Personal Blogs

Dear patient readers,

You may have noticed that my blog has been quieter than a library during a surprise inspection. This was not intentional. I did not abandon you. I simply made the classic mature student mistake of believing I could realistically manage my time.

I would like to take this moment to apologise for the unexpected blogging drought. I had every intention of posting regularly. Unfortunately, life, academia, and a deeply unreasonable number of glitter highlighters had other plans.

The Memoir Situation

Firstly, I have been writing my memoir. Yes, an actual memoir. Because apparently going back to university as a mature student wasn’t emotionally challenging enough on its own.

The memoir explores trauma, abuse, survival, and the long journey into advocacy. It is important work, meaningful work, and occasionally the literary equivalent of opening a drawer labelled “Things We Packed Away for Later and Definitely Should Have Left Shut Until After Coffee.”

Writing it involves a lot of reflection, some unexpected emotional ambushes, and a suspicious amount of tea. There have also been moments where I’ve written a paragraph, stared at it, and thought: Wow. That explains a lot.

Still, it matters. Stories matter. Advocacy matters. And if even one person reads it and thinks “oh, it wasn’t just me,” then it will have been worth every slightly terrifying sentence.

The Glitter Highlighter Crisis

While doing all this serious reflective writing, I have also been fighting a battle that nobody warned me about when I enrolled in higher education.

Stationery.

More specifically: glitter highlighters.

At some point I made the perfectly reasonable decision that ordinary highlighters were unacceptable. If I am going to highlight academic texts, those highlights should sparkle with purpose.

Unfortunately, glitter highlighters behave less like stationery and more like a rapidly expanding ecosystem. I started with three. I now appear to own approximately seventeen.

They are everywhere.

In pencil cases.
On my desk.
In bags I haven’t used since 2019.

I’m fairly certain they’re reproducing when the lights are off.

The Next Module: A Light Existential Crisis

Meanwhile, I am also attempting to choose my next module, which is a process best described as academic speed-dating with existential consequences.

Each module description follows the same emotional arc:

1. Oh this looks fascinating.

2. This could really deepen my understanding.

3. Oh look, a reading list longer than my will to live.

As a mature student, you’d think wisdom and life experience would make these decisions easier.

Instead, it just means I overthink them with greater sophistication.

Where Have I Actually Been?

So in summary, my recent absence can be explained by the following completely reasonable schedule:

• Writing a memoir about trauma, abuse, survival, and advocacy

• Doing university work

• Accidentally building a glitter stationery empire

• Having mild academic identity crises while choosing modules

• Drinking tea like it’s a research method

The Plan Going Forward

The blog will return to regular programming shortly.

Assuming, of course, I can clear enough space on my desk between the glitter highlighters and the emotional processing.

Thank you for your patience while I was temporarily missing in academic action.

Normal levels of slightly chaotic mature-student commentary will resume soon.

Sparkles optional.

(They are not optional.)

Ah, half term. That magical week when the coffee mug stops trembling, the alarm clock gets a brief sabbatical, and you briefly remember what daylight looks like. For us mature students working in further education, it’s less “wild week off” and more “necessary system reboot.” Think of it as switching yourself off and back on again—like an overworked printer that’s starting to smell faintly of desperation.

The Reset (or at least, the Attempt)

You begin the week with great intentions: yoga, reading, meal prep, perhaps finally tackling the “cupboard of doom.” But inevitably, it ends up as pyjamas, snacks, and the occasional “I’ll just check my emails” spiral. You tell yourself it’s restorative. You deserve this. You need this. You’ve earned the right to merge with the sofa like some academic burrito.

And yet, Monday looms.

The Return: Operation Motivation

The first day back greets you with the cheerful announcement that you’ll be spending it at Sandon Bowers for an “outdoor motivational challenge day” with supported students, because nothing says welcome back to reality like being cold, damp, and expected to look inspirational while wearing a harness.

The male staff, naturally, have developed a sudden and contagious fear of heights. Which leaves me—proudly sporting my “festively plump” post-half-term physique—to demonstrate “how easy it is” to scale the climbing wall.

You stand there, staring up at the wall. The wind whips your face. Somewhere in the distance, a seagull laughs. The students cheer you on, half out of encouragement, half out of morbid curiosity.

And as you begin your ascent (a generous term for whatever flailing occurs), you can’t help but think of Mary Wollstonecraft, your current literary companion. The champion of reason, women’s rights, and intellectual independence. Would she approve of this scenario?

Probably not. But she’d definitely appreciate the irony of a woman literally climbing her way through modern education—powered only by tea, stubbornness, and the lingering hope of a biscuit at the top.

The Aftermath

You survive. Barely. You are cold, muddy, and approximately one emotional breakdown away from Googling “jobs involving indoor heating.” But you’ve done it. You’ve inspired your students, terrified the men, and lived to tell the tale.

Now it’s early bed, fluffy socks, and a quiet mental countdown:
Just six weeks until the next half term.

And yes—the Christmas decorations are absolutely going up this weekend. Because if anything can motivate a weary educator to keep climbing (literally or figuratively), it’s the promise of twinkly lights, mince pies, and a socially acceptable excuse to drink Baileys before noon.

 Moral of the Story:
You don’t have to be Mary Wollstonecraft to inspire others. Sometimes, just showing up, strapping in, and hauling your post-holiday behind up a wall is enough.

Now… where’s that countdown app?