Practising Dadirri: deep listening 

Aboriginal physiotherapist Jasmin West uses the knowledge of her culture, especially deep listening, in her practice. 

Aboriginal physiotherapist Jasmin West practises Dadirri, or deep listening, in her practice.

I am a Yamatji/Malgana woman. 

My family is from the Gascoyne/Murchison region of Western Australia. 

My Aboriginal heritage runs over 65,000 years and I honour my ancestors. 

Closing the gap was always going to be a long road. 

I can’t say I have had one major experience as an Aboriginal physiotherapist. 

It’s the journey that teaches you more and adds meaning to the destination. 

Aboriginal Elder Dr Miriam-Rose Ungunmerr- Baumann described it best and all people should tap into the spirit of Dadirri—deep listening. 

My clients say I have healing hands and I hope I can continue to heal people while offering Dadirri. 

Our hands, I believe, are our most important tools as physiotherapists. 

The moment it is born, a baby learns to soothe itself through touch from a parent or caregiver. 

Just as Mother Nature intended. 

It’s one reason I use my hands frequently when treating my clients. 

Body movement helps too. 

It breaks up stagnant energy and helps steady a racing mind. 

Too often people are told to sit still and be still. 

But life is nothing like that. 

I occasionally teach this within culturally responsive workshops, discovering my love for educating through experience and introducing Dadirri to students. 

I am an Aboriginal Co-Researcher on a project exploring ways to improve pelvic health physiotherapy services for Indigenous women. 

Using Dadirri, we learn from their experiences and from other people working in the Indigenous women’s health field. 

The outcomes will help inform the Indigenous Women’s Health Service at Derbarl Yerrigan and expand pelvic health physiotherapy services into the Indigenous community within the metro area. 

I have found that people don’t realise women are the matriarchs and the knowledge holders in Indigenous culture. 

The ones who continue the blood line. 

In my culture the children inherit the women’s skin groups and women nurture the new generation. 

There is strength in that. 

Our culture is orally based. 

Songlines, music, dance, yarning, Elder meetings, women’s circles. 

Nothing was written down for generations. 

Mob have been practising Dadirri for centuries. 

This project invites Indigenous women to yarn and speak about their women’s business in an environment where they will feel the spirit of Dadirri, opening communication lines for challenging topics that are rarely spoken about in community. 

It will build a more culturally responsive framework to use when treating Indigenous women in pelvic healthcare and that’s my part in closing the gap. 

People working in healthcare must Dadirri to Indigenous people and begin to better understand the gap. 

Listening or Dadirri is the key; from the moment we are born we can hear but listening is a skill. 

The deep inner spring of Dadirri is within all of us. 

We are only human, after all, and not everyone is going to get along or agree. 

The other key is respect. 

Combine the two and wonderful things happen. 

These keys are within each of us and we all have the power to change. 

Be the ones to step forward, hold space for our differences, carry respect and take accountability for your own perspectives. 

People forget that the Australian nation is only 200 years old. 

It’s still a child and as with all children, there is much to learn. 

I still hear comments like ‘They would be nothing without colonisation’, ‘I bet the government paid for that’, ‘They always play the victim’, ‘They get everything for free’ or ‘Tax money is being wasted on them’. 

If any of those comments stirred emotion in you, you’re part of this learning journey too and have an opportunity to encourage Australia to grow. 

Support First Nations people, embrace true Australian culture, seek the truth and embody Dadirri. 

With open minds and hearts, educate and gain new perspectives. 

To truly understand us, you must know us—our history, our connection with the land and the evolution of racism. 

My people are so much more than the past 200 years. 

We are more than 65,000 years of beautiful culture and ancient knowledge. 

Reconciliation has two sides; it’s time for the other side to step forward and put out their hand in partnership. 

I encourage non-Indigenous Australians to start doing their part to close the gap too. 

The question is, are you ready to offer the spirit of Dadirri? 

