There’s a peculiar irony in the lives of Australia’s female footballers: the very people who are supposed to be the pinnacle of physical and mental endurance are often forced to juggle careers that demand equal—if not greater—levels of stamina. Take Caitlin Reid, a surgical registrar by day and an AFLW ruck specialist by night. Her existence is a masterclass in human multitasking, but it’s also a stark reminder of the economic realities facing women in professional sports. What makes this particularly fascinating is how her dual life isn’t just about survival—it’s a testament to the societal expectation that women must be ‘doers’ in every aspect of their lives, even when those demands are absurdly disproportionate.
The AFLW’s financial landscape is a minefield for athletes. With an average salary of $79,414 in 2026, players are forced to take on second jobs to make ends meet. This isn’t just about numbers; it’s about dignity. Imagine being paid to run, jump, and tackle for a living, yet needing to work 70-hour weeks in a hospital to afford rent. Reid’s guilt over leaving her colleagues short-staffed is a microcosm of the guilt women often feel when their careers collide with their passions. It’s not just about money—it’s about the emotional labor of constantly justifying your existence in two worlds.
Then there’s Emily Pease, whose life as a GWS winger and Taronga Zoo wildlife handler reads like a superhero origin story. She’s the kind of person who could single-handedly save a species while simultaneously winning a premiership. But the real story here is how her zoo colleagues are ‘wow’d’ by her football career. Why is this so surprising? Because society still sees sports as a male-dominated arena, and women who excel in it are often treated like anomalies. Pease’s ‘superpower’ isn’t just her athleticism—it’s her refusal to let anyone define her limits. Yet, the fact that she’s still planning to become a full-time zookeeper suggests that sports will never be her sole identity. How many female athletes are forced to ‘choose’ between their passions and their livelihoods?
The AFLPA data reveals that 62% of AFLW players work part-time or casually, a statistic that screams of systemic underfunding. This isn’t just a problem for Australian football—it’s a global crisis. In the U.S., WNBA players earn less than their NBA counterparts, and in Europe, women’s leagues struggle to secure sponsorships. The double life of these athletes isn’t a choice; it’s a symptom of a broken system. What this really suggests is that until sports organizations treat female athletes as equals—not just in pay, but in value—they’ll continue to be forced into impossible situations.
There’s a deeper question here: Why do we accept this as normal? When a male athlete plays football, no one asks him to work a second job. But for women, it’s somehow ‘inspirational’ to see them juggling careers. This isn’t empowerment—it’s exploitation. The ‘grind’ of dual careers is being sold as a badge of honor, but it’s actually a form of quiet coercion. These women are being asked to prove their worth in two arenas, while men are given the luxury of focusing on one. A detail that I find especially interesting is how Reid compares medicine and football as ‘team sports.’ Both require sacrifice, but only one is rewarded with financial stability.
Looking ahead, this situation is unsustainable. If the AFLW wants to grow, it needs to stop treating its players as part-time employees. The future of women’s sports depends on dismantling the myth that athletic excellence is a hobby. Until then, we’ll keep seeing stories like Reid’s—where the line between passion and survival is razor-thin, and the cost is measured in sleepless nights and unspoken guilt.
