Reposting for those finishing university and graduating. Similarly this post is for those preparing for university right now. I'm sure you're all applying for student accommodation and preparing for the adventure ahead. This is merely my experience of university. I don't want to deter or worry you. All experiences are different and, should you start uni and feel lost, you're not alone.
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It's done.
It's over.
I've finished university.
Ok, sure, I've not officially graduated yet but as of about a week ago I've submitted the last piece of university work
ever. I feel as if I'm still recovering. Is it...really over?
I'd like to take a moment to reflect on this long journey with you if you will allow me this small indulgence.
When I was a little girl my Dad took me to meet J.K Rowling at a book signing. The world of Harry Potter had utterly enchanted me and quickly become my favourite book series at the time and they are books that I still hold dear. I recall my brief moment in front of J.K Rowling, her tired smile after having signed hundreds of books, and holding the newly released copy of The Goblet of Fire in my stubby hands.
That was the moment I realised I wanted to be a writer. In fact, to this day, if you open up my copy of The Goblet of Fire you'll see J.K Rowling written in bold, black ink and my name scrawled in messy handwriting beneath it, an inked aspiration of my desire to be an author.
With this dream still in mind I applied to universities that offered specific modules in creative writing that focused on the creation of fiction rather than journalism or strictly scriptwriting and writing for screen only. I have previously I considered pursuing law like my mother had. Well... I was partly inspired by my mother, partly inspired by Legally Blonde. At the time I loved the idea of going into criminal law. After three days of work experience in the wonderful world of litigation I decided against it. I came to realise that most law isn't exciting and wild. It's filing paperwork and boring cases.
Huddersfield offered the course I was interested in doing and was close to Leeds with events of the music subculture I was deeply rooted in. Arriving at the University of Huddersfield to complete my degree in English with Creative Writing, I was more than ready to plunge myself into the realm of academia. Sitting in a lecture theatre for the first time felt exhilarating. I had hopes of becoming a teacher of English literature when I began the course. I was more than ready to surround myself with like-minded folk and open my mind to explore the depths of human conciousness and challenge myself. Sadly it wasn't as easy as I'd hoped.
In first year the grades we received didn't count and so the shiny, impressive grades that I did receive meant nothing. Similarly the mediocre grades I received posed no threat. It was a year of jumping through
hoops and meeting deadlines to prove that we were able to continue on to the next academic stage. This was a good year for my growth in many ways. I moved across the country. Pushing myself into halls I was excited to meet new people and to search out the so called 'student experience'. Storthes Hall was the student accommodation for me: like my family home it was surrounded by forest. Set in the middle of nowhere I expected a nice, quiet home where I could study and go on long walks on the weekend. Unfortunately if you isolate students and give them the privacy to make as much noise and mess as they can... they will. I lived with eight other people and yet I'd never felt so alone. I eventually caved and bought pets to have a friendly face to come home to. That's when I bought my three rats: Mekare, Maharet and Rabies. This was the only year I had exams which I really studied hard for despite the fact the grades for them wouldn't contribute to my overall degree. Focusing on my key interest, creative writing, I tried to remain positive. The first year of creative writing as a subject was a strange experience. Many approach writing as something very personal that they've created and to share it is to leave yourself open for criticism on something very personal. Writing had to be done to weekly deadlines, a forced creation made solely for classroom criticism. Work would be returned with the arbitrary yet ever popular motto: show don't tell, but always without explanation of what it meant or how to do this. Writing began to feel like something formulaic, something simply to be criticised, where the joy of writing itself had been taken. It may be the first instance where aspiring writers show their work and receive criticism and have had no prior experience of such a process. We had one tutor who I shan't name who was notoriously awful. There was once a two hour seminar in which the tutor told us to write a scene with a character we'd previously created waiting to meet someone at a speed dating event. Then he left the seminar room for about 20 minutes. Then he came back in and told us to create a new character and bring them into the situation for the speed dating, someone who the first character didn't like and thus created some tension. Again, he vanished for about half an hour, and we sat and wrote wondering what the point to all this was. Over the next hour or so he kept doing this. He'd simply pop up and say 'Now have a new character come into the scene and interrupt them' before running off. At the end of the seminar, when he asked us what we thought the point of the exercise was, someone piped up saying it had been pointless and the characters he had put together would never be in that situation in real life.
