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. 😂

Well, that’s it. First year completed.

Honestly, if someone had told me twelve months ago that I would survive university life while juggling two dogs, three children, marriage, advocacy work for SEN students, a memoir manuscript, unpredictable weather patterns, and approximately seventeen emotional breakdowns over assignment deadlines, I probably would have laughed politely before going back to reorganising my stationery drawer.

And yet, here we are.

I have somehow made it through the first year as a mature student, although not entirely unchanged. I’m definitely wiser, considerably more tired, and perhaps a few pounds heavier thanks to stress-snacking my way through essay season. At this point, I’m convinced mature students should receive honorary medals alongside their grades — preferably delivered with coffee and a week of uninterrupted sleep.

This year has genuinely felt like studying inside a tornado. One minute I was confidently colour-coding lecture notes with what began as three sensible highlighters and somehow escalated into five “essential shades,” and the next minute I was outside revising during the May heatwave, getting spectacularly sunburnt while pretending I had my life together. Who expects to be burnt alive in Britain in May? Certainly not me. I started the afternoon looking like an academic and ended it resembling an exhausted tomato, questioning every decision I’ve made since enrolling.

The weather alone deserves its own degree. I’m fairly certain I experienced all four seasons walking to lectures some mornings. Add in two dogs who firmly believe laptops are simply heated beds designed specifically for them, and it’s remarkable any assignments were submitted at all.

Then, of course, comes the annual tradition every student dreads: choosing next year’s modules. Nothing quite humbles you like reading module descriptions that sound both intellectually fascinating and emotionally catastrophic at the same time. I’ve spent weeks trying to decide whether I should challenge myself academically or simply pick whichever lecturer seems least likely to upload twenty-seven readings the night before class.

Still, somewhere amongst the chaos, something remarkable happened this year too.

My memoir is finished.

Not half-finished. Not “almost there.” Completely written and currently in print with publishers, which still feels surreal to say aloud. A true survival-against-all-odds memoir written during late nights, early mornings, school runs, assignments, family life, and those moments where giving up would have been the easier option. Looking back now, I honestly don’t know how it all fitted into one year.

Actually, that seems to be the biggest lesson I’ve learnt from this experience. You never really “fit it all in.” You simply learn how strong you are when life gives you no alternative.

Being a mature student is very different from the romanticised university experience people imagine. Many of us arrive carrying entire lives alongside our backpacks. I’m not just a student. I’m a wife, a mother of three, an advocate for SEN students, a dog owner, a writer, and a woman trying to build something meaningful while still remembering to buy milk and answer emails. Some days it has felt less like balancing responsibilities and more like performing circus tricks while on fire.

What have I learnt from juggling everything?

Possibly nothing practical.

I still leave assignments later than I should.
I still buy unnecessary stationery, believing it will magically transform me into an organised academic goddess.
I still underestimate reading lists and overestimate how much coffee one human can safely consume.

But I have learnt that resilience does not always look graceful. Sometimes resilience looks like submitting coursework five minutes before the deadline while reheating forgotten tea for the third time. Sometimes it looks like advocating fiercely for others while quietly doubting yourself. Sometimes it simply looks like getting up again the next morning and continuing anyway.

And despite the exhaustion, despite the chaos, despite feeling permanently one notification away from collapse, there have been moments this year where I’ve genuinely felt a bit like Superwoman.

A slightly overwhelmed Superwoman with sunburn, too many highlighters, and a suspicious addiction to buying notebooks she doesn’t technically need — but Superwoman nonetheless.

So here’s to surviving first year.

To the mature students balancing families, responsibilities, careers, neurodiversity advocacy, finances, pets, and life itself whilst still showing up to learn something new. We may not look polished doing it, but we’re doing it anyway.

And honestly, that feels like an achievement worth celebrating.

Studying this time around started beautifully.
You know the kind of start that makes you feel like this is it, this is the version of you who has it all figured out.

The schedule? Worked to a tee.
Pens? Lined up like soldiers.
Highlighters? Full, vibrant, obedient.
Clear sticky notes? Transparent optimism.
Work? Fine. Manageable. Even enjoyable.

I was that mature student. The one who thought, “Look at me, balancing life, learning, and colour-coded stationery.”

And then… life laughed.

Not a gentle chuckle. A full-bodied, theatrical cackle.

Because suddenly, everything happened at once.

There was the colleague—the snake-like variety. The kind who lies with a smile, manipulates with confidence, and shines themselves up by quietly trying to dull everyone else. The kind that makes you question your own competence while they sharpen their narrative.

Then the phone call no one is ready for: my father, in the hospital, massive heart attack, emergency surgery. The world tilts. Perspective snaps into place whether you’re ready or not.

As if that wasn’t enough, a visit to see the adoption files followed. The kind of visit that knocks you for six. The kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew about your own story, your own roots, your own truth. The emotional hangover from that doesn’t politely clear overnight.

Meanwhile, my 12-year-old—brilliant, sensitive, struggling—needed appointments. Severe panic attacks. Autism assessments. Forms, waiting lists, advocacy, fighting for the support he deserves so he can breathe a little easier in his own world.

Then came my own ill health. The quiet kind that creeps up until you’re forced to admit you need to stop. Time off work. Not optional. Necessary. To protect my mental health.

So naturally, I rested.

By which I mean…
I decorated the entire house. Top to bottom.

Because apparently I cannot sit still, even when ordered to by my own body.

Finally—finally—I sit down to study. I’m ready. Focused. Determined.

And that’s when my trusty pen gives up the ghost.
Three best highlighters? Dry. All of them.
TM03? Not my favourite topics.

Honestly, if life had a sense of timing, this was comedic perfection.

But here’s the thing they don’t tell you about being a mature student:
resilience doesn’t look tidy.

It doesn’t look like perfect schedules and uninterrupted study blocks.
It looks like showing up anyway.
It looks like reading through exhaustion.
It looks like submitting work while holding everyone else together.
It looks like continuing to care—deeply—about being the best version of yourself, even when chaos is shouting for your attention.

Because in the middle of all of this, I’m still focused.
Still resolved.
Still learning—not just academically, but emotionally.

I’m still committed to helping those around me succeed, especially the EHCP students I support every day. Still modelling perseverance. Still proving that progress doesn’t require perfection—just persistence.

So if you’re a mature student staring at a dead pen, an overwhelming module, and a life that refuses to slow down, know this:

You’re not failing.
You’re living.
And you’re still standing.

Even if your highlighters aren’t.

And tomorrow?
I’ll buy new pens.