>> Jasmin West APAM graduated from Curtin University in 2024 and works in private practice in Perth, Western Australia. She has been the head trainer and now is a physiotherapist for the Canning Vale Senior Football Club. She is also an Aboriginal co-researcher and teacher at Curtin University. Her interests include pelvic health physiotherapy, Indigenous health and physiotherapy in the sport and fitness industry. 

Advocating from within 

For Mason Smith, being the only Aboriginal physiotherapist in his workplace was a turning point in understanding how to create sustainable change. 

Mason Smith is an Aboriginal physiotherapist is keen to create sustainable change for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people.

I am a proud Wiradjuri man and a physiotherapist working within the public health system. 

My career started as an Aboriginal allied health assistant trainee, a role that allowed me to begin my journey in physiotherapy while learning the realities of the health system from the ground up. 

Working closely with clinicians and community inspired me to pursue further study and I went on to transition into university to formally train as a physiotherapist. 

Throughout this time, I became a strong advocate for young Aboriginal people, particularly those who had not completed high school, demonstrating that alternative pathways into meaningful health careers were not only possible but achievable. 

I saw firsthand how powerful representation can be and how being supported by someone who understands your culture, community and lived experience can shift aspirations, confidence and a sense of belonging. 

Since then, I have worked across a range of hospitals and clinical settings, gaining broad experience while remaining deeply connected to my role as a First Nations health professional. 

I take great pride in being a visible and strong presence in the First Nations healthcare space, advocating for better outcomes, culturally safe practice and systemic change for our mob. 

This advocacy is not an ‘extra’ to my role—it is inseparable from who I am as a clinician. 

One of the most meaningful yet challenging experiences of my career was having the opportunity to work on Wiradjuri Country within a public hospital. 

Being able to work on my own Country and serve community was incredibly special. 

However, it also brought a bittersweet realisation—just how under-represented First Nations clinicians are and how poorly existing systems are built to support both our patients and our workforce. 

In this role, I often found myself wearing multiple hats—physiotherapist, Aboriginal physiotherapist, cultural educator, advocate for cultural safety and, at times, the sole point of contact for anything related to First Nations people. 

While I genuinely value educating colleagues and advocating for culturally safe care, the reality was exhausting. 

These responsibilities were rarely shared, formally recognised or resourced and were expected to sit alongside a full clinical case load. 

Being the only First Nations physiotherapist in a local health district was deeply isolating at times and it reinforced the truth that one person cannot fix systemic issues alone. 

This experience became a turning point. 

I learnt that sustainable change does not come from carrying the load individually but from building capacity in others. 

Cultural safety, advocacy and accountability must be shared responsibilities across the entire workforce, not placed on the shoulders of the few First Nations clinicians within it. 

Today, I am proud to be mentoring and supporting First Nations allied health assistants, physiotherapy cadet students and early-career allied health professionals. 

I am also actively involved in developing a culturally safe cardiopulmonary rehabilitation program within the Nepean Blue Mountains Local Health District. 

This work allows me to embed cultural considerations into service delivery while empowering non-Indigenous clinicians to practise in ways that are respectful, informed and accountable. 

In 2025, I was honoured to be recognised as the Aboriginal Allied Health Professional of the Year by NSW Health. 

While awards and recognition are not my motivation (the love of community and desire for better outcomes for mob will always come first), it was incredibly affirming to have this work acknowledged. 

It represented not just my journey but the collective effort of those who have supported, mentored and walked alongside me. 

My hope for the future is simple but powerful: a healthcare system where First Nations clinicians are not exceptions, cultural safety is embedded rather than optional and our communities receive care that honours who they are. 

I remain committed to this work— for my community, for future generations and for a system that can, and must, do better. 

>> Mason Smith is an early-career physiotherapist in New South Wales. Since graduating in 2022, Mason has worked in both hospitals and private practice and is currently based at Nepean Blue Mountains Local Health District near Sydney. He has recently been recognised by NSW Health as the Aboriginal Allied Health Professional of the Year (2025) for his dedication in making healthcare more culturally safe and accessible for Aboriginal people. 

