I’m Uneducated — Can I Call Myself a Writer?
By: Laura Fox
Tags: Mental Health, Writing, This Happened To Me, Education, Life Lessons

I’m Uneducated — Can I Call Myself a Writer?

Or am I a total fraud that invalidates writers with qualifications?

Photo by Ivan Aleksic on Unsplash

My future was full of promise until mental illness struck. I was seventeen and studying A Levels with a plan to go to University. Then one day I wasn’t me anymore. In hindsight, it had been building up for a while. But at the time it felt like it had come from nowhere.

I couldn’t function. I couldn’t leave the house. I couldn’t wash. I couldn’t eat. My life was about what I couldn’t do rather than what I could do.

Despite how ill I became, I never lost hope that I would study again. Education was my key out of my situation. I was unhappy at home. I had a dysfunctional family. Dreaming of the day when I would finally be free kept me going.

I attempted to re-enter the world of education multiple times after my relapse. But I couldn’t cope. I was forced to admit to myself that educational institutions were too much for me. I felt overwhelmed by the social politics, commuting, and deadlines.

I grieved for the girl who was able to retain vast quantities of information. I could barely remember anything anymore. No matter how hard I tried, things wouldn’t sink in. I was suffering from depression and anxiety. I understand now there is evidence to prove that depression and anxiety impact memory. But at the time I assumed it was my fault. I wasn’t clever enough. I was a failure.

I decided to study at degree level from home. I applied to The Open University and began studying Health and Social Care. I felt valid. Finally, I could say I was getting a degree.

Since the disruption to my education, I felt like I was lagging behind everyone else. When you have lost years of your life to mental illness, you are constantly playing a game of catch up. In the time you were spending bedridden and barely functioning, everyone else was living their life.

But now I was studying again. Finally, I was catching up with everyone else. Maybe one day I would be valid.

I got to the point last year where I started questioning why I was doing this degree. Who was I doing it for? Because I wasn’t doing it for me.

I took a break from studying due to having a baby. It was the right decision and although I plan to recommence my studies, I am plagued by the thought that I’m still not educated.

I can’t list any qualifications on my profile like other writers can. I can’t join in with others when they reminisce about their university days. If I do finish this degree, it won’t even be writing-related.

I am hesitant to call myself a writer. If anyone refers to me as a writer I cringe and try to refute their claim.

“But you do write! That makes you a writer!”

All my life I believed that academic achievements would set me free. And when the opportunity was taken from me, I felt trapped. And I have been feeling trapped ever since. Maybe it’s not the lack of qualifications that make me feel inferior. Maybe what is keeping me trapped is the way I devalue the unique qualifications I do have.

Does my life experience overcoming trauma, dealing with mental illness, caring for people, and working in the mental health sector count for anything?

To some people, it doesn’t count. But they are not my people.

For too long I have let societal expectations dictate how I feel about myself. I’ve done a lot of things with my life that I can be proud of. I survived a serious mental illness. I rebuilt my life. After many failed attempts, I had the courage to study again. I gave birth to a beautiful daughter. I go to work every day to help people who are suffering from mental illness. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would be well enough to help other people.

Maybe I haven’t missed out on anything. But am I missing out on enjoying my successes because I’m insecure about my level of education?

I think it’s time to set myself free.

I am a writer. Because I write.

I don’t have letters after my name. But I’m still valid.

My qualifications are unique. I went through a lot to gain this knowledge. It would be a disservice to the struggles of my younger self if I dismiss how important they are.

Maybe one day I will get a degree. Maybe I won’t. Either way, I will still write. And that’s what makes me a writer.