22/08/2026
I wanted to come on here and simply share a little bit of my life since the 5th of March this year.
I still have it pinned to my profile that I’m currently not taking clients and am unable to hold space for existing clients, simply because of the impact the car accident has had on both my body and my mind.
Since the accident, I’ve been doing a lot of my own personal shadow work. And in some of those quieter moments, I’ve found myself thinking about how even this experience; surviving something that very nearly took my life; can become something that normalises the human experience, creates connection, and perhaps even inspires the people in my community.
I started this account because, personally, I reached a point where working as a counsellor, mentor and therapist within a company just wasn’t going to work for me.
I’m autistic. I question systems. I challenge systems. I’ve struggled with funding structures, bureaucracy, upper management and organisations where profit can sometimes seem to take priority over actual support.
Eventually, I thought:
F**k it. I’m going out on my own.
Because if I can help you, and the only barrier is something we can work through together; something I can help you navigate or overcome; I don’t want my ability to support you to be unnecessarily limited by bureaucracy, paperwork or organisational restrictions.
I’m a human, not a system.
And that is why I started this.
I wanted to create something that brings more humanity back into an industry that is supposed to be deeply connected to human beings.
Yes, funding is necessary.
Yes, boundaries are necessary.
Yes, systems and accountability are necessary.
But they should never become so rigid that they prevent people from accessing the support, connection and community they actually need.
And then came the 5th of March. Since that day, I’ve experienced a side of healthcare, insurance and support systems that, at times, has felt like it has completely forgotten its own humanity.
I’ve had my lawyer gently say to me: “Your expectations of healthcare workers are too high, Amy.”
And honestly, that sentence has stayed with me.
Because what are my expectations?
Clear communication. Continuity of care. Compassion. Humanity.
Apparently, in today's healthcare system and today's economy, those can be considered high expectations.
At one point, I had a conversation with a peer worker in Ballarat who openly admitted that, ultimately, he would rather do whatever he needed to do to keep his pay-check than risk losing his job by advocating too strongly for a client.
And honestly? I wasn't disgusted by him. I was impressed by his honesty.
Because that conversation gave me a glimpse into something I think we need to be willing to talk about.
People have bills to pay. People have mortgages, rent, children, groceries and responsibilities. People are exhausted. People are struggling with the cost of living. So what happens when the people whose jobs are to support struggling members of the community are struggling themselves?
Sometimes people stop fighting. Sometimes they do the bare minimum. Sometimes they clock in, get through the day, collect the pay-check and go home.
I don't say that to shame them.
I say it because it's human.
And perhaps that's exactly why we need to look at the systems surrounding these people rather than simply blaming the individuals working within them.
Because eventually, if everyone is stretched beyond their capacity, something has to give.
"You get what you give, and you give what you get."
And this is where Peerlight Network comes in.
I am still here. I survived the accident. And I’m still here because I still believe we can do better.
PeerLight isn't about pretending that systems aren't necessary. It's about asking whether the systems we've created are actually serving the humans they're supposed to serve.
I believe we need to have much bigger conversations about the way insurance and support schemes operate; including systems such as the NDIS, Veterans' Affairs, WorkCover and TAC.
Not because these systems shouldn't exist, but because anything designed to support people should be willing to continually examine whether it is actually supporting them.
I've still got a video pinned to this page that I hope you've had a chance to watch, because I think this conversation is bigger than my own experience.
My experience has simply given me another perspective, and perhaps surviving the 5th of March has given me another reason to keep talking about it.
I'm still here, and while I'm here, I intend to keep asking:
How do we bring the humanity back?
-Amy