Supporting children to write their own story 

Kristy Petrie is a physiotherapist working in paediatrics alongside Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander families across South East Queensland, supporting children to achieve meaningful goals while helping families navigate complex systems such as the NDIS. 

Kristy Petrie says her connection to Country influences how she practices physiotherapy.

I am a proud Murri woman and a Gooreng Gooreng descendant. 

Gooreng Gooreng Country is near Bundaberg and Gladstone and while my mob are originially from that region, I was born and raised on Quandamooka Country. 

Quandamooka Country encompasses the wetlands near the bay as well as the bay islands including Minjerribah (North Stradbroke Island). 

Connection to Country is central to who I am and strongly influences how I practise as a clinician. 

I always knew I wanted to work in health and physiotherapy offered the balance I was looking for—strong clinical reasoning, hands-on work and the opportunity to build longterm relationships with clients and families. 

During my training, several placements shaped my career direction. 

I completed a placement in Cooktown with outreach to Wujal Wujal and Hopevale as well as a placement with the Institute for Urban Indigenous Health. 

These experiences highlighted the importance of culturally safe, community-based care and helped me recognise that working alongside mob in community settings was where I could make the greatest impact. 

After graduating, I worked in private practice, treating a diverse range of patients before discovering my passion for paediatric physiotherapy. 

Paediatrics brought together everything I value in practice: supporting children’s development, working closely with families over time and embedding cultural identity and strengths into therapy. 

It also allowed me to align my clinical work with my commitment to improving outcomes for First Nations families. 

I currently work at Adaptability Therapy, a Brisbane-based service operating across South East Queensland, where I am the paediatric physiotherapy lead and deputy physiotherapy lead. 

A significant proportion of my case load includes First Nations families. 

This has occurred organically, often through word of mouth, with families returning with siblings and extended family members as trust develops. 

A key part of my role involves supporting families to navigate the NDIS. 

The system is inherently deficit-based, which can be at odds with what we know supports better outcomes for First Nations children—namely, strength-based practice, cultural identity, language and connection. 

I spend considerable time explaining to families why deficits must be documented to access funding, while also advocating with other clinicians to ensure that deficits are not the focus of therapy itself. 

The need for this work is clear. 

The Closing the Gap targets highlight ongoing disparities in early childhood development. 

Currently, 56.2 per cent of children in the general Australian population are assessed as developmentally on track, compared with only 34.3 per cent of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children. 

This gap underscores the importance of sustained, culturally informed early intervention and it is why this work matters so deeply to me. 

My practice centres on building strong, long-term relationships with families and supporting them to define their own goals. 

I often ask, ‘What do you want for your child? What does success look like for you? What story would you like to share?’ 

From there, we work together to build the skills, confidence and supports needed to get there. 

My role is not to dictate the story but to support families to write their own. 

I also support families through systems that were not designed with them in mind. 

Many families carry intergenerational trauma and based on prior experiences, they fear that raising concerns about their child’s development could lead to child protection involvement. 

Listening to these fears, validating them and helping families safely navigate services is a critical part of my role. 

Education and advocacy within the profession are also central to my work. 

Many standardised assessments are not designed to reflect First Nations ways of learning, communication or development. 

I regularly support colleagues to interpret assessment results critically and to consider that apparent ‘delay’ may not accurately represent a child’s true capacity or strengths; rather, they are being measured against normative data that doesn’t reflect them. 

I am the co-chair of my organisation’s Reconciliation Action Plan committee and a graduate of the Indigenous Allied Health Australia Leadership Program in 2025. 

Through this program, I completed a project reviewing the cultural capability components of our new graduate program, with the aim of strengthening support for both First Nations clinicians and the families they work with. 

I plan to continue this work within my organisation. 

Being the only First Nations physiotherapist in a workplace can be challenging. 

There is an added cultural load and it is important to set clear boundaries around what is appropriate to ask. 

I have learned to recognise that ensuring cultural safety in practice is not my burden to carry alone. 

I am fortunate to have strong allies and leadership support within my workplace and that makes a significant difference. 

I am also a member of the APA Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Health Committee, where I value the opportunity to connect with and learn from other First Nations practitioners. 

