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.)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

They say life is a journey, and sometimes, the path we take isn't the one we originally planned. For most of my life, I didn’t think I’d be sitting here, typing these words as a mature student, returning to university to study a BA (Honours) in Arts and Humanities. But life has a funny way of revealing new paths, and after years of working, reflecting, and growing, I’ve decided to take the plunge toward a career in education and becoming a teacher in further education (FE).

You might be wondering what brings someone my age back to the lecture halls and the student grind. The answer? Passion. A love for learning that has never truly left me, despite the years spent working in other fields. It’s funny how sometimes, what we loved as children can become the seed for what we want to do later in life. For me, that seed was always in the arts, literature, history, philosophy and now, I’m finally pursuing that dream.

But it’s more than just a personal ambition. It’s about giving back, sharing what I’ve learned, and guiding the next generation of learners to discover their own passions. I’ve spent years in the workforce, working with people from all walks of life, and it has given me a deep appreciation for the transformative power of education. Now, I want to be the one who helps others find their own paths, just as I’ve been fortunate enough to do.

Returning to university at this stage in life can feel like a daunting challenge, but it’s also incredibly exciting. There’s a certain freedom in stepping outside of the box, leaving behind expectations and embracing a fresh start. I know there will be moments of doubt, moments when I’ll question if I’m “too old” or if I’ve made the right choice, but I’ve learned that growth rarely happens when we stay comfortable.

So, here I am: embarking on a new chapter. A chapter full of reading, writing, discovering new ideas, and ultimately teaching others. If you’re also thinking about going back to study or making a big life change, I hope my journey will show you that it’s never too late to follow your passion.

Thanks for joining me on this adventure. Let’s see where it takes us.