Throughout my years in education, I was surprisingly good at the whole thing. I wasn't the typical "good at school" nerd, for lack of a better way to explain the type of person I'm thinking of. I got myself in trouble, I did stupid teenager shit more than a lot of my peers did, and school didn't come naturally to me, except English and geography. But, I left school with all 7s to 9s in my GCSEs. I went on to do two A-Levels and an equivalent course, and left again with 3 A-stars. I say it to brag only a tiny bit, but I fear I might have lost a lot of my bragging rights.
My first adventure with university was actually very different to my current one - and out of character for myself now. I studied BSc Psych at a university in north-east England for a year. I did really well, considering my circumstances of undiagnosed bipolar disorder and alcoholism I didn't particularly feel like addressing. I have the certificate - a Certificate of Higher Education in Psychology with distinction. Not much I can, or would want, to do with that, but hey, I have it.
My current university side quest is Politics/International Relations (it's complicated - technically politics, but I take all the IR classes) at a Welsh university, back where my family's from. I excelled in my first year, if I do say so myself, with a 2:2 and five 1st class grades in each of my modules. I thought, after a year off between degrees, I still, somehow, had it. First semester of second year tested me a little bit. I encountered harder, more abstract classes and concepts, mixed classes with second and third years, so the expectations rose massively. I proved myself, though, getting two first classes and a 2:1. Especially, I proved myself in the realm of anti-psychiatry and critical theory, getting a 78 I'm still very proud of on an essay on nuclear weapons, Hiroshima, psychiatry, and the military.
Here's some context for those uninitiated in the realm of UK university: Our grades are a fail (under 40), a third (40-49), a 2:2 (50-59), a 2:1 (60-69), and a first (70+). It's obscenely difficult in an essay-based subject to get over an 80. Most people aim for, and get, a 2:1 or 2:2.
Second semester has risen to all the challenges my third year friends said it would. This semester, my classes are on international relations theory (realism, liberalism, Marxism, all of the good stuff), intersectional feminism, and US intelligence history. I can't lie, I've become a theory geek, and I'm greatly underwhelmed by the intersectional feminism module. Very feminism 101. But, I digress. My US intelligence class, though? Lord, help me. You ever had a lecturer who rambles and rambles and somehow never seems to give any detail or be on topic? Yeah. That's me right now.
It reached a point with this module where I was (still am a bit) terrified I'm going to fail it. For context, if I do, I won't be able to graduate with honours, making my degree basically useless. However, we're not there yet. I thought I was though, a few weeks ago, and working on an essay on the Cuban missile crisis sent me into a three hour long sobbing breakdown where I was emailing my personal tutor about what I could do if I failed. I was also calling the suicide hotline, but whatever, girl. Dramatic. The essay's nearly done as I'm writing this, and my good friend Zoe told me I "ate that," so maybe I'm worried for nothing.
Alas, that's not really the point here. I've always, no matter how well I've done and how many times I've proven I can do this, had severe impostor syndrome. I'm a chronic self-under-estimator. I seriously thought I was going to get ABC in my A-Levels. I seriously thought I was going to scrape 2:2s in my time at uni. Every time I write an essay, I have a huge panic over how bad it is, only to end up with a 68 or 72. Once, I had one of those panics and ended up with an 85. You get the picture. I really, truly think I'm shit at academia. Whenever a lecturer remembers my name, says hi to me in the street (it's a small town, alright), compliments me, I think there must be another Lucas here. They must have mistaken me for someone else, or are just being nice as to not embarrass me with a "not quite what I'm looking for."
I think a lot of it is class-based. I come from a family that's originally from the Welsh valleys and now lives in a not-so-great part of north-east England (is any of it great?). I clearly won the postcode lottery for shittest family homes. I have an accent that immediately positions me amongst my peers as the one who had to overcome the odds to get to where I am. There isn't a single other person in my classes with a working-class accent like my own. I've had comments, stares, giggles when I'm speaking. It seems like no matter the substance or eloquence of what I say, it'll always sound stupid coming from me. I think it's gotten to me a bit, as much as my northern/Welsh thick skin doesn't want to admit it.
Regardless, I did overcome the odds. I was the first person in my family to go to university. Stereotype, much? But I did. And I've proven myself before, and I'll keep proving myself, even if that's simply in passing this fucking US intelligence class by the skin of my teeth. Now, shut up about my accent and my maximum student loan.
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