Building strong professional networks has been essential in sustaining my work and ensuring that I can continue to practise in a way that aligns with my values. 

>> Kristy Petrie APAM is a physiotherapist working in the paediatric space in South East Queensland. Since graduating from the University of Queensland in 2015, Kristy has worked across hospital, clinic and community settings in a wide range of areas including disability, neurological and neuromuscular conditions, rehabilitation, musculoskeletal issues and women’s health. She has a particular interest in working with children with cerebral palsy and neuromuscular and genetic conditions as well as neurodivergent clients and First Nations families. 

Teaching students to listen 

Physiotherapy educator Associate Professor Robyn Fary draws on the Aboriginal knowledge she has come to understand to help her students become better physiotherapists—physiotherapists who place people, relationships and deep listening at the centre of their practice. 

Associate Professor Robyn Fary teaches her students Aboriginal approaches to teaching and learning.

My journey toward recognising my Indigeneity unfolded gradually and unexpectedly in adulthood. 

Although I have always been closely connected to my father’s side of the family, I grew up not knowing about my Aboriginal heritage. 

As a child with fair hair and skin, I didn’t look as most expect an Aboriginal person to look. 

My father had been raised by his grandmother on Framlingham Aboriginal Mission in south-western Victoria while his six siblings grew up on Tae Rak (Lake Condah Mission). 

However, he never publicly identified as Aboriginal. 

This long-held family secret began to unravel in the mid-1990s when I was working in Port Hedland in north-west Western Australia. 

During one of my regular fly-in fly-out outreach visits to Marble Bar, an Aboriginal Health Worker asked, ‘Robyn, why didn’t you tell me?’ 

It was only after some confusion and the mention of my Aunty Thelma that I realised something deeper was being revealed. 

My Marble Bar colleague had met my aunty at an Aboriginal Health Professionals’ conference. 

Aunty Thelma was, at the time, working as an Aboriginal Liaison Officer in Portland, Victoria. 

I’d worked in Port Hedland long enough by then to know you can’t be an Aboriginal Liaison Officer unless you’re Aboriginal. 

Up until that moment, I had assumed the Aboriginal connection in my extended family came through Aunty Thelma’s husband, Uncle George. 

The idea that my father’s side was also of Aboriginal heritage had never occurred to me. 

When I asked my mother for clarity, she replied, ‘We don’t talk about it.’ 

It would take nearly a year before I caught up face-to-face with Aunty Thelma to finally hear the full story. 

Both my paternal grandmother and grandfather were proud Gunditjmara people. 

Five of my father’s six siblings had always identified as Aboriginal. 

For reasons known only to him, though, my father chose not to identify publicly as a Gunditjmara man. 

Maybe he was too embarrassed or too aware that, in the cultural climate of the day, he and his children would face racial discrimination if he did. 

I will never know the truth, as he died with his secret.

Learning the truth did not fundamentally change who I understood myself to be but it did surprise me that there was this big secret of which I was completely unaware. 

The secret had certainly sheltered me from racism and afforded me an easier childhood but it also meant I was unable to fully embrace the cultural knowledge that might otherwise have shaped my earlier life. 

Today, I openly identify as Aboriginal and serve as an Indigenous academic on the Faculty of Health Sciences Aboriginal Advisory Group. 

I am careful and respectful in how I position myself: I am Gunditjmara, but I teach, work and live on Noongar land. 

This brings responsibilities, including following the guidance of Noongar academics and Elders and acknowledging that I cannot teach the Aboriginal experience of this place. 

Understanding protocols and knowing where I fit is essential. 

These insights deeply shape my approach to education. 

I bring Aboriginal ways of learning—for example, relationality, yarning, being reflective and deep listening—into my teaching. 

These practices have guided my own learning journey and I encourage my students to embrace them: to pause, listen deeply to peers and patients, yarn with them and develop genuine, two-way relationships rather than defaulting to transactional question-and-answer interactions. 

I also emphasise strengths-based approaches found in many Aboriginal pedagogies. 

