As I write this, my phone is falling apart, and my laptop has given up on me. In the middle of submission season, I had a carbon monoxide scare, and the power went out the evening of one of my deadlines. It feels poetic in a way, difficult and strange, but weirdly representative of my university and degree experience.
If you asked me three years ago what my expectations of university were, I would have given you some spiel about travelling with friends and attending extracurricular events and fairs. I thought I would feel proud by the end of it, that I’d have some elaborate future set up for myself that included ownership of a cosy three-bed cottage in North Wales.
I know I should feel proud, I want to, but I feel a deep dread and uncertainty, a low hum of guilt about something I can’t quite name. Have I made a mistake, ruined my life, because I pursued the one thing I was always praised for?
Growing up, I was a ‘gifted’ child, a shy girl who loved to read and write, and at that moment in time, could do so better than most of her classmates. I was attentive, curious, and most importantly, I was good. A pleasure to have in class, a role model to her peers. It made sense to keep going, to choose what I was best at, to pick the GCSEs, the A-levels, the degree that harnessed my strengths.
Without sounding too much like the depressed protagonist of a John Green novel, I was close with my English teachers. As a result of childhood experiences that still reside in my internal environment, retreating into stories and thinking creatively became a way of coping, and I was praised for it. English class was one of the few places where I wasn’t invisible, where I received encouragement, where I felt special. It seemed in my mind that I was on the right track, doing what I was meant to do, until, somewhere along the way I realised that the skill I’ve worked hardest to develop, the one that once made me feel seen, now feels…redundant.
I don’t want to be ashamed of my degree. I don’t want to have to make excuses for it, or make self-deprecating jokes so no one else gets there first. I don’t want to water down my achievements or undermine my intelligence just because I’m not going to be making £40k straight out of uni. I worked hard, I went insane, I met some wonderful people. I still love what I studied, and I imagine I’ll find some way to work it into my future. What I struggle with is believing that the things I have learned matter in a world that sees everything in terms of output and salary. It seems learning to understand the human condition is a luxury we can no longer afford.
So, to anyone else graduating with a degree the world tells you isn’t worth much, I know the swallowed pride and the exhaustion of defending something that you worked so hard on. The truth is, regardless of degree or discipline, we’re all facing uncertainty. Industries that were booming when we started are now oversaturated. Jobs we thought were safe are being outsourced or automated. None of us – STEM, arts, humanities – can truly say what the future will look like, but we’re headed there anyway, and we should be proud, not in spite of our degrees but because of them.
Another article you may enjoy: https://thebadgeronline.com/2025/04/trans-women-are-women-the-supreme-court-ruling-is-a-bigoted-step-back/
