The Eternal Student

On October 4th, I officially began my PhD in English and Creative Writing at the University of York. Doing a PhD has been something I have yearned for since the first year of my undergraduate degree, and to have finally begun this process feels a little surreal. Most of my family call me an ‘eternal student’ as a joke - and I get it; I have two Master’s degrees and love studying, learning and gaining knowledge. The title of ‘eternal student’ is something I found more challenging to shrug off when I was younger because, in truth, I wasn’t able to explain why I wanted to continue to study. I love university environments, but it wasn't just the atmosphere of a university library that continuously drew me in. But how could I explain that academia feeds a side of myself that nothing else does?

Thankfully, now, I am twenty-eight and more robust in my understanding of who I am. Yes, I may be sick right now (in the throes of a type 1 diabetes diagnosis) and feeling somewhat off-kilter with what I am going to do with my life, but my most core elements remain unchanged. The elements of me that are not tied to Jen and her body are perfectly able to withstand day-to-day changes and understand that the only constant in life, truly, is change. And that inner world, inside my soul perhaps, knows that I feel most creative and alive when I am standing on the precipice of learning something new. 

I spent the better part of six months completing PhD applications. They were rigorous and exhausting, and at times, I questioned if I truly cared that much about exactly which programme I took part in. Yet, after night’s sleep, I would always come around and remember that, yes, I do care. I care so much. I chose the University of York for a few reasons. The University of York is home to two excellent scholars whose work I have read over the years and wished profoundly to be supervised by. York was also the only university where I could find a PhD programme ideal for my needs; a dual programme in English Literature and Creative Writing. To me, studying words matters as much as writing them, and I have never been able to move in either direction without the other. York gave me the possibility of combing my two great loves and not having to forsake any interest.

My acceptance into the University of York happened on a Tuesday in March. It was raining and cold, and earlier that day, I had considered my feelings to be as grey as the sky. It was one of those ambiguous and vague days that just slipped into the river of time like leaves off a tree. When I received the acceptance call, however, colour bloomed about me in sumptuous shades of the summertime. I felt rosy, and the world felt like it was set right, if only for a moment. I told my family that acceptance rates into such PhD programmes are appalling lower - often lower than 3%. I told myself that I was making sure everyone around me knew that because it was the truth and not because I was terrified to fail. My fear of failure, at least academically, is deeply unfounded as I have never failed anything I have pursued with great love. But I know it can happen. Deep down, I know that whilst I have worked hard, I’ve also been lucky. 

My acceptance to York gave me a summer of rest before the UK autumn term began in October. I felt such relief that I gave the PhD little thought after my acceptance. In reality, the only time I gave my future studies attention was when I ensured that Irish students still remained ‘home’ status students when paying fees in UK universities. God bless the Common Travel Agreement. If I had been classed as an international student regarding fees, I would have been paying more than I was making in a year, and it wouldn't have been feasible. 

So, time passed, and I basked in the relief of my acceptance. All was good; all was rosy - besides my impending diabetes. Still, no matter how sick I was, I was finally no longer someone who loved to learn and do research, someone who talked about doing a PhD with a wistful hope. Instead, I was an incoming postgraduate researcher. That's what they call us in York - Postgraduate Researchers - because last year, someone got it into their head that ‘student’ was an offensive title for people who had often studied for many years to get to the point of commencing a PhD programme. I can kind of see it.

Two weeks before the start of the term, I was contacted by my lead supervisor (I had been gloriously successful in securing the supervisors of my choice). She asked if I wanted to add anything or update my research proposal in any way before we had our very first meeting. Naturally, I did what anyone would do in a moment like this, and I googled what I should do. Are incoming PhD students expected to have made changes to their research proposal before beginning the academic year? I don't remember if Google was fruitful, but I did comb through my proposal over and over again. Any changes I made were to my grammar and seemed a little redundant past my acceptance, but still, I sent it to my supervisors. I didn't know how one should prepare for their first meeting with their PhD supervisor. I was meeting with mine online as I had opted to do the first term through distance learning in Ireland to give my health a better chance to rebound.

Even though I was definitely overthinking it, I wasn’t too nervous. It's hard to be anxious about meeting scholars you love and admire when you've been in enough workday meetings with shouting men and cruel bosses to last you a lifetime. Whatever happened, I knew I had the experience required to handle it. I prepped least productively for someone without ADHD, and the most productive for me, someone with a joint diagnosis of autism and ADHD. I went to Costa and bought a coffee to bribe my brain into an academic mindset. When I opened up my MacBook and started prepping, I did nothing but write down every question I wanted to clarify with my supervisors. I read that it was helpful to think of your relationship with your supervisors as not just being one of a judging audience (supervisors) and a performing monkey (the PhD student), but instead realise both parties work together. Plus, I'd read these professors' works extensively and knew just how much I could learn from their expertise. 

When it came time to log into the meeting, I started sweating. Adrenaline has never suited my body, and this was no different. It didn't matter that I was sitting at my own beloved writing desk in my childhood bedroom or wearing Christmas pyjama trousers combined with my most scholarly shirt; I was nervous. I have always found this aspect of my personality most troubling - I have an inherent need to please and perform, no matter who I believe is in the audience. The audience could be comprised of all of my exes, my most hated school teachers and utter strangers and still, I will care about their opinion of me. Whether I am twenty-eight or eighteen, this does not seem to change. Thankfully, I was wrong in imagining my supervisors to be the judging kind. 

