Glen's journey to supporting disability empowERMENT.

My Story

When I was seven years old, my family moved from Samsonvale, Queensland — where we had a small hobby farm with a handful of cattle, pigs and chickens — to a fully operational dairy farm at Mt Mee, just northwest of Caboolture.

To me, it felt like an adventure. I was endlessly curious and happiest outdoors — climbing trees, building cubby houses, riding my bike and exploring everything farm life had to offer. What I didn’t yet understand was that a working dairy farm came with real risks, especially around large, heavy machinery.

One day, while a large 100-horsepower tractor was being guided into the shed, I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The tractor crushed me against the back of the shed. I don’t remember the moments leading up to it — I blacked out — but I clearly remember the aftermath: being lifted, my family panicking, and the frantic effort to work out what to do next.

My leg was severely crushed. I couldn’t walk and had to be carried to the car. The drive down the mountain was agonising — every turn caused my leg to move, and I remember begging my parents to slow down. We eventually reached the ambulance station, about 15 to 20 minutes away, and from there my life changed completely.

The next 12 months were spent in and out of hospital. I underwent multiple surgeries to remove damaged muscle and tissue, skin grafts, and operations to repair bones that had been broken in several places. Metal pins, an external brace, and a three-quarter body cast followed. I spent months in casts of different sizes, and when they finally came off, I had to learn how to walk all over again.

I lost almost all movement in my knee. Further surgeries attempted to restore mobility, but with limited success. Even as a child, it became clear that this injury would be permanent.

What took longer than the physical recovery was learning to accept help.

From a very young age, I was stubborn and determined not to be seen as different or incapable. I wanted to keep up with everyone else, no matter the cost. I pushed myself hard, often refusing support even when things were physically challenging or painful. At the time, asking for help felt like admitting weakness — something I wasn’t ready to do.

I was determined to live like other kids. I played sport — awkwardly and with a noticeable limp. I re-learnt how to ride a bike with a stiff leg (standing up, leaning sideways, and adapting as I went). I climbed trees, kept up with friends, and learned early how to adapt instead of giving up.

Over time, my perspective shifted.

I came to understand that independence doesn’t mean doing everything alone. If I wanted to achieve things that were physically demanding for me, I needed to be honest about my limitations, explain what I needed, and work with others to find ways to adapt the task. That realisation didn’t make me less capable — it made more possible.

Today, I still live with a stiff leg, a visible limp, and pain when I walk for long periods. I’ve learned to manage it, accept it, and keep moving forward. I once trekked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and reached the Colorado River — but I couldn’t make it back up without help. A mate supported me the rest of the way. It was a powerful reminder that the right support, at the right time, can be the difference between stopping and finishing what you set out to do.

In recent years, I’ve even taken up motorbike riding, choosing a bike that could be modified to suit my needs. Once again, adaptation made participation possible.

This is why I do the work I do.

My lived experience has given me a deep understanding of what it’s like to navigate life with a disability — not just the physical challenges, but the emotional ones too. I understand the desire to be independent, the frustration of limitations, and the courage it takes to accept support when it’s needed.

At Momentum Support Pathways, my passion comes from lived experience. I believe strongly that disability does not define a person or limit their potential. With the right support, understanding, and encouragement, people can build lives that are meaningful to them — on their own terms.

Life is not about what happens to us. It’s about how we adapt, what we choose to pursue, and who walks alongside us on the journey.