Rather than focusing on deficits, I encourage my students to ask patients: what can they do? How can I support them to achieve their goals? 

I also encourage them to avoid negative stereotypical thinking. 

That’s a tough gig when much of our media focuses on the negative. 

Going back to Aboriginal ways, I find it interesting that many of the ways align closely with the professional attributes we want our students to graduate with. 

I want our students to become skilled and reflective practitioners who understand the person with the condition as much as the condition with which the person is presenting. 

I also want to graduate physiotherapists who continue to engage in ongoing cultural capability learning throughout their careers. 

From a broader perspective, I think physiotherapists can be instrumental at every level in ‘closing the gap’. 

At the individual clinician level, physiotherapists can try their best to always provide culturally safe care to all people to ensure that people who seek their services feel welcome and heard. 

In this way, people will not be hesitant or afraid to come to us for the care they need. 

At service and organisational levels, physiotherapists can influence the development of culturally secure policies and procedures. 

We can also engage with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples to support local, state and federal government initiatives. 

The Voice referendum, sadly defeated, was one area where I saw many physiotherapists adding their voices to the ‘Yes’ campaign. 

As an Aboriginal person, I found this so heartening to see. 

Importantly, across all these levels, listening remains key. 

We can listen to and learn from Aboriginal Communities, Aboriginal patients and Aboriginal students. 

In doing so, we will be in a strong position to advocate for necessary services and changes alongside Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples as allies. 

There is a richness and depth of skills and knowledge within our profession. 

Why not use those strengths to provide improved, culturally safe care for our Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander patients? 

>> Robyn Fary APAM coordinates and teaches the third-year Leadership and Evidence Based Practice unit at Curtin University. Her research spans osteoarthritis of the knee, service delivery for people with chronic musculoskeletal conditions and telehealth models. Her teaching and research continue to be shaped by the relational, reflective and strengths-based perspectives that her journey into understanding her Aboriginal identity has taught her. 

Walking in two worlds 

Physiotherapist Matt Hoffman feels connected to his culture when he is working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities. 

Matt Hoffman says that working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities helps him to feel more connected to his own culture and community.

I didn’t always want to do physiotherapy. 

I enjoyed sport when I was younger but I was always good at maths and thought I’d like engineering. 

I went on an Indigenous engineering summer camp in Sydney in Year 11 and it was a great trip but I just didn’t align with the profession; it didn’t seem like something that would fulfil me. 

My partner and my mum said, ‘You love sport, you love health, you love going to the gym and looking after yourself, why not physiotherapy?’ 

I put it as one of my options when I was applying for university courses and I was pretty happy when I got my email of offer saying I had gotten into physiotherapy at the University of Queensland. 

Like a lot of students in my cohort, I saw physiotherapy as treating elite athletes, covering sporting teams and working in private practice. 

I never had exposure to the profession in hospital, aged care, community or remote outreach settings. 

In my final year I undertook a number of clinical placements and the University of Queensland offered two Indigenous health placements, one in Mount Isa and one with the Institute for Urban Indigenous Health in Brisbane. 

I did both placements and they ended up being the most enjoyable, which helped guide me post-graduation. 

As a new graduate my first job was a matter of convenience and wanting to develop my clinical skills more as I didn’t do a private practice placement. 

Sadly, two months in COVID-19 started and the practice shut its doors for a while. 

I transitioned into an aged care role as an essential worker—that’s all that was really available at the time. 

The following year I went up to Cairns to join Active Performance and that was the most influential job for me and I still think about what a great experience it was to work for them. 

The practice was ahead of its time when looking at service delivery for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. 

It was the model you’d brainstorm when at university learning holistic models of care and reducing barriers for patients. 

I’m glad I applied and took the role, as I’d thought of that delivery approach as either unachievable or unrealistic beforehand, so it was good to see people actively providing that service. 

Look, there were still things that I would change; I was the only identified practitioner out of a team of maybe seven or eight. 

The business owner was great, having worked in community on Groote Eylandt for many years, but there were definite knowledge gaps among the team. 

