 72% (AIHW, 2021a). Some cannot afford shelter at all. About 5% of Australia's homeless population are people with a ‘profound or severe’disability (ABS, 2018). The average wait time for a category 1 (homeless) person for DHS housing is ten years. 39% of those in DHS housing have at least one person with a disability living there (AIWH, 2022). This is before looking at the non-existent statistics about accessible housing as that is not something currently measured. 

Second, inaccessible homes. Most people renting, both publicly and privately, are living in places that are inaccessible because it’s all they can afford. I struggle to get into the shower as it’s combined with a bath I have to step over to get in. I will have to move when I get my wheelchair as there are steps to get into my apartment, and since it is not my place NDIS won’t fund a ramp. It is also too small to store a chair in. Only 3.4% of those on NDIS receive Specialist Disability Accommodation (NDIA 2021a). But for those who don’t, looking at Domain, there isn’t a function where you can find out what is accessible or not. Accessible isn’t a one size fits all, but you cannot search for if there are things like steps or the width of doors. 

Renting is all a lot of us have access to though. A necessary evil. If one is able to save enough money for a down payment, their support payments might be decreased, either because they have money saved, or because there is only Rent Assistance, not any sort of mortgage assistance.

None of us has an easy time. But when there’s a whole class of people all facing the same issue, we need to highlight that this is a societal failing rather than a personal one. 

I think we use the term housing when we should really be calling it shelter. When I think of a home, I think of something secure and stable. I cannot call where I live now my home, when in fact, it provides little more than basic shelter. 

About the author

Ferris Knight is a queer and disabled writer, producer and advocate from Melbourne, Australia represented by Champion Health Agency. Ferris mainly writes about their lived experiences with mental and physical health conditions, as well as queer politics, poetry and fiction. They have also worked with organisations such as Arts Access Victoria, The Dax Centre and Women with Disabilities Victoria. In 2019 they produced their first Melbourne Fringe Festival show LEtGO of Stigma, walking 80 metres across Lego to talk about living with hidden pain and the resilience of those with mental illnesses. In 2020 they were a part of the anthology Closet Cases: Queers on What We Wear from Et Alia Press, writing about sexual harassment.