Personal Blogs

So… apparently I’m going into Year Two of my degree.

I’m not quite sure how that happened. One minute I was nervously opening my first module, wondering whether I had completely lost the plot by deciding to return to university as a mature student, and the next thing I know, I’m buying notebooks, reorganising my desk and convincing myself that this year I am going to be completely organised from the beginning.

We all know how that one ends, don’t we?

I have created myself a lovely little study space, and I have to say, looking at it makes me feel like I have my life together. There are books neatly stacked, notebooks waiting patiently to be filled, pens arranged in a way that suggests I have some kind of system, a calendar ready to remind me of deadlines I will probably pretend not to see, and enough stationery to make you think I am opening a stationery shop rather than starting another year of university.

The desk looks calm.

The desk looks organised.

The desk looks like someone who definitely has their life under control.

Unfortunately, the desk knows nothing about what is happening on the other side of it. 😂

Because behind this lovely, organised study space is the reality of being a mature student with a very full life.

I’m a mum of three, a dog mum, a wife, a full-time worker and a student, which means my days rarely involve sitting quietly with a cup of coffee while the sun shines gently through the window and I contemplate the meaning of life and academic theory.

My reality is much more likely to involve someone asking what’s for dinner, a dog demanding attention, washing that has somehow multiplied overnight, work, messages, appointments, household jobs, family life, and me trying to remember why I walked into the kitchen in the first place.

And somewhere amongst all of that, there is usually an assignment that needs writing.

I work full time supporting SEN students, and I genuinely love what I do. Supporting young people, helping them overcome barriers and watching them grow is something I find incredibly rewarding. But it is also a job that can be mentally and emotionally demanding. When the working day is finished, the idea of opening a university textbook isn't always greeted by my brain with the enthusiasm I had hoped for.

There are definitely evenings when I sit down at my desk, open my laptop, look at the amount of reading I have to do and think, “Right… perhaps I’ll just have five minutes.”

Five minutes later, the dog is asleep beside me, my coffee is cold, I've somehow ended up looking at something completely unrelated online, and my brain is whispering, “Maybe tomorrow.” 😂

But then I remind myself why I started.

Going back into education as a mature student was never going to be the easiest route. I already had a life. I already had responsibilities. I already had people who needed me. I wasn't starting university with endless free time and the luxury of making studying my entire world.

I was adding university to an already busy life.

And perhaps that is why finishing Year One felt like such a huge achievement.

There were moments when I doubted myself. There were assignments that seemed impossible when I first looked at them. There were days when I wondered whether I was trying to take on too much. There were evenings when I was exhausted and still had reading to do, and there were definitely occasions when I questioned whether being a mature student was a brilliant idea or evidence that I had completely lost my mind. 😂

But I kept going.

I learned how I learn. I learned that sometimes I need to read something three times before it makes sense. I learned that academic writing is a completely different language from normal human conversation, and I learned that apparently I can spend an unreasonable amount of time trying to find the perfect reference for one sentence.

Most importantly, I learned that I am capable of more than I thought I was.

And now I’m getting ready to do it all again.

Year Two.

This year is also going to feel a little different for another reason. One of my children is heading off to university halls on Saturday, and I don't think I'm quite prepared for the emotional rollercoaster that is watching your child take that next step into adulthood.

There is something incredibly strange about spending years teaching your children to be independent, only to reach the point where they actually become independent and suddenly you're standing there thinking, “Wait… come back. I wasn't emotionally prepared for this part!” 😂

I am unbelievably proud, of course. Watching your child grow, make their own decisions and head off to start their own university journey is an incredible thing. But I suspect there may also be a few emotional moments, a few unnecessary messages asking whether they've eaten, and possibly a suspicious number of texts beginning with, “Just checking you're okay…”

Meanwhile, I’ll be sitting at my own desk studying.

Two students in the family.

Two university journeys.

And one mum trying not to become the person who sends a daily weather report and asks whether they've remembered their laundry.

So, yes, life is going to be busy.

Actually, busy doesn't quite cover it.

But I've started to realise that perhaps I'm not supposed to wait for life to become quiet before I chase the things that matter to me.

Because if I waited for the perfect time, I would probably still be waiting.

There will always be washing. There will always be work. There will always be family commitments. There will always be someone who needs something. There will always be a dog who believes my university reading is significantly less important than throwing a ball.

Life doesn't stop so that we can pursue our dreams.

Sometimes we have to learn how to pursue our dreams while life is happening around us.

And that is what being a mature student has taught me.

I've learned that you don't have to be twenty years old to start something new. You don't have to have followed a perfectly planned path. You don't have to have achieved everything by a certain age.

Sometimes your journey takes you somewhere completely unexpected before you find your way back to yourself.

Sometimes you take a break.

Sometimes you have children.

Sometimes you work.

Sometimes life throws things at you that you never planned for.