This was particularly noticeable when going out in community together; although the desire to do good was there, I would approach things differently from how my colleagues would. 

The other influential role I have had recently was in Nhulunbuy, up in East Arnhem Land. 

Again, I loved the work, the patients, the landscapes and where I’d be going day to day but the business itself wasn’t the most effective model for delivering services to the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community. 

I liked doing it, I liked going out and I thought I was doing it well but I felt sorry for the community and for the next group of practitioners coming in, who were not trained or supported in working with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities and not given the resources or much of a heads-up when they were going into those areas. 

It was very much a ‘you’ve got the qualification; you’ll pick it up as you go’ type of situation. 

When talking about my own connection to culture, some people are very connected, some people are somewhat and some are disconnected. 

I wasn’t exposed to it much growing up; my grandmother never really talked about it and I’ve had inklings she is ashamed of that side of her, so things weren’t passed down. 

It’s only in recent years where I’ve been working in this space and being involved in certain organisations that have challenged me to learn more. 

Her sisters were taken by the police when she was young; being the oldest sister, she could run quicker, she said, and managed to get away. 

But she doesn’t talk much about her experiences growing up at the camps in Darwin or much of her life, really. 

She’s always been tough but hard to crack. 

I’m Larrakia and Woolwonga, but up until recently Woolwonga people had no native title and I’m not accepted by Larrakia Nation. 

I hope I can gather enough evidence to be recognised one day, as they base your Aboriginality as a Larrakia person off family names that are mentioned on the Kenbi Land Claim document. 

However, my grandmother was living on the Sunshine Coast at the time, taking care of four children, and her relatives were all displaced. 

Therefore, my document called Confirmation of Aboriginality was generated from the Northern Territory Stolen Generations Aboriginal Corporation, basically ‘you’re Aboriginal, but we don’t know what mob you’re from or where you’re from or anything like that. We just know your grandmother’s dark’. 

Sadly, that’s a common story for a lot of people around Australia. 

Often you feel like you’re lost, like you don’t fit in but you’re trying to and something’s just not sitting right. 

They call it walking in two worlds, where you’re good at acting white to get by but also good at being black, but both groups look at you funny and you just exist in between. 

When I’m around mob, people in my community or even other communities, I find I’m a better version of myself, in a way that’s hard to explain to someone. 

Some people out there will know this feeling. 

Uncles have said it’s your ancestors guiding and supporting you; maybe it’s a spiritual connection to place or maybe it’s just the environment that gets created where I can bring the walls down and just be me. 

It’s strange, almost like I’m switching bodies. 

I don’t want to sound like a chameleon or as if I’m pretending to be someone else but it does feel like that sometimes, when I’m in a private practice or in certain social situations, and then when I spend time with family or I’m out in the community, I have a sense of relaxation and can act natural. 

When talking with patients, they can feel that energy and they know you’re genuine. 

I think that’s why I’m pretty successful in working in those areas. 

On the other hand, I don’t always disclose that I’m Aboriginal. 

There’s a lot of casual racism out there—the patient’s talking to you, they see fair skin and assume they can say whatever pops into their heads. 

I try to dissociate when I’m doing a short-term gig and steer conversation away from that, but if I’m in a position that I want to be in for a long period of time, I am very picky about the organisation I choose and ensure the values and supports are in place. 

Eventually, I’d like to start my own business, similar to the one I worked for in Cairns, delivering culturally appropriate and culturally safe care to the community around the Sunshine Coast and surrounding regions. 

I don’t want to be someone who’s promising a lot and you never see them again. 

I think it’s important to pick a couple of locations, stick with it and try to maintain, build and nourish those relationships. 

>> Matt Hoffman APAM graduated from the University of Queensland in 2019 and has worked in a variety of practices in regional and remote Australia, most recently as a locum in Katherine, in the Northern Territory. He recently joined the APA Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Health Committee and is working with Associate Professor Michael Reynolds (former Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Health Committee chair and current Australian Physiotherapy Council chair) on cultural safety and awareness training programs at Australian Catholic University and at the Australian Physiotherapy Council.