Crisis?, Nah, Just Evolving

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.

Welcome back to my little corner of chaos — where caffeine is a food group, glitter is a coping mechanism, and puppies are the emotional support squad. If you’ve ever tried to balance a full-time job, higher education, and a mildly delusional sense of optimism, then pull up a chair — you’re in good company.

You know that saying about making lemonade out of lemons? Well, I’ve become something of a professional citrus juicer at this point.

Between being a Learning Support Assistant extraordinaire and a mature student knee-deep in the world of Elizabeth I, I sometimes feel like I’m living two completely different lives — one in the classroom supporting others to reach their goals, and the other in the library, desperately trying to keep my own essays afloat.

At work, I go the extra mile (and then some). I stay late, I care deeply, I juggle deadlines, paperwork, and pastoral care like an Olympic event. I get the pats on the back, the “we couldn’t do it without you,” and the ever-so-familiar “you’d be perfect for the promotion!” But somehow… that promotion never quite lands. It’s the professional equivalent of dangling a carrot — or maybe a glittery pen — just out of reach.

Still, I keep at it. Because somewhere between the chaos and the caffeine, there’s the real reason I do it: the students. The ones who make me laugh on the worst days, who remind me that what I do matters, who make all the nonsense fade into the background. They’re the highlight, the sparkle, the reason I don’t just throw my planner out the window and move to a cottage by the sea (tempting though that may be).

And when it all gets a bit too much, there are study days. Blissful, quiet (well, quieter) moments where I can swap lesson plans for lecture notes and lose myself in the drama of Elizabethan England — where at least the backstabbing is historically documented.

So here I am: fed up, frazzled, but still fabulous. Surrounded by pups, glitter, and a never-ending to-do list, I'm making the best lemonade I can with the lemons life keeps tossing my way. It’s not glamorous, it’s not easy, but it’s mine — and somehow, it still sparkles.

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.

Ah, a day off from work — or as I like to call it, my “study day.” I’m an FE LSA by trade, a mature student by madness, and a mother and wife in between. Today’s grand plan was to be productive.

Armed with a mountain of notes, a questionable amount of caffeine, and the determination of Cleopatra herself, I’ve spent the morning analysing how the Egyptian queen ended up flogging soap in a Palmolive poster. I mean, this woman bathed in milk — hardly the modern face of moisturising bubbles! Still, I managed to pull together some half-decent thoughts between trips to the loo. (Note to self: six cups of coffee may technically count as hydration, but your bladder disagrees.)

After my 87th walk to the bathroom — hello, 10,000 steps before noon — I switched modules to Mary, Mother of Jesus — quite a gear change. From seductress to saint, I’m not sure my caffeine-addled brain was ready for the contrast.

By mid-afternoon, I was feeling virtuous enough to consider a reward. I typed “book gym session” into my phone, but somehow ended up with “gin session” instead. Honestly, the phone knows me too well.

Still, despite the caffeine shakes and confusion, I’ve actually had a productive day. Cleopatra sold her soap, Mary kept her halo, and I kept my sense of humour — just about.

So yes — I may have spent half the day pacing, over-caffeinated and slightly delirious — but I learned a lot, got my steps in, and somehow managed to laugh my way through it. For a mature student on a study day, that’s what I call success.

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.

Today, I learned that being highly qualified, wildly experienced, and possessing the patience of a caffeinated saint still doesn't count for much if you haven’t ticked the magic box that reads: “Been here long enough to be considered serious.”

Apparently, time served in your current role trumps actual ability to do the job, which is a relief, really, because now I know what to do with all my qualifications: use them to build a small fort and hide in it until the required probationary moon cycle has passed.

Don’t get me wrong — I get it. Rules are rules. But when you're a mature student (translation: running on caffeine, ambition, and the tired you can’t nap your way out of), being told “No, not yet, you haven't been here long enough” feels a little like being grounded… for being too competent.

It’s like turning up to a bake-off with a three-tier Victoria sponge, only to be told, “Lovely cake, but we only judge fairy cakes made on the premises.”

Oh, okay then. I’ll just eat my own cake and stare longingly at the job board.

But here’s the twist (because there’s always a twist, otherwise we’d spiral): Maybe… just maybe… this is a blessing in disguise.

Yes, I said it. Maybe this little career hiccup — this beautifully wrapped parcel of professional rejection — is the universe’s way of whispering, “Oi, focus on your degree, will you? You’ve got dreams to chase, papers to write, and a whole generation of neurodivergent Picassos waiting for you.”

Because that’s the actual goal, right? To become a Special Needs Art Teacher Extraordinaire in FE — helping learners express themselves with glitter, glue, and unapologetic creativity, all while navigating the occasional flying paintbrush and existential crisis.

