Personal Blogs

If anyone ever tells you that going back to university as a mature student is “fun,” please understand they are lying. Not maliciously—just the lying people do when they have blocked out the trauma. Like childbirth. Or marking Year 9 homework.

This week, I found myself knee-deep in TMA2, attempting to wrestle Mary Wollstonecraft’s fiery feminist philosophy into the same brain space as Van Gogh’s ear-related enthusiasm. It’s a lot. There are days I’m not convinced either of them would understand their own theories, let alone the state of my notes.

Speaking of notes…

The Tragedy of the Dying Highlighter

There is no heartbreak quite like the moment your highlighter gives its last, pathetic wheeze of fluorescent life just as you begin what is clearly the most important paragraph in the whole book.

There I was, poised like a scholar-warrior, ready to illuminate history, when—scrape… scrape… nothing.
A cruel, colourless betrayal.

I tried shaking it (scientifically useless).
I tried squeezing it (slightly concerning).
I tried whispering encouraging things at it (definitely concerning).

In the end, I had to resort to reading the same sentence twice—which I’m convinced should count as extra credit.

The Job Offer I Heroically (or Foolishly?) Turned Down

As if TMA2 wasn’t already enough chaos, the universe decided to tempt me with a shiny job offer. A sensible person might have said yes. But there was one problem:

My students.

Those chaotic, wonderful, permanently-in-need-of-a-glue-stick humans mean too much to me. I want to see them cross that finish line—degree, certificate, or “I finally understand how a comma works”—whatever their version of triumph is. So, I turned the job down.

Because apparently, beneath the caffeine shakes and existential dread, I have a heart.

Outdoor Studying: A Cold Mistake

At one point this week, I decided to “get some fresh air” while studying.
A wholesome idea, you might think.

No.

I lasted nine minutes before I was freezing my “bobbies” off and questioning every life choice that led me to that park bench. Even Van Gogh would’ve kept both ears if he’d felt what I felt out there.

I sat there with my coat zipped to my eyeballs, trying to look intellectual as the wind tried to steal my notes, the birds judged me, and I contemplated whether I could get frostbite through denim.

Honestly, if Wollstonecraft had written A Vindication of the Rights of Woman Who Should’ve Stayed Indoors, I’d have understood.

The TMA2 Breakdown (Featuring Hope)

Somewhere between the dead highlighter, the rejected job, the frostbite, and reading the same passage until it tattooed itself on my soul, I had a moment of clarity:

We mature students are unstoppable.
Maybe confused.
Maybe tired.
Definitely cold.
But unstoppable.

We juggle families, jobs, student loans, and the persistent fear that everyone else on the course is 19 and powered entirely by Monster Energy. We keep going anyway.

So here I am, still typing, still caffeinated, and still determined to finish TMA2—even if I have to do it in a blanket fort with a box of emergency highlighters.

And if you, too, are a mature student currently questioning your existence:

You’re not alone.
You’re doing great.
And if Van Gogh can keep painting after everything, then you can absolutely write one more paragraph.

Today has been… a lot. Between the pups turning the house into a WWE ring, three kids all needing something at the exact same moment, and a man-child husband who seems blissfully unaware that I’m running a one-woman circus, I’m currently powered by caffeine, sarcasm, and sheer willpower.

At work, the day went downhill fast. I didn’t get the promotion because apparently, I haven’t been in the job long enough, so I couldn't even apply— yet the person who’s been there longer (and has roughly zero qualifications) did. Of course, I congratulated them with my best “I’m totally fine” smile while mentally drafting my resignation letter. Everyone noticed I wasn’t my usual bubbly self: “What’s wrong?” they asked. Oh, nothing — just me, writing the same sentence in my notes three times because my brain packed its bags and went on strike.

When I finally got home, thinking I could at least collapse in peace… that’s when the squirrel happened. Yes... A squirrel.
Who apparently decided to chase an acorn straight through my back door and into the kitchen. The pups thought it was the greatest moment of their lives. I did not. There I was, chasing it out with a tea towel like some deranged woodland exorcist, shouting, “Not today, Nutkin!” It was chaos — pure, furry chaos.

By the time I reclaimed my kitchen (and what remained of my sanity), I was vexed, tired, and about three seconds from moving into a quiet cabin in the woods — without Wi-Fi, family, or rodents.

So now, I’m collapsing on the couch with Legally Blonde on Netflix, a blanket, and the fragile hope of peace (if the pups don’t start barking at imaginary threats). Here’s to finding calm in the madness — even if it’s just for 90 minutes and a cup of coffee. ☕💗

Ah, the life of a mature student. People think it’s all intellectual debates, neatly highlighted notes, and serene moments of enlightenment. In reality, it’s more lukewarm tea, misplaced pens, and wondering why you ever thought going back to study was a good idea after a full day at work.