'Aha!' the tutor exclaimed 'that is the point of the lesson'
Then once more he vanished, the lesson was over.
Yes. This actually happened. At university.
It didn't shock us that he didn't return to the staff the following year.
First year was good, but very challenging. I was doing modules I'd never done before. We would study everything from literary theory to speech therapy foundation skills. At this point, because there was little stress, I found enjoyable. It was a challenge but I found myself able to cope with it.
Second year was Hellish. In fact half way through second year I considered dropping out completely. I started to wonder if I was on the wrong course and doubted my place at university at all. I began to realise that I was out of my comfort zone. Academia was never my thing and I found myself wondering why I decided to put myself back into the realm of education and essays. My confidence began to dwindle and soon I found myself unable to even speak in seminars. I went from the girl who studied Theatre Studies at A Level and performed daily to someone that sat at the back terrified of saying the wrong thing.
The only reason I stayed was knowing that I didn't want to be the girl who decided to quit half way. I certainly didn't want to disappoint my parents either. I knew if I quit then I'd hold the shame forever. Hell, if I was already half way there that was half the battle fought. I went through some sort of small emotional breakdown I'd rather not discuss fully. Eventually I found myself not caring about work until the very last minute. I received no help, no special treatment, no deadline extensions. I wish I'd said something and maybe asked for help and extensions. How else would they have known I was drowning in my own fears? I remember having minor worries I now recognise as small panic attacks and my sleep pattern was eventually totally messed up. I did well enough in second year, but not as great as I could have done. In creative writing we looked at script-writing which was certainly new and interesting. Creative writing was the only module I enjoyed or even felt a spark of confidence in but during my first and second years my tutors didn't like my work. The grading for the creative writing portfolios often seemed arbitrary. How exactly does one grade something so open to opinion? The critical and cultural theory module was fascinating but I was perpetually unable to articulate my thoughts in class. Renaissance poetry and the Romantics were modules I suffered through. None of this study, it felt, would ever benefit me later in life. I had abandoned my dreams of teaching for fear of a total loss of sanity; the last thing I wanted in life was more grades and exam papers floating around my conciousness.
In third year I was desperate to improve my grades and found myself getting firsts and 2:1 grades. I tackled a dissertation and regained my confidence in creative writing. Academia forces us to look at art through a specific lens, to jump through hoops, to gain marks. To judge any form of art to a grading scheme seems arcane. What is artistic and beautiful to one person may be a hopeless travesty to another. Take my third year writing portfolio, for example: I wrote a story filled with violence, inappropriate sex scenes and a barrel-load of swear words.
It received top marks.
In fact it was this moment that I deem so important to my education. It was a story I had written because I wanted to do something different. The module itself was concerned with experiments in narrative. My confidence had slowly been torn down, my passion for writing sinking with it. All it took was one zany tutor to re-build my lost hope. His praise and encouragement for my third year portfolio got me writing again. Without him I would probably not have started blogging or even writing again. He made me believe my work was worth publishing. He reignited a dream I thought had burned out. The story in question is an experimental piece I wrote called 'One' which I'll be seeking publication for this summer. This year, apart from in creative writing modules, my confidence hasn't grown much. In fact the other day I had a horrible string of panic attacks over the simple completion and reading of a conference paper. I still can't speak up in class, still find myself with feelings of severe anxiety and inferiority. I'm not sure where this sudden crippling anxiety came from when it was never present at any previous stage of my education.
To this day I've never failed an exam, I've never missed a university deadline. I do, however, feel that university has somewhat damaged my confidence. At Sixth Form College I was the girl in Theatre Studies lessons who would gladly get up and perform before an audience, in English class I spoke through many presentations, I was the girl who would often speak her mind in class. Since coming to university I've become that person at the back with their lips sewn shut, raising their hand once every now and then for some input when I can give it so that the tutor is less likely to call on me later for being previously silent. I've hardly been able to engage with seminar discussions. Before university I don't think I had ever had a panic attack. Being surrounded by those with more confidence and intelligence than me created a shrivelled wallflower of me; voiceless and defeated I struggled.
