Parked outside her son’s school, engine off, laptop open, and coffee at the ready, Dalanglin Dkhar (Pictured, inset) settles in for a day’s work.

This is the only time the mother and PhD student in the Charles Sturt University School of Social Work and Arts has to complete her studies, around being a full-time carer for her young son, who could need her to race beyond the school gates at any moment.

“I’ve started calling myself the ‘school carpark academic’,” Dalanglin said.

“It’s like a little cocoon, the only place I can shut the world out and focus.”

Dalanglin is not alone in this experience. According to Census data from 2021, 12.5 per cent of Bathurst residents over the age of 15 provided unpaid care to an individual.

Her moment of peace and quiet could last anywhere between one hour to three hours - if she’s lucky.

“My son has disabilities and suffered from trauma at a previous school resulting in a PTSD diagnosis,” Dalanglin said.

“He couldn’t attend school from May last year as a result, and after we managed to change schools this year, he’s been taking baby steps to be able to be there for a few hours now, but that reintegration started at just 20 minutes a day.”

With her husband working full-time, and the pressure of caring for her son increasing exponentially over the past two years, Dalanglin knew she needed to do something to help others facing the same challenge.

That ‘something’ comes in the form of a PhD project, ‘Lifelong carers – the lived experience as witnessed through a documentary’.

“I tossed around the idea of how I can advocate for carers, particularly in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic where carers virtually held up the fort in so many ways, given other support services were largely unavailable,” Dalanglin said.

“In my past working life, I was a documentary film maker, so I decided to combine my two passions – caring, which has taken over my life in every way possible, and documentary making.

“I put in an application to the University, and I was lucky enough to be accepted.”

Dalanglin is based in Canberra and her project delves into the lived experience of carers interviewed on camera in the form of a documentary and with other data, such as video diaries and photographs.

“I’m going to do a qualitative research study of a handful of carers all at different stages of their lives, be it a single parent, a retired person, employed or not,” she said.

But the issue isn’t restricted to the nation’s capital. Regional areas of Australia are feeling the strain associated with caring more than ever.

Seventy per cent of carers in New South Wales live in regional, remote or non-metropolitan areas, according to a recent survey by the New South Wales Department of Communities and Justice.

Not only are there more carers, but more pressures in the regions. The survey also revealed financial stress was a major concern, exacerbated in regional areas by ongoing drought and flooding.

The digitisation of information and access to government services has also created barriers for regional carers, many of whom have no or limited access to internet coverage.

For support services accessible in person, regional carers are at a disadvantage again as reliable, affordable and accessible transport options, such as trains or buses, are limited.

“Already, I’ve realised there are so many carers doing such amazing jobs amid horrendous circumstances, and it’s these people I want society to see and hear from,” Dalanglin said.

Her investigations into the caring landscape so far revealed there is tremendous research, work and data in the field of support for, and impacts on, carers, but that information has never left the halls of academia or policy-making.

“For me as a carer, I feel that data and information needed to stretch beyond those walls,” Dalanglin said.

Currently in Australia, there are approximately 2.65 million carers. That’s one in 10 people. But according to Dalanglin, despite the numbers, carers like her remain largely hidden from everyday society.

“In so many ways, we are invisible, we take on this notion, this responsibility of caring, because there is no other option and we don’t want our loved ones to live any less of a life,” she said. “We live in your communities, we have children in your schools, or spouses, trying to get employment at your workplaces, we infiltrate every aspect of the community.

“But still, the community – for the most part – doesn’t understand how we live.”

This lack of understanding, according to Dalanglin, can often lead to isolation.

She hopes the documentary project will reduce, if not remove the invisibility, increasing awareness, support and compassion for carers across the country.

“If the community at large recognised and got to know how we live, that’s when change can really happen,” she said.

“There’d be acknowledgement, and that goes a long way.

“People need to realise there is only ever a few degrees of separation between them and the world of caring; you might know a carer, or be one in the future, or even need one for yourself at some point.

“Increasing awareness also increases the support you might offer to someone in need, for example a neighbour you otherwise might not have reached out to with a simple ‘hello’, or kind gesture, at a time they really need it.”

Dalanglin has begun the process of filming for the project, while editing and data analysis unfolds simultaneously.

The study itself has been supported by an industry partner, Carers ACT, which is funding the production in alignment with its hopes for better awareness and advocacy.

“At the end of the day, I’m a storyteller, and when we cull down the facts into narratives, we reveal the people on the other side,” Ms Dkhar said.

“This helps everyone absorb the data better when they realise there is a life behind the statistics.

“Through this passion project of mine, I’ve met so many amazing carers, warriors, and feel so lucky to be a part of their journey, which many don’t realise is lifelong.”

ENDS