It's okay if you don't love university: Despite what we're told - it may be awful and not amazing

I’ll never forget the words of my grandma as I excitedly prepared to go to