There are days when I question why I came to university, specifically for a literature course. I have a really short attention span when it comes to reading. I enjoy reading, it's true, but I struggle with it. It takes such dedication and commitment to settle down and focus on a book. My mind is too easily distracted to commit wholeheartedly to a book. A course where I'd have to read to deadlines, whole novels and epic poems for around four modules a week, was a reality I was all too disillusioned with once my education at university began.
Since the start of university some friendly faces have vanished either from quitting the course or dropping back a year. Some people have changed/tweaked their modules. Not all of us who stood in the Creative Arts Building back in 2010 will reach the finish line together but I'm glad to know I'll be graduating with my friends. We've worked hard to get here and I'm sure for all of us there will be a shared sense of pride.
I may sound awfully pessimistic, but I promise you it's not all bad. I do have very mixed emotions about this time of my life but I have come to learn a lot. What I have gained from university is some wonderful friends and contacts. What I have learned about creative writing has been invaluable. Do I wish I never came to university? Sometimes. But I remind myself that I shall go on to be a better writer because of what I've learned here. Sure - it may mean that only six modules will have benefited my future career path as a writer. There are days where I wish I had simply taken a creative writing course. My hope is that having a degree will help me to secure a good graduate job somewhere so that I can work whilst I write. I've also met such wonderful friends and made some great connections here suggesting that it is the people we meet that shape the university experience. If I never came to university I wouldn't have had the chance to work with a radio station for the three years I've been here. I wouldn't have written some of the stories or poetry that will hopefully be published some day. I would have missed out on so many friends and the things they themselves have taught me. My education wasn't simply what appeared in the lecture theatres at the university; I have learned so much more about myself during this process. I was given an opportunity to examine my weaknesses and consider my strengths. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel on the matter. Perhaps I'll never have a settled opinion. I'm currently looking forward to leaving my student life behind and moving onto what lies beyond. I've been a student all my life until now. I want to take my degree, find myself a graduate job and work whilst using my creative writing skills to finish a novel and a few collections of stories and poetry by the end of the year.
It's only now that it is over that I can feel how much I've learned. University has really opened my mind to a lot of things and given me some wonderful opportunities. I've made wonderful friends and explored part of the country I had only previously heard of. There was a lot of stress and sadness during the process but I am confident in the knowledge that it has made me a better person.
My advice to anyone considering university is to give real thought to the decision. This is something you will spend several years of your life doing. It will test you. It must, therefore, be something worth committing to and only you can decide how much worth it is to you. Many of us go to university because we're not sure what we'd do otherwise, it may seem logical for the job we want to do or everyone around us is suggesting it as the path for us. The only person who should decide your university education for you is
you.
If you're part way through your higher education and having doubts or worries, remember it's not just you...
If your happiness and mental health are seriously at risk then don't feel bad about dropping out if that's what you really need to do. You could even speak to the university and see about taking a year out or getting help specific to your needs. It is imperative to ensure that you get the most out of the university experience.
Ultimately, the decision is yours. I simply urge you to think through the decision. It may be the best and most influential period of your life, but it could also be a time of trials and regret. Just ensure to be careful in your decisions. I hope that if you choose to study it brings you the keys to unlock your future. If you choose to not study I wish you the same.
To all the students graduating this year - congratulations! You did it! I hope whatever lies ahead brings you great joy and that you never forget this process. I hope you got as much out of this time as possible and that it benefits your future. To all those considering a place at university I simply urge you to question whether the course, or university itself, is right for
you and your goals.
This was a long post. Kudos to anyone who stuck with it.
Thank you, blog-ghosts.
I remember telling my family I was getting a 2:1, a higher grade than I'd honestly expected. I'd felt a lot of trepidation and self doubt. I sat in the car, trying not to say anything to my mother to let the secret slip. I wanted to tell all of my family together. When I did there were hugs, a bottle of champagne was brought in and it began to really sink in. I'd done it.
