Now that I've graduated

I'm so grateful for having been born in a country with accessible education. When I started university in 2018, I had an image in my mind of where I wanted to be in five or ten years time, and I saw further education as a chance to pursue those dreams, and to escape from all the things I'd been through the years prior.

Throughout school, I'd taken a major interest in Japan and Korea. Me, my family and my friends had spent countless days talking about an anime we were watching, or a new kpop music video, and our favourite groups. It had become such a huge part of our identities in our little North Eastern town that we'd fanticised about the day we'd speak Japanese or Korean, and when we'd move abroad and live beautiful, free lives on the other side of the world. University had been the key to this. I was well aware that growing up in poverty meant that I couldn't rely on family to provide for me financially. At only 11 or 12 years old, I'd reached the conclusion that my dream life would mean going to univeristy to study languages, and then to teach English once I had my degree. I narrowed in on this career path so closely, not giving myself the chance to explore another option. Even though I'd almost failed my French A Level, and I hadn't particularly enjoyed my language classes, and even though I'd quickly fallen in love with psychology through the classes I'd taken throughout my highschool experience, I was still set on fulfilling my dream. By the time I was preparing to go off to uni, I'd had major rejections from the courses I'd applied to, and I'd fallen out with both my highschool friends. All I had in mind at this time was to go to university and to start my life again, from scratch. I was offered a place on a foundation course, and without too much thought, I took it.

My university experience overall was incredibly bumpy. The first year was the best year of my life. I made lifelong friends, had amazing experiences, and my confidence blossomed. I really felt like myself for the first time in my life. I managed to get good grades, and proved to myself that I could be successful in academics, even when things were difficult. I, who had often been viewed as dependent and childlike, had the energy and means to express myself freely, to succeed, and to maintain a lifestyle that somewhat echoed that of an adult.

At the end of my foundation year, my list of successes was long. I reflected on it as my moment of evolution and, heading into the first official year of my course, had expected my preceeding years at university to be just as exciting and fulfilling. As I began my course, I had chosen Japanese as my language, and immediately struggled. I wasn't aware of it at first, and had the means to catch up, but as time passed, I had been too reliant on a hopeful future where I would become intentional with my studies. I had begun to crumble under the pressure. Attempting to maintain momentum, I'd entered a singing competition, asked a classmate out on a date, and found a place on an internship. What followed was a much deeper-rooted problem that reared its ugly head for the first time; I was becoming increasingly anxious. The house me and my friends had chosen to live in was chosen based on the price only-we were all struggling to get by. Before long, our landlord had made sure we regretted out decision. From faulty boilers to protruding ceilings, the problems were endless, and communication with the landlord was a mess. It wouldn't be long before the company went under. The stresses of school with the added mess of the flat, however, would pale in comparison to the implications of COVID. I had already began to lose myself. My anxiety had developed into a full-blown eating disorder, and I had began to cry about the prospect of going to class, as the social interaction felt unbearable, like I had a secret in my depression, and by just being present, I would erupt into a ball of emotions. The thought of missing classes for the degree that I loved so dearly broke my heart, and I began punishing myself with guilt, as if I had chosen to ruin my own life.

The arrival of online classes became a false friend. What had initially excited us became a burden, as me and my international friends were separated over fears of closing borders. I was forced to get the train home, and to leave the house empty. This had not been the continuation of my new and exciting university life as I had hoped. Before long, the financial struggles of home had crippled my parents, as they'd been forced to close their business, and as we painfully awaited governmental support, my mental illness had spiraled out of control. Bouts of intense depression, chronic anxiety, and regular panic attacks with very physical symptoms had plagued me. My beautiful family home in a small village became a noose, as I had no access to the outside world, and my family struggled to pay their mortgage. Many pivotal yet traumatising conversations took place over the heartbreak of childhood trauma, and how I alone was suffering through my crippling struggles, with a family that fumbled their response with prideful anguish. It had become difficult to balance consideration and resentment. Medication and counselling was a shining beacon in the depths of struggle. No fear could be greater than completely losing oneself.

