I’m ready, why can’t you see it?
Today, Scottish Charity, MCR Pathways released research that highlighted that children in care can achieve the same academic results and have the same life chances as those raised by their parents if they have mentors to support them through their school careers.
This research not only shows that Children with MCR mentors were more likely to stay on at school and then to go to university than other Care Experienced children without mentors. It shows that when someone gives Care Experienced people the right support and offers them a chance to thrive, we can, and we will.
In light of this announcement, I want to tell you about my own journey with education.
My educational journey began at the same time as any other child. Whilst I was able to remain in one primary school and I achieved what was expected of me, everything that was going on at home meant school for me just didn’t seem to work.
Entering high school is transition that every child finds difficult. For me, this feeling was heightened as a result of events unfolding that I had no control over. In my first year of high school, my Dad and my Step Mum became separated and subsequently divorced, which meant for the first time I was able to tell my Dad about the years of abuse I had suffered at the hands of her and her son, without the fear of not being believed.
This, of course, catapulted me in the environment of police interviews; mental health assessments; CAHMS appointments; a weeklong court case — all of which happened over a period of two years. To put that into context, all of this started when I was just thirteen years old.
It consumed my life to the point that school was no longer important to me. I stopped turning up because getting out of bed in the morning was the last thing I wanted to do. My education suffered and I missed a large majority of second and third year as a result. Soon after, I was taken into care in another local authority halfway through my fourth year, the year I was set to sit my exams.
Being taken into care and moved meant I had to start at a new school, arguably during the most important school year to date all while trying to navigate and understand how it felt to now suddenly live with and to have every decision about my life dictated by strangers.
When the state became my parent, I experienced institutions and structures that were impersonal and restrictive. I felt observed, like a subject with additional reports written about me that I couldn't influence. This led me to coming to the conclusion that I no longer wanted to be there. So as soon as I sat my exams, I left and I never looked back, promising myself that, that was it. My relationship with education was over, for good.
This perspective and attitude towards education remained the same up until last year. I started to unpiece why I had such a fear of engaging with education. I learned that I had spent all those years after leaving school convinced that I was not good enough, capable enough or bright enough for further study. I had forced myself to believe that I didn’t have potential and that it was all to do with me and what I could not bring to the table — not then, or ever.
I was wrong and I had proved that to myself already in my career. From the minute I left school I began working. My first job was in a hairdressers. It might not have been what I wanted to be for the rest of my life, but it helped me understand the passion I have for making the lives of other people better — even if that was only by giving them a bouncy blow dry. Aged 17, I became a support worker for societies most vulnerable people, and I enjoyed every minute of it because I could see the difference that my fifteen-minute visit made to the people I was checking in on. This was only the beginning of my career.
Since then I have come on from strength to strength. I ran a Champions’ Board for Care Experienced people in my local authority and was able to influence important, necessary changes to improve their lives. I have worked for a Member of Parliament and gained so much skills in my role supporting constituents with often very complex needs. And right now, I work in the Public Affairs Team of an award-winning national charity, where every day I am involved in the shaping and influencing of the way society views Care Experienced people as well as the making of policies and legislation that affect this entire community of people.
All of these things, they are achievements that I have had to work extremely hard to make happen. They prove that I have barrels of potential, I am capable, I am good enough and I have plenty to bring to any table. When it came to formal education, I just had to give myself a chance. And so, I did. I gave myself the chance.
This time last year, I took a leap of faith. I applied for an HNC at three different colleges only to be told by all of them that I wasn’t at a high enough level to succeed and that my work experience was insufficient. I had set my standards too high and I had best try applying for a lower level.
Although disappointed, I picked myself up, dusted myself off and did as they advised of me. I applied for an evening higher qualification expecting to be accepted with no issue as this was the route I was advised to take. I waited for months to find out the outcome of my application and only when I pointed out that no one had got back to me — and the class had already started — did someone acknowledge me — only to tell me that again, I was mistaken. Again, I was told I wasn’t at a high enough academic level. Again, my work experience meant nothing.
This time, I responded and highlighted my disappointment alongside an excerpt from their corporate parenting plan. The response to this was, “can you start tonight?”.
I was ready to give up at this point. I didn’t. Since then I have been juggling a full-time job, whilst dedicating time both in work and in my free time to do the required work for my apprenticeship — including attending weeklong class time when asked of me.
On top of that, every Tuesday I leave work at five pm. and I make my way to the first evening class of the week, with one group of people, where I have to present myself in a certain way. This class lasts for 3 hours and I get home at nine thirty pm. I still get up and go to work for nine am the next day. Every Thursday, this is repeated. I leave work at five pm. and drive to Motherwell to attend another evening class, with another group of people, presenting myself in another different way. This also lasts for 3 hours and I get in the door at 10pm. Still I head to work the next day.
As of next week, I will give my Wednesday evening up and one Saturday a month, with a new group of people, learning a new subject, presenting myself in a new way.
I have done all of this with one goal in mind — university.
University was never something I could have thought to be achievable for me. But after all of the graft, the effort and commitment I had put in, it finally felt within arm’s reach. For the first time it wasn’t a case of if I go, my mindset had transformed into when I go. I got excited. I started planning. Like everyone else, I submitted my UCAS application. Pressing the submit application button is one of the biggest and proudest achievements of my life. Receiving a conditional offer from university felt even better.
Today, however, I am not celebrating any of this. I’m not feeling an enormous sense of achievement. I feel deflated. Disappointed. Disheartened. Ready to give up. Because today, I have now learned for the seventh time in the space of a year, that despite all of the things I have worked hard to achieve since leaving school I am still not considered at a high enough level. I still do not meet minimum entry requirements.
Even with six years of work experience, three highers and advance higher which I will achieve this year, universities cannot offer me a place.
It is extremely hard not to feel like this is completely unfair. Even with all the measures put in place to level the playing field when accessing university, I am still five steps away from the starting line. I cannot even get near the door, let alone in it.
I worry that other Care Experienced people who do not have the network, the support and the work environment where they can vent their frustrations in the way that I can, will face this number of barriers and won’t be able to pick themselves back up again. I fear that the embarrassment of trying so hard only to be continuously knocked back will make those people feel like they have no other option but to give up and accept that education is not for them, when I believe it is clear this is not the case.
I am, however, so grateful to all of the individuals who volunteer their time to MCR Pathways to help Care Experienced people stay on in school and go on to university. I just hope that in the future, Care Experience won’t have to rely on the kindness and the actions of strangers to determine the future in which they have.
And with that we must remember that there are Care Experienced people right now who will not have had the chance to access a mentor, who have been empowered by the changes that have put in place in recent years and are now looking at where they want to be. These people need to be given a chance to thrive, too.