Today began like any other — the noble quest to conquer adulthood and academia simultaneously. I spent the morning at work making folders (thrilling stuff), helping students (bless them, though half of them seem to think I’m Google with legs), and trying not to cry into the photocopier. My desk looked like a cross between an admin battlefield and a stationery graveyard.

After surviving the day armed only with caffeine and mild sarcasm, I trudged home, dreaming of my “gourmet” dinner — lovingly prepared by my husband: a chicken burger and oven chips. Michelin-star chefs could never. He even made me a cup of tea to go with it, because nothing says “I love you” like a well-timed brew.

As I sat down to eat, our dogs came bounding over like furry missiles of affection. In their enthusiasm to say hello, one launched herself into my lap, and the tea went flying; my beautiful burger took a nosedive into the cup. So now I had tea-flavoured chicken and chip-infused regret. The dogs looked delighted, of course — they thought it was performance art.

Outside, the weather matched my mood: cold, grey, and generally unhelpful. I gave up on salvaging dinner, put the kettle on...again, and decided the universe was clearly telling me to have an early night.

No studying tonight. No guilt. Just pyjamas, a blanket, and the faint smell of damp chips lingering in the air. Tomorrow, I’ll refocus. I’ll be productive. I’ll tackle my to-do list like the mature, organised student I pretend to be.

But tonight? Tonight, I’m just a tired human with soggy dinner memories and tea stains on my socks.

Here’s to all the mature students out there — juggling work, study, and life’s little disasters. May your folders stay neat, your dogs stay calm, and your tea stay safely in its cup. ☕🐾

They say Cleopatra bathed in milk. I bathe in Palmolive — and cold panic the night before an essay’s due.

When I signed up to study Art and Cleopatra, I expected drama, romance, and power struggles… not an existential reflection in the toiletries aisle at Tesco. But there I was, clutching a bottle of Palmolive and wondering: Would the Queen of the Nile have approved?

I mean, it’s olive oil–infused, so it sounds suitably regal. “Palmolive,” I whisper, imagining Cleopatra’s marketing slogan:

“For when you want to conquer empires and still smell fabulous.”

As a mature student, I’m starting to see a lot of myself in Cleopatra — minus the throne, the servants, and, well… Mark Antony. She was juggling empires; I’m juggling deadlines, laundry, and the overwhelming urge to nap during my online lectures. She charmed Roman generals; I’m trying to charm my printer into working before a 9 a.m. submission.

Cleopatra ruled Egypt with intelligence and flair. I rule my kitchen table with caffeine and sheer willpower. She spoke nine languages; I can barely talk to Microsoft Word without it freezing. And yet, in the quiet chaos of late-night study sessions, I like to think we’d understand each other — two women just trying to hold it all together in a world run by men who think they know best.

So here’s to Cleopatra, the original multitasking queen — and to all of us mature students, ruling our own little kingdoms with notebooks instead of papyrus scrolls and Palmolive instead of milk baths.

History might not repeat itself, but it definitely rhymes… and sometimes, it smells like olive oil, ambition, and just a hint of exhaustion.

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.

you know what's romantic in theory?... A rainy day.
You know what's slightly less romantic in practice? A rainy day when you’re behind on coursework, your highlighters are on strike, and your 5-kilo dogs have decided your lap is now their full time residence.

Today’s study session started with real ambition. I made coffee, lit a candle (because adulting with ambiance is still adulting), and opened my laptop like a focused academic warrior. Within 90 seconds, one dog had claimed my lap like a Victorian fainting couch, and the other was busy rearranging my highlighters with her nose. For feng shui, obviously.

Meanwhile, the rain outside wasn’t exactly helping. The soft pitter-patter on the window was less “motivational study soundtrack” and more “why don’t we all curl up and pretend the real world doesn’t exist?” My dogs were very on board with that plan. One is currently burrowed into a blanket with the intensity of someone evading tax fraud.

And yet...there’s something kind of perfect about it all.
Sure, I’m trying to commit adult level content to a brain that still forgets why it walked into the kitchen.
Yes, my dogs are treating my lap like a chaise lounge in a Parisian spa.
And fine, I did just realize I highlighted an entire paragraph in pink and yellow and now it looks like a popsicle meltdown.

But I'm learning...
They're cozy...
The rain is doing its moody background soundtrack thing.
And honestly? It feels like a little moment of calm in the middle of adult life chaos.

So if you're also an adult learner today, with a pile of notes, a cup of coffee going cold, and two tiny dogs supervising your study session from your knees, know that you're doing amazing. Your dogs believe in you. (Well, they believe you might open the fridge soon. But still.)

Keep going. Rainy days were made for focus, fluff, and forgiving yourself for re-reading the same paragraph four times.

Studying is hard. Tiny dogs make it better. Rain makes it cozy. And yes, naps happen.

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.