One of the things I think I’ve neglected to talk about in
any depth on this blog or anywhere particularly is one of the most major
differences between being an actual student and being an older part full
time OU student: parenting.
Not my own obviously, they’re totally normal. But parenting
while being a student. And working full time. And doing the many other things I
seem to find myself signed up to every year.
One of my (many) major concerns when I started to consider
signing up for OU a few years ago was the impact it would have on my family.
Working full time means, as I’m sure most working parents will tell you, a
constant stream of guilt.
Guilt about whether you’re doing the right thing. Guilt
about whether you’re around enough. Guilt about not being at home. Guilt about
clinging onto your kids when you are at home. Guilt from the media. Guilt from
everyone childless Facebook friend you have explaining why you’re ‘doing it
wrong’.
It never stops and eventually, as your child grows up and,
despite the Daily Mails assurances otherwise, becomes a functioning, happy
little person it dulls down to a kind of humming background noise. Something you’re
vaguely aware of but that no longer compromises your ability to trust that you’re
doing just fine.
My daughter had reached the age where the barely audible
background humming of the guilt no longer had any impact on my life. She was a happy,
intelligent, polite little princess who never gave any indication she felt she’d
missed out by not having a stay at home mam. The concern with adding University
studies into the mix was whether it would push it too far and reach a point
where her quality of life (and parenting) was compromised.
In the end it came down to blind faith and the knowledge
that if I tried and failed I’d not be any worse off than having never tried and
as always my never ending trust that things will work out how they’re supposed
to.
I think in reality the saving grace of this whole thing was
the OU set up. Without the ability to do Uni work at 10pm when she was already
in bed, or to sit and do reading on the sofa while watching films with her, or
to pack ‘Uni’ into a bag and take both it and her to a grandparents for a few
hours there’s no way it would have went this smoothly.
I’m heading into my final year now and I’ve spoken to my
daughter a few times about Uni. About why I’m doing it, what I study, and how
it works and I think as much as it’s been an education for me it’s certainly
been a bit of an education for her too. The guilt of missing the occasional
Saturday with her to go to Tutorials or asking her if she’s Ok to watch a film
rather than go out so I can get some reading done is awful and it undoubtedly
tinges the whole process with a fine film of guilt. But crucially it’s taught
her a huge amount too.
It’s taught her that Uni is bloody hard work. It’s taught her that you can always make time for
what you want to do. It’s taught her to follow your passions rather than your
capitalist intentions. And it’s taught her that hard work pays off.
She’s seen me sitting endlessly highlighting huge books,
sitting writing essays when she gets up through the night to go to the bathroom
and spending days of a holiday at a desk revising for an exam.
But she’s also seen me pass my modules. She’s seen the
revision pay off in my exam results. She’s seen the satisfaction of making it
this far.
And hopefully next year she’ll see the end result at my
graduation.
I think we’ve both learned a major lesson from this whole endeavour.
She’s learnt that hard work pays off and no matter how difficult something is
if you want it enough there’s always a way. And I’ve learned to block out the
guilt and have more faith in my own instincts.
Kids are adaptable. They enjoy what they have. And they don’t
read tabloid newspapers.