Eventually, the opportunity had come to go back to university and begin another year. In September 2020, I had taken this chance and welcomed it with a weary heart. I was aware things would not be perfect, but took the opportunity out of desperation. This began the worst year of my life. Again, I started the year with attempts to become more involved and to boost my motivation; I had become the secretary of the Japanese society. I had tried my best to enagage, but I was finding it difficult, and had taken time off, even when I had nothing else to do. The more time passed, and the more isolated I had felt, the closer to breakdown I became. I began to develop frequent nocturnal panic attacks, which would wake me in the early hours of the morning with a racing, pounding heart, and confusing sensations over my skin, or the feeling that I would faint. My eating disorder resulted in weight gain and low self-image, as I could no longer feel comfortable eating food cooked by myself to any capacity, and so relied on takeaway. Sugar and fastfood became my only restbite. My experience during COVID has, even to this day, affected the ways in which I deal with stress and overstimulation.

Over this time I had become increasingly aware of the likelihood of me having ADHD. I had become introduced to the idea from someone's story on a podcast, and have been convinced ever since. After discussing matters over the last few years with my family, my sister has now been suggested by a psychiatric professional in Taiwan (in a professional capacity) that she very likely has ADHD, which is as close to diagnosis as any of us have gotten. I had hoped to rely on my own finances in the future to get myself a private diagnosis, rather than rely on an NHS waiting list, however it seems much more feasible now, a few years later, since I am still nowhere near the financial situation to pay out the cost for official diagnosis. But, as is the nature of the disease, I had never quite gotten around to it.

After a scary breakdown, I had looked into dropping out of university for the year and coming back when I had more control. I was informed that as I'd already completed a semester, to drop out at this point would mean I would have had to pay the fees for that semester upfront. With this not being a viable option, I continued to struggle through the year. By the end of it all, I'd missed a semester of online classes, and failed to do 3 of my modules, having horrible grades for 2 more. Devastated that I would have to give up my dream degree, I called the student finance organisation in the UK, and discovered I had another year of funding available to me in case something like this where to happen. So, after letting the relief wash over me, I moved towards deferring a year so that I could finish year 2 when I got back.

The prospect of taking a year out of education for the first time in my life was really scary. I felt like I was really losing control, and didn't know what it would be like spending a whole year at home. I didn't know if I'd cope being away from my friends as they moved on with their lives, or if I'd be able to get a job in the small area we lived in. Additionally, I went through some inner turmoil as I assessed wether pursuing Japanese made sense to me anymore. I'd struggled with it so much, and had realised that the image I'd had in mind of going to Japan during my degree for my year abroad wasn't feasible, unless I managed to make £10k in my year away and to magically heal all my ailments. After realising the pressure wasn't necessary, I chose to drop Japanese from my degree title, and had to overcome a sort of identity shift. Although disappointing, this process allowed me to think much more about my career options, and who I was going to be in the future. I thought about my strengths, my weaknesses, and the things I believed would keep me going in a workplace. I looked at all the possible jobs that aligned with my interests. This process really did something for me. After looking at careers, I had realised that, if I could do anything at all, it made the most sense for me to work with children. I wanted to find a role where I could be helpful, but I also wanted to do something where I could be creative, and empathetic, and to do something that would allow me to provide emotional support to those who needed it. After realising I had a personal interest in the growth, development, and emotional health of children, I realised I had opened up the working world to myself, and set my mind to moving towards these careers. Pediatric therapy, counselling, teaching, social work and other related careers seemed appealing, no matter where I looked. I had even begun to consider the prospect of changing my degree into something related, like childhood studies, but this wasn't feasible either. So, I made the decision to finish my degree, and to get as much experience as I could in the meantime. Then, I would concentrate on my options after I had graduated, which still felt so far away.

I knew I had to do something constructive with my time out of uni or else risk losing my mind, and so eventually managed to get a customer service job at a heritage site in the UK. I was working under a charity, however they paid me a living wage equal to those in a higher wage bracket, and they kept me for six months, until the month I was due to return to univeristy. The shock of being let go felt huge, even though I'd informed them I'd be returning to study; I had made amazing friends and grown my confidence massively over my period of work, and had hoped to retain my job so that I had somewhere to make money when I came back home for breaks. In hindsight, this didn't make much sense for me or them, but at the time it had felt like this world I had become so comfortable in was crashing down. Before long, however, things would begin to ease up, as I started studying again, and gained my second chance.

