Felicia works closely with people who have been through the prison system, women survivors of domestic violence and intergenerational disadvantage, as well as people with intellectual disabilities and mental health challenges. This makes Felicia a perfect fit for LEAP, a group within ACSO who use their experience of the criminal justice system to advocate for meaningful change.
Felicia has a fascinating history, which you can read about in The Sydney Morning Herald, The Courier Mail, and in her 2025 memoir, Accessory (co-authored by Erin O’Dwyer).
We wanted to learn more about the amazing advocacy work Felicia is doing now, and what she plans to do next to drive positive change in the justice system and to raise the voices of people who continue to experience cycles of trauma and disadvantage.
Felicia was generous enough to spend some time sharing her experiences, expertise, advice and her hopes for the future:
“LEAP felt like a natural extension of what I was already doing, turning hard, real lived experience into something tangible, practical, and genuinely useful. I didn’t always plan to share my story publicly, but I came to see that experience as more than something that happened to me. When it’s translated well, lived experience can reduce harm, challenge stigma, and help people feel less alone. At that point, it stopped being about telling a story and became about creating impact.”
“I share my experience so other women can see that there is a life after horrific and violent circumstances. I speak up because I can, and because I have the capacity to challenge stereotypes, discrimination, and systems that cause harm. I also do it for the women who can’t speak yet or aren’t ready. Until they are, I’ll keep showing up, and when they are ready, I’ll be here to stand beside them.
“Our voices are stronger together. If no one challenges inequality or discrimination when they see it, it simply continues. Women like me are still underrepresented in leadership, particularly women with lived experience of violence and the justice system. I want that to change, and change doesn’t happen by waiting. If you want to see it, you have to be it even on the days when it’s hard.”
“My contact with the justice system fundamentally reshaped how I understand life, people and humanity. It exposed me to how cruel and unjust individuals and systems can be, but also, at the same time, how deeply kind, generous, and human others are, often in the most unlikely places. I gained a deep understanding of power, trauma, and policy, and how they can impact people in very permanent ways and profound ways.
“I also came to understand how deeply sexism is embedded within the justice system. Women are often punished by the very systems that played a role in the harm and circumstances that led them there in the first place. Experiences of violence, coercion, poverty, and inequality are frequently treated as personal failings rather than structural realities. My experiences changed how I move through the world and how I choose to show up in it. They taught me that what happens to you matters, but what you do with it matters more.”
“Supporting someone post release is emotionally heavy and mentally complex. People leave with Post-Incarceration Syndrome (PICS), chronic anxiety, hypervigilance, institutional dependency, disrupted identity, and a dysregulated nervous system, which means that you are not just supporting someone to find housing or employment, you’re supporting someone whose sense of safety, trust, autonomy, and self-worth has been significantly eroded.
“Prisons harm people. They fracture families and retraumatise people. Society expects individuals to “reintegrate” often without addressing that there are significant of barriers that punish them for having been incarcerated in the first place. Post-release support is about holding space for that harm while pushing back against the system that caused it. It is about walking alongside people to help them rebuild a sense of agency. If we are serious about rehabilitation, we must be honest about the damage prisons do, resilience alone cannot undo structural violence.”
“The stigma follows you for life. It shapes how you’re seen and how you move through the world. You end up feeling forced to hide parts of yourself, walking on eggshells, and constantly managing the fear of judgement, even long after you’ve served your sentence. That ongoing judgement is rarely acknowledged, yet it has real consequences.
“Stigma leads directly to social exclusion. It shuts people out of housing, employment, community, and support systems, making reintegration far harder than it needs to be. Being excluded in this way is deeply damaging to wellbeing and stability, and it keeps people trapped in cycles of poverty, disadvantage and criminalisation. The constant need to explain and justify yourself to employers, services, and professionals is not only retraumatising and harmful it’s also exhausting. It’s even harder for women with conviction histories.
“Women are judged more harshly for stepping outside what society tells us a “good” woman should be, compliant, respectable. When women don’t fit that mould, the stigma intensifies. For people who speak out, the stigma doubles. You need a thick skin and a sharp wit, because discrimination, ridicule, and bullying come with the territory, often from small-minded people throwing stones from the cheap seats. But speaking out matters and truth-telling is how we create change.”
“Most people are shocked. I’ve had more than one person say they thought I was a fictional character because my memoir Accessory is a little “out there.” One even said, “Oh… I didn’t realise you were a real person,” which I found pretty funny.
“What stays with me most, though, are the women who reach out privately. Many tell me my story resonated deeply with them and thank me for showing my face, because they’re not able to because they fear they will be ostracised, judged and/or lose their jobs. They’ll say, “This is my story too,” even if they can’t say it publicly.
“I understand that completely. I didn’t really choose visibility, but once my face was on the front page of a newspaper that choice was made for me and there wasn’t any going back. In a strange way, it felt like fate nudging me onto this path. If my visibility makes it safer or easier for someone else to feel seen, then it’s worth it. We don’t all have to speak at the same time, but knowing someone else has already gone first can make all the difference.”
“There’s really no such thing as a “normal” day, and that’s part of what I love about it. My work sits at the intersection of lived experience, systems thinking, advocacy, and care, so no two days are ever the same. One day I’m writing, reading, and learning, constantly thinking about problems in new and innovative ways. The next I’m in meetings, speaking with others in this space who share the same vision and goals, or contributing to conversations about policy, reform, and better ways of doing things.
“Alongside that, I run a counselling and trauma therapy practice, which keeps me grounded in the real, human impact of systems and decisions. That work matters deeply to me. It’s challenging work, emotionally and intellectually. It is hard to not feel the weight of it sometimes. But I also feel incredibly privileged to do what I do. To be trusted with people’s stories, to help shape better responses, and to use my experience to make things even slightly better for someone else, that’s not something I take lightly and that’s ultimately what it’s all about.”
“My favourite part is seeing something shift, in people, in rooms, or in moments where you know a perspective has changed. When sharing my story opens the door for someone to rethink their assumptions or see an issue differently, that’s powerful. On a more personal level, it’s also watching clients have wins, both big and small. Sometimes it’s housing, employment, or safety. Other times it’s confidence, self-trust, or simply believing they deserve more. Being there for those moments and knowing I’ve played a small part in someone reclaiming their life or sense of agency is incredibly meaningful to me. That’s the work that stays with you.”
“Looking ahead, I want to keep using my experience and expertise to influence systems. That means being in rooms where decisions are made, having a seat at tables that haven’t traditionally been open to women like me. As a female leader, I’m also deeply committed to creating pathways for other women to step into leadership, especially women with lived experience who are so often excluded or tokenised. My plans are to continue to challenge systems that cause harm while offering real alternatives. If I can help open doors, shift power, and make it easier for the women coming next to walk through, that’s the work I want to be doing.”
“The justice system needs to stop using imprisonment as a band-aid solution for a myriad of social detriments. Locking people up doesn’t resolve trauma, violence, poverty, addiction, or inequality it just hides them for a while and makes them worse. Real change means addressing the root causes instead of defaulting to punishment, and it means listening to lived experience when designing responses. If we want safer communities, we need solutions that heal and prevent harm not amplify it.”
“You matter. Your story matters. And you’re not alone, even when it feels like you are. What’s happened to you doesn’t get to define the rest of your life. Take it one step at a time and focus on what’s within your control. Find people who see your potential, not just your past, and let them walk alongside you.”
If you’re inspired by the life changing work Felicia is doing, learn more about working with ACSO.