I know some late-stage PhD candidates might laugh at me. I've had one meeting with my supervisors (excluding my entrance interviews), and I already think they're incredible and nothing will go wrong. Trust me, I am not naive - but I am hopeful. I logged onto the interview several minutes early. Anyone who has ever attended any of the online groups I have run through my work with the National Autism Charity knows I am rarely early. Still, alas, the sweat was getting too much - I needed my performance to begin and the nerves to fade like the stage actor I am in my daily life. Thankfully, I found that one of my supervisors was late, and my lead supervisor was finishing off a granola bar. Immediately, we fell into an easy conversation about where I was based in Ireland and what the weather was typically like in York. My second supervisor joined six minutes late, holding a mug of herbal the size of his head and wearing a cardigan that emitted the cosy vibes I can only classify as being on the level of Neville Longbottom. The call was scheduled to be an hour long, but I always hope Zoom calls will finish early. This one was different. I found that the more I spoke about my intended research and my hopes for my future in academia, the more I wanted to learn from my supervisors. At one point, I was asked to summarise what had led me to apply to the University of York and what essential aspects of my life had influenced this journey. Of course, they had already heard the bulk of this, but that was in March, and October might as well have been a new realm altogether. 

Brief summaries of one's life have always terrified me. It is not as if I am a terrible orator or conversationalist, but I always think of things I want to add to the conversation after it's over. No one else is thinking about our discussion still, but my mind is mulling it over for hours on end. In this instance, I can say that I did my best. I told them of my life as a child, how much I was drawn to words, and how they tasted on my tongue. I said words held more flavour for me than food ever has. Of course, I noted that I was a peculiar child and knew I was different from my peers from a young age. It was a difference, I said, that I could define, but neither could I ignore it. There was an invisible line in the sand, and I was certainly on the other side. Thankfully, I explained, I felt such joy when I attended university for my undergraduate degree. Creative Writing was my first and highest love (as it remains), but my parents were worried I would never make enough money to survive. I was too, but I didn't tell them that. They didn't need to hear about my financial trauma on a casual Tuesday afternoon. So, naturally, I studied modern languages. It wasn't a hardship, I made sure to say that because I love all things words and languages slotted into my life so nicely and neatly that linguistics classes were almost as enjoyable as my creative writing ones were. After my undergraduate degree, I explained that in my heart, all I wanted to do was to do a Master's degree. My family worried I was applying to programmes to avoid the 'real' world, as they called it. And maybe I was - but it was that thing again, come alive, that need to learn and be in a place of learning that I could not express. However, I didn't have the cash for a Master's degree just lying about, and when I could not easily decide on what degree to do (I had so many interests), I opted to take a year off and work instead. I didn't tell my supervisors how depressing this concept was to me and how absolutely abhorrent I found that year of work. Instead, I smiled and said I valued the 'real' world experience I had gained during my time working, and it was this experience helped me choose a part-time Master's degree, combined with full-time work the following year. It was nothing to do with being broke as hell. I explained that when choosing a Master's degree, I was highly interested in linguistics and multilingualism, so I opted for a Master's in linguistics and communication for children with additional needs. I didn't want to say how little I had actually enjoyed this Master's degree or that working full-time to pay for it had brought me to my knees. Instead, I simply said that whilst I wanted to study linguistics, I also missed literature.

At this point in the story, I had to explain that my life had changed somewhat and my vision of what I truly wanted in life became crystal clear because of my autism and ADHD diagnosis. I was no longer concerned with being on the other side of my line from my peers. Frankly, I no longer gave a shit. This brazen self-acceptance led me to apply for a summer course at New York University in Advanced Narrative Fiction. I was eager to access this course in 2021 because as long as COVID stuck around, the classes would be online and accessible from Ireland. I would never again be able to access such high-quality writing courses from the comfort of my room. That more or less brought me up to date with my supervisors, who nodded at all appropriate times and seemed interested. 

When I was finished doling out my life story, my lead supervisor told me it was the most eloquent description of one's life she had ever heard. This helped calm the part of me that was beginning to panic that I was talking for too long and gave me hope that my public speaking skills might remain an essential part of my academic journey. We spoke then for a long time about the structure of the PhD, the formal deadlines I had to meet, and the rest of it. I wrote barely legible notes the next day, and we concluded the meeting with a plan for the coming weeks. When we logged off the call, I couldn't deny feeling utterly energised. I was like a bottle of Coke that had just been shaken - I was ready to pop with all the possibilities and ideas that ran riot in my mind. More than anything, I felt a massive relief that I had just spent an hour speaking with two people who got it. To them, I was not an eternal student or a child playing at adulthood with a romanticised view of a professorship. I was simply Jen, whose ideas are valid and worthy of exploration. 

It's been a week since that meeting, and I've attended a few induction events (also online) for the incoming PhD students. My peers from the English department all looked like me, too - eager, apprehensive, but ready. So goddam ready. Now, only one task remains - getting started.