At Last, But Still Some Way To Go

Lately, I’ve been recording some incredible interviews for my Limb Shift podcast. This episode features the brilliant Madeleine Stewart. Born with a limb difference, Madeleine wore a prosthetic arm for several years before deciding it wasn’t for her. She is a talented actor, comedian, and passionate disability advocate—and, quite frankly, she’s awesome.

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“It’s not inspiration, it’s not pity, it’s normal. It’s saying you’re different, but we accept you and you’re just like us”. This philosophy serves as the cornerstone of Madeleine’s mission, a vibrant and unapologetic voice currently reshaping the Australian creative landscape. 

Born in 1994, Madeleine entered the world on the twenty-sixth of May weighing just 1.1 kilograms, a “miracle baby” with one arm. Today, she stands as a multi-hyphenate artist—a comedian, actor, advocate, and filmmaker—whose work challenges the reductive narratives that have long defined the disability experience.  

Growing up, Madeleine’s connection to the disability community was virtually non-existent, leaving her to navigate the complexities of her identity largely on her own. Her early life was spent navigating constant medical intervention, primarily at Westmead Children’s Hospital, where she was fitted for prosthetic arms she found largely alienating. 

“I thought hospitals are for sick people or for people in pain, and I wasn’t sick and I wasn’t in pain,” she recalls. “I thought I felt normal, I felt healthy, I felt like every other kid, but I was treated differently and I couldn’t understand why”.  

The physical impact of these early prosthetics was also significant and painful. Madeleine describes how, as a young girl, the devices were forced into sockets that caused rashes, itchiness, and ongoing pain while “hanging off the joint of my elbow”. 

Beyond the discomfort, the practical limitations were stark. She recalls a childhood memory of playing in a “play maze” and becoming caught in the netting by her prosthetic arm, left hanging and calling for her mother while dozens of other parents looked on. 

This incident cemented her view that the prosthetic was a hindrance rather than a tool, stating, “I naturally wanted to do things with one hand and I just couldn’t into the two-handed life”.  

These medical challenges were compounded by the financial realities of the era. Growing up in the nineties and early two-thousands, before the implementation of the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS)—an Australian government program designed to provide funding and support for people with permanent and significant disabilities—obtaining prosthetic limbs required a complex and often demoralising process of grassroots fundraising. 

Madeleine describes having to visit Rotary Clubs to “sing my sad little song” to secure financial support for her artificial arms, with costs split between hospitals, local charities, and her own family. This constant pressure to justify her need for equipment through charity—often without anyone asking for her personal input or consent—left a lasting mark on her self-esteem. “A lot of effort, a lot of charity, a lot of singing my sad song, and that really cuts away at your self-esteem from a young age,” she reflects.  

Her path to self-acceptance was paved by the unexpected influence of science fiction. When she was nervous about entering primary school, her brother introduced her to Star Wars and the character of Luke Skywalker. Seeing Luke embrace his mechanical hand as the tool of a Jedi rather than a sign of brokenness was transformative. “The confidence I had, I truly believed that I was a Jedi,” Madeleine says. “He restored peace to the galaxy. And he has one arm just like you”, her brother told her.

As Madeleine transitioned into adulthood, she found that the professional world—specifically the theatre industry—was far less welcoming. She was frequently told there was “no place for me in the industry”. Rather than retreating, she turned to the one space where she could reclaim her narrative: comedy.

A pivotal moment in her development occurred when she was sixteen and attended a show by Adam Hills, a celebrated Australian comedian and television presenter also known for his advocacy and Paralympic sport coverage. Madeleine waited to speak with him after the performance, and he encouraged her to pursue comedy. 

However, Hills offered a candid piece of advice regarding the visibility of her limb difference. “He said that he for years was able to have, in his words, the luxury of being able to hide his disability and get his craft as a comedian like anyone else,” Madeleine explains. 

“And he said, unfortunately, everyone’s going to see that you have one arm instantly, so you’re going to have to make jokes about disability”. Madeleine took this advice to heart, finding that “people are like, okay, we’re comfortable with this now. And then you can go on and talk about whatever you want”.  

Madeleine’s comedy is marked by a sharp, cheeky subversion of how society perceives disability. This is evident in her creative output, including her ABC documentary and SBS podcast, both of which tackle the often-taboo subjects of intimacy and sexuality for people with disabilities. 

She views these projects as vital for breaking down the dehumanising myths that follow disabled people into adulthood. “I just find it fascinating that people think that we can’t have sex or date,” Madeleine explains. “I think that people have these assumptions and people don’t know. And I think that it’s a, it’s a humanity thing. It’s about humanness of all of us”.  

In her documentary and podcast work, she explores how a lack of adequate sex education in school left her and many others in the dark. “For me, it’s just like, oh, really? Really? So it’s like just basic sex ed baffled me during that podcast”. 

Beyond education, she champions the inventiveness of the disabled community. “I think that is genius, the way that we can solve things, the way that we can go. Yeah, let’s figure this out”.  

Madeleine’s work also acts as a rigorous critique of “inspiration porn”—the tendency of media to frame the daily lives of disabled people as inherently heroic. She notes that even her own film, designed to highlight the toxicity of such tropes, was met with praise that missed the mark. “The most common thing people say to me afterwards was how inspired they were on my film. And I just think I literally just look at them and go, did you watch the film?”. 

Despite the frustrations of existing in a world still grappling with ableism, Madeleine remains stubbornly optimistic. She sees the current rise in representation—and the increasing public discourse around neurodivergence and disability advocacy—as a necessary step toward genuine empathy. 

“Every disabled person has friends and family and like a community around them, people who know them and care about them. And that that is advocacy too, because you’re showing people around you that you’re not this stereotype”.  

Looking ahead, Madeleine is embracing a “semi-sabbatical” to recalibrate her creative output, stepping back from the relentless pace of her previous years to ask: “What do I actually want to create?”. 

As she balances the two “trains” of comedy and advocacy, her long-term goal remains consistent: to ensure that the future of representation looks exactly like the inclusive, vibrant world she once saw on Playschool—a world where difference is acknowledged, but fundamentally, everyone is just normal. 

Madeleine’s journey is far from over, but she has already succeeded in shifting the spotlight, forcing audiences to see past the arm, past the “inspiration,” and directly into the reality of a human experience that is rich, funny, and entirely her own.  

The audio from this interview will be featured in The Limb Shift later in the year. Click on the links above for Spotify, Apple and Youtube to follow the launch.