The first month of university, I had chosen to take a holiday with my parents to Turkey. The result of the hard feelings I had experienced from being cut loose from my job had altered my mental state. I struggled with the idea that many of the staff member, many of them much older than me, would no longer be a part of my life anymore. The stress had caused me to have a seizure on the plane. This was the first time I'd ever had this experience, although I do receive stress incredibly poorly, and fainting is not alien to me when under high levels of stress. Despite this, we had continued onwards, and the trip had been the worst of my life. My anxiety had been constant and intense, causing arguments and dissociation. I had never been so happy to return to England. This blip in my mental fortitude was a concern, but I went ahead with university anyway. My first semester rather uneventful with a half-packed year, my second semester gave me the opportunity to re-enagage with something, and turned the tides on my mood. I began to feel much more myself, and felt the clouds beginning to slowly lift. By the end of the year, which had passed much more quietly, I had managed to do well in my assignments for the most part.

Sadly, in May of 2023, my grandmother had passed away. She had been and always will be an important figure in my life. When my parents had struggled financially and couldn't support me, my grandma had always stepped in. She had provided an unimaginable amount of support to me at university that had kept me going, and the news of her deterioration had been sudden. I was able to scramble home to pay her a visit in the hospital before her passing, which I am eternally grateful for. I feel emotional every time I think about that moment. If there was one thing I would've loved, it would've been allowing her to see me finish my degree. My university granted me some extra time to finish my assignments, which was very much appreciated, and I successfully managed to complete my second year at university. I had been able to build a little momentum in time for my last year.

My final year of uni was my most successful since my first. Although pressured by the increased difficulty and the weight on each assignment, I had shockingly managed to hand every assignment in on time, something which had never happened before. The majority of my grades had been good, too, and I was proud of everything I produced. I even managed to get myself a job, even though I had applied at a strange time and had to quit to focus on my studies after only three weeks. It wasn't perfect, but the comparison was incedible- in only a few short years, I'd turned over a new leaf. I was off my medication, and still managing to stay above water. My anxiety had been greatly reduced. Progress has not been entirely linear, however I had managed to submit an 8000 word dissertation, researched by myself, alongside everything else I had to do. I even managed to take up some ad-hoc shifts at nurseries to gain work experience with children, which helped greatly with my poor finances. I had shocked myself with the ways my independence had blossomed, and I'm still looking back at myself proudly. Despite the other issues I have faced this year, including moving back home when I ran out of money, I managed to get myself a 2:1 in my degree, and that is something I am eternally proud of and grateful for. In a perfect world, my degree would have been first class, and I would never have dropped Japanese. I would have studied only four years, would've taken a year abroad, and would likely have been preparing for moving to Japan at this stage. Six years since starting my degree, non of these details matter. What is important is what I've achieved, and what I choose to do next. What are my goals now that I've done what I set out to do? New struggles begin to develop in place of the old ones. Hopefully I've built enough momentum to continue my successes.

For my next steps, I'm applying for an apprenticeship in childcare. I'll either work in a nursery, or as a teaching assistant. My plan is to get experience and make money so that I can prepare for my application to a masters degree course, and to work as a pediatric therapist in either occupational or speech and language therapy. Things may change with time, but I have hopes that regardless of my route, I will manage to succeed.

I think the biggest thing I've learned during this time is how resiliant I really am. When you come across barriers whilst you're doing something difficult, it can sometimes feel like the most sensible and rational response is to let go. Sometimes giving up on the things that you really want is a rational response to stress in order to free yourself from an overwhelming and unnecessary amount of strain. This is why I gave up on learning Japanese. Despite this, it's important to recognise how much time we have in life to achieve the things that make us feel successful, and that these things are constantly changing. My dream job, my interests and my short-term goals, even my sense of identity completely changed during my degree. Not only did it change, but it also fluctuated depending on the pressures I was under. It was important for me to remember that the "me" that emerges under pressure, when depressed or when anxious, is only a small fraction of me, and isn't at all a reflection of my character. It's a reflection simply of my humanity, and a representation of living a life that wasn't appropriate for me. Although explaining to others that my degree was six years long rather than three can feel a little frustrating, it will never be perceived in the ways that it truly represents, and as my story belongs to me, I don't mind that at all.