So while I lick my mildly bruised ego and remind myself not to storm HR with a scroll of my qualifications like Gandalf at a staff meeting, I’m going to breathe, refocus, and trust that my time is coming. Probably just not this Tuesday.

To anyone else out there being told they’re not “long enough in the building” to dream big — hang in there. We may be stuck at the bottom of the ladder, but we’re wearing better shoes and carrying the kind of experience you can’t fake.

Besides, we’re mature students. We’ve done harder things — like figuring out Microsoft Teams without swearing. Mostly.

Until next time, stay caffeinated, stay hopeful, and never let them dull your sparkle (or your CV).

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:

Never trust yourself to do anything before caffeine.

Label your notes like they are radioactive materials.

Your classmates do not need to know you name your plants or have a three-point plan for how to survive an alien invasion.

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.

With Storm Amy howling outside like she’s got a personal grudge against roof tiles, I made the executive decision to stay tucked up indoors, firmly planted under a blanket, flanked by two snoozing dogs, and glued to the spot in front of the fire. At 5 ft 2, there is no way I am risking getting swept off into the sky like some academic Dorothy.

Instead, I have decided the blustery weather is the perfect excuse to dive into something a little less chaotic: my university welcome pack.

Welcome Pack Wonders

I finally had the time (and brain space) to properly flick through the orientation materials – and I have to say, it all started feeling real in the best way. Reading about what’s to come, module breakdowns, support services, and study tips made me feel more excited than nervous. Okay, slightly more excited than nervous.

Material Girl in a Study World

After taking some notes (colour coded, of course – we’re keeping the vibe organised), I made a checklist of everything I’ll need:

Core textbooks (one already ordered, the rest sitting patiently in my cart)

A few academic journal links I’ve bookmarked for later

My trusty day-to-a-page diary, now with post-it flags marking key dates

An unhealthy but necessary amount of highlighters including glitter ones, because let's face it every girls needs some sparkle.

There’s something so satisfying about preparing without the pressure to perform. Just a warm fire, a hot cuppa, and the occasional tail wag thumping against my legs.

Little Wins & Big Feels

Even though I wasn’t knee deep in assignments or lectures today, I still feel accomplished. Sometimes the quiet, slow-paced days are the ones that actually build the strongest foundation. A little reading here, a little planning there ... and suddenly, it all feels less overwhelming.

And hey, if I managed to resist the pull of an afternoon nap with two dogs curled around me like living hot water bottles, I can do anything, right?

Here’s to the calm before the academic storm. And if Amy could chill out too, that’d be great.

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.

So here we are. Week one back at university. As a mature student, I’d like to say it was a breeze – but let’s not lie to ourselves. Between full-time work, running a household, and wrangling with academic referencing (again), it’s been more of a juggling act than a smooth academic re-entry.

Prepping for Success (or at least, survival)

The stationery haul alone was enough to make me feel 10% more ready for this journey. I treated myself to:

A hardback day-per-page diary (absolute game-changer) – one page dedicated to each chapter or lecture. I jot down thoughts, breakdowns (mental and academic), key points, and deadlines. Feels good to physically cross things off.

Highlighters in every shade of pastel – I now have a colour code for everything from citations to “read again with coffee”.

Post-it notes – bright reminders stuck on textbooks, laptops, fridge doors… even the kettle. Wherever I’ll definitely see them.

I even created a folder just for academic journal downloads. Who knew I’d get excited about PDFs titled “A Theoretical Framework for Critical Thinking in Adult Education”?

The Balancing Act

Balancing uni with a full-time job is a bit like trying to eat soup with a fork. Possible… if you have patience, a strategy, and accept that some of it will spill.

I’ve learned to:

Time-block like a boss – Evenings are now divided into dinner, study, and “don’t disturb me unless the house is on fire” hours.

Meal prep on Sundays – because one less decision during the week saves me precious brainpower.

Communicate boundaries – to housemates, partners, pets… everyone needs to know that library-mode is serious business.

The Emotional Rollercoaster

Let’s be real. There were moments this week when I asked myself: “What was I thinking?” Especially while deciphering academic journal jargon after a long workday.

But there were also moments  when I finally cracked a reading that made zero sense at first, where I felt genuinely proud. Not just of being back, but of still wanting to learn. That’s something.

Final Thoughts from a Full Plate

So, yes – I’m tired. The house is messier than usual, and the to do list is longer than a referencing guide. But I’m doing it. We’re doing it. And there's something deeply satisfying in chasing a goal with both hands full.

To all my fellow mature students: keep your highlighters close, your coffee strong, and remember – you’ve already done the hard bit by showing up. The rest? One page, one post-it, one chapter at a time.

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.