And sometimes, years later, you look around and think, “Actually… I still want to do that.”

That's when you have a choice.

You can tell yourself that it's too late, that you're too busy, that you don't have the time, that you're too old, that other people are further ahead or that you should have started years ago.

Or you can pick up the pen and start anyway.

I'm choosing the second one.

My desk is my little reminder of that.

It isn't just a desk covered in books and stationery. To me, it represents something much bigger. It represents choosing myself alongside all the other people I care for. It represents proving that being a mum doesn't mean your own dreams have to disappear. It represents showing my children that learning doesn't have an expiry date and that you can keep challenging yourself at any stage of life.

And perhaps that's one of the biggest lessons I want my children to take from watching me.

I don't want them to think success means having everything figured out.

I want them to understand that success can sometimes mean getting back up when something is difficult.

It can mean trying again.

It can mean being frightened and doing it anyway.

It can mean starting something later than you expected.

It can mean studying at the kitchen table while the washing machine is going, working all day and then opening your laptop in the evening because you have a dream that matters to you.

It can mean being exhausted and still deciding that tomorrow you will try again.

Because sometimes the most inspiring thing we can do isn't achieving something spectacular.

Sometimes it's simply refusing to give up on ourselves.

So here I am, preparing for Year Two.

The notebooks are ready. The books are waiting. My study space is organised. The coffee supplies are being assessed. The calendar is looking slightly intimidating, and the dogs have already made it very clear that they will be involved in my study sessions whether I like it or not.

I know there will be difficult days.

There will be deadlines.

There will probably be moments where I question my life choices.

There will definitely be assignments where I stare at the screen wondering why I thought this was a good idea.

But there will also be those moments when something finally clicks, when I submit an assignment I'm proud of, when I learn something that genuinely excites me, and when I look back and realise just how far I've come.

And that's what I'm going to focus on.

Not perfection.

Progress.

Not having everything under control.

Keeping going.

Not comparing my journey with someone else's.

Building my own.

Year Two isn't about proving that I can do everything perfectly.

It's about reminding myself that I can keep moving forward, even when life is busy, messy, noisy and occasionally covered in dog hair.

So, to all the other mature students out there who are heading into another year, starting a new course, returning to education or simply thinking about taking that first step, remember this:

You are not too old.

You are not too late.

And you haven't missed your opportunity.

Your circumstances might not be perfect. Your life might already be incredibly busy. You might have children, work, responsibilities, bills, pets, family commitments and a hundred other things competing for your attention.

But your dreams still matter.

Make space for them.

Even if that space is an hour at a desk after everyone else has gone to bed.

Even if you have to study around work.

Even if your dog thinks your textbook is a chew toy.

Even if you have to start again more than once.

Because one day, you will look back and realise that all those small hours you thought weren't enough actually became something much bigger.

A qualification.

A new career.

A new chapter.

A stronger version of yourself.

And perhaps most importantly, proof that you never stopped believing that you were capable of more.

So here's to Year Two.

Here's to the late nights, the books, the coffee, the deadlines, the family chaos, the dog interruptions, the questionable life choices and the moments where it all somehow comes together.

My child is heading off to university halls.

I'm heading into Year Two.

The dogs are apparently heading into my study space.

And somewhere amongst the madness, I'm going to keep chasing my own dreams too.

Because I've finally realised something:

You don't have to put your dreams on hold just because you're busy building a life.

Sometimes you build the life and chase the dream at the same time.

And that, I think, is what makes the journey worth it. ❤️📚🐾

Year Two… I'm ready.

Well…

As ready as a mum of three, dog mum, full-time worker and mature student can possibly be. 😂

There’s something slightly rebellious about being a mature learner.

Not rebellious in the leather-jacket, loud-music sense. More in the “Yes, I do own seventeen highlighters and I’m not afraid to use them” kind of way.

This week I received my TMA 03 feedback — 89% for my blues choice. Eighty-nine percent! I read the score once, blinked, then read it again in case the screen was having a generous moment. It wasn’t. It was real. And for a brief, beautiful second, I allowed myself to sit in it.

For someone who never had the chance to get a degree the first time round, that 89% wasn’t just a number. It was proof. Proof that it’s never too late. Proof that lived experience counts. Proof that chaos can, occasionally, be colour-coded.

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When Sadness Teaches Us

Life’s saddest moments have a strange duality.

They can crack us open and help us relate to others on a deeper, more human level — or they can make us want to pull the duvet over our heads and ignore the world entirely.

This week I celebrated my mum’s birthday. She passed away in 2023 after a battle with cancer. Ironically, she battled with alcohol for most of her life, yet cancer was the thing that finally took her.

Grief is complicated like that. It doesn’t arrive neatly packaged. It sits with you at the kitchen table. It whispers in quiet moments. It turns birthdays into reflections.

But here’s what I’ve learned: grief also sharpens empathy.

