Some people do not know what it’s like to grow up on a council estate, where “university” wasn’t even part of the vocabulary. I grew up where meat was sold off the back of vans. No one in my family went to university. I did not even know what university was, it just wasn’t spoken about.
At 14, I was already in addiction, exploited by an older man. We had no carpets. My mum worked three jobs. Privilege? I didn’t have it. There were no piano lessons, no activities. We got by and that’s all we did. I was gifted but there were no opportunities.
I didn’t know I was neurodivergent, so I struggled through jobs, still in addiction – I almost didn’t survive. I became a teenage mum.
But I got a second chance at the Open University. I fought for 12 years to earn my degree and I was determined to earn a first. I passed my dissertation with 91.5%, despite severe pain, because I was denied healthcare. I was denied it as I could not neatly describe symptoms as I am autistic. I was told it was “in my head” – until scans showed severe spinal degeneration. Still, I finished my degree.
Then I tried Essex University for my master’s and was priced out simply as I needed to study part time. I raised complaints, fought, was ignored – yet I initiated a policy change that meant all part time students were now allowed funding they previously were denied. But it was too late for me and it was exhausting. You can read about it here Inclusion consultant Samantha Morgan, from Bury St Edmunds, is highlighting issue of ‘unfair’ university policies after challenging University of Essex
Because of barriers I faced – I wrote a framework in a weekend. It is called the Against Complex Barriers Framework (The ACB).
It got me accepted to Cambridge – but I can’t go. It costs over £34,000. I’m a working-class single mum. Student finance doesn’t come close. I sit here, knowing I earned a place at a world-class university, and yet, I can’t go.
That’s a special kind of injustice.
I’m capable. I’ve overcome barriers many can’t imagine. I wrote that framework to help others. But I’m blocked by costs. Meanwhile, others – who haven’t lived this – access opportunities I can only imagine.
Sometimes, I think of stopping. Social justice work is exhausting. I’ve been exploited in jobs with my kindness taken advantage of. Research shows neurodivergent people are more likely to be exploited, if employed at all.
Yet we still have to feed ourselves and our kids.
Is it any wonder people put up with harm?
What choices do many disadvantaged people have?
It’s horrible. Today, I won’t apologise for saying it’s horrible. Because it is – really horrible.
And I know – my challenges would be even harder if I were black, trans, a migrant. It’s hard enough with the privileges I have. I can only imagine how much harder life would be.
That’s why I set up my consultancy and its why I train people in power, why I suggest changes, and why I succeed. I understand, and I stand up for what’s right. Even on days like this, when I wonder if I can keep going. The problem is the system, never the individual. We can’t be separated from the society we live in. And that’s the truth.
If you come across this newsletter, I ask you to consider how you can help people like me, people who are more than capable, people who have met barriers, stigma and oppression simply for being who they are or for the circumstances they are in.
I would like you to ask:
I wrote about the difference between holding stigma and labelling someone and being empowering, you can read the article here The three doctors, and the psychologist I want to be | BPS
