Words by Anna Whateley
Writing high school-aged characters often means writing against the pressure of adulthood. Teachers, parents, and institutions ask teenagers the same question: What next? Which course are they applying for? Is it trade, travel, or a job? There is an expectation that by the end of high school students present not only a result, but a coherent future. I grappled with these pressures while writing my contemporary YA novel, Tearing Myself Together. Hilzy’s autism, ADHD, and chronic illness, alongside an unstable home life suggest collapse is inevitable. Yet what she goes through is equally as important as her study. Falling apart, I realised then, was not a detour from her education, but part of it.
My narrative begins with Hilzy completing grade twelve exams. For her future, I employed the ominous ***, a sign that I intend to come back to it at a later date. The harder truth hit after five years of writing. With endless medical interventions and an operation in her final week, graduation no longer made sense for her. Of course she wouldn’t graduate, and my indecision was hers. What I felt was relief, rather than devastation. She needed time for her body to heal and for her friendships to mend. Despite the predominant message that excelling academically is a teenager’s only chance, this didn’t feel like failure. It was an accurate reflection of her life up to that point. No one would benefit if she proceeded into a course of study she was ill-prepared for. Her grade twelve was shaped as much by the unravelling of her life and body as it was by her English exam.
While the curriculum at school now includes overt education on sex and anti-bullying, there is no instruction on how to navigate disability. Mental health is discussed, yet the cause of poor mental health remains largely unaddressed. A 2025 study shows that ‘significant psychological distress’ affects one out of every three grade twelve students. The rates reflect a strong connection between neurodivergence and psychological distress. This matters when grades can be revisited at any age, yet mental health concerns are best caught early. They are not a failure of discipline, and I wonder if they could be eased by a transformation in our cultural outlook on high school. The ATAR, a number that grants university entry, conventionally takes two years but can legitimately take five. The flexibility exists in a technical sense, yet our relentless achievement culture still creates the expectation that every student move on the same timeline.
Disabled students often shoulder a second program of study alongside school itself. Because most chronic illnesses are still poorly understood, medicine works by reacting to breakdowns rather than preventing them. Hilzy shares my genetic disorder, hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, in which the collagen that holds her together is faulty. She navigates fatigue, unstable joints, autonomic dysfunction and delayed healing. Each successful adjustment she makes to stay engaged is a kind of pass mark, and each miscalculation can mean another injury. In this sense, disabled students face twice the curriculum, while being expected to finish within the same timeframe as their abled peers.
Disability is only one of the possible ‘extra’ challenges that young adults face. I completed my senior high school at a TAFE college, where students ranged from fifteen to twenty years old and many had taken indirect pathways there. The teachers understood that simply turning up could be a major feat and adapted to that reality. They recognised that some students were rebuilding a life as much as pursuing an education. That ethos shaped me deeply, and echoes through both Peta Lyre’s Rating Normal, and Tearing Myself Together. I hope that kind of flexibility remains a part of alternative education culture.
There is no simple solution to the problems faced by inclusive education. Hilzy’s senior years have been fraught, her exam performance may not have been stellar, and she’s still stuck in a medical system that’s unsure how to help disabled young adults. Despite this, Hilzy develops crucial abilities: trusting her support network, healing, and reclaiming agency over her medicalised body. These prepare her for adulthood as much as a graduation certificate. Maybe the real failure would be underestimating the importance of learning how to survive the life we’re given.