When you’ve lived through loss, you hear people differently. You notice the pauses in their sentences. You recognise the bravery it takes just to show up. Sadness, as heavy as it is, can deepen us — if we let it.

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Care Homes, Classrooms and Finding My Voice

I spent much of my childhood in different care homes.

It’s not something I used to talk about. For a long time, it felt like something to hide. But experience has a way of reshaping itself over time. What once felt like instability has become determination.

Growing up without a consistent voice advocating for you makes you acutely aware of children who struggle to express themselves. The ones who sit quietly. The ones labelled “difficult.” The ones whose behaviour is louder than their words.

Those are the children I want to stand beside.

Becoming a SEN teacher isn’t just a career ambition for me. It’s personal. It’s a promise — to use my past to amplify someone else’s future.

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Highlighters, Post-it Notes and Embracing the Chaos

Returning to education as an adult is humbling.

You sit at a desk thinking, How did I forget how referencing works?
You celebrate understanding a theory like you’ve just won a small Olympic medal.
You develop a slightly unhealthy attachment to stationery.

But there is something beautiful about choosing growth.

I never had the opportunity to get a degree when I was younger. Life was survival. Now, life is intention. I am determined to embrace the chaos — the schedules, the late nights, the essays fuelled by tea and stubbornness — as part one of my ambition to become a SEN teacher.

Mature learning isn’t about proving you were always capable.

It’s about proving you’re still willing.

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Making Something Beautiful

I suppose what I’m really trying to say is this:

Take the challenges.
Take the grief.
Take the missed opportunities and the messy beginnings.

And use them.

Use them like snow settling on a spider’s web — fragile threads suddenly illuminated against a grey sky.
Use them like morning dew catching the light before the world fully wakes.

Pain does not have to be the end of the story. Sometimes it’s the ink.

This week I celebrated an 89%. I celebrated my mum. I celebrated the small, stubborn part of me that refuses to give up.

And maybe that’s what mature learning really is — not just academic growth, but the quiet decision to turn every hard chapter into something meaningful.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an essay to plan, three mugs of tea to drink, and at least four highlighters that urgently need to feel important.

Ah yes, today started with such promise.

The birds were singing. The sun was shining. I was (theoretically) ready to conquer another chaotic day in the life of a mature student with more to do lists than memory space. Armed with the kind of determination only seen in caffeine fueled gladiators… except, of course, I hadn’t had coffee yet.

Because, dear reader, I made the rookie mistake of thinking I could function without it.

Let me paint you a picture: I am a grown adult, with bills, responsibilities, possibly some back pain and a fondness for sensible shoes, trying to juggle a full-time job, study, and maintain the illusion that I know what I’m doing. Some people juggle flaming swords. I juggle lecture notes, deadlines, and forgotten passwords. Today, I dropped all three and somehow hit myself in the face with a metaphorical bowling pin.

Let’s rewind.

I was in class, notebook in hand, scribbling furiously because, apparently, I’ve decided that shorthand and hieroglyphics are the same thing. The student next to me, a lovely creature with the brain elasticity of a newborn dolphin (read: sharp and terrifying), asked if they could see the notes from last week.

“Of course!” I said, smiling like someone who had their life together.

But instead of handing over their notes, you know the ones I had helpfully taken for them while they were out, I handed over my notes. My personal, chaos driven stream-of-consciousness doodle diary. Complete with side tangents, passive-aggressive reminders to buy bin bags, and a very detailed sketch of a confused duck (don’t ask).

Ten minutes later I heard the words, “Umm... is this... a grocery list and a drawing of a duck fighting capitalism?”

Why yes. Yes, it is. Welcome to the inside of my brain. Population: confusion.

Meanwhile, at work:

I was somehow still expected to be a functioning adult in a workplace setting. My boss asked for a document. I stared at him blankly for a moment, then nodded confidently like a professional who totally hadn’t just written “email ducks to boss???” on a Post-it note and stuck it to her laptop.

At one point, I walked briskly into the staff kitchen with purpose. I forgot the purpose halfway through opening the fridge and just stood there, hoping the hummus would give me a sign.

Spoiler: It did not.

Lessons learned today:

1. Never trust yourself to do anything before caffeine.

2. Label your notes like they are radioactive materials.

3. Your classmates do not need to know you name your plants or have a three-point plan for how to survive an alien invasion.

4. Do not try to juggle when your brain is a confused goldfish with stage fright.

So now I sit, coffee finally in hand, notes back in my possession, one sock inside out, wondering if anyone will notice that I wore two completely different shoes today (update: they did). But I survived. I may have limped through the day with my dignity dragging behind me like a toddler’s blanket, but I’m still standing.

To all my fellow mature students out there: keep juggling. It’s okay if you drop the ball, just make sure it doesn’t land in someone else’s lap with your weekly meal plan and a poorly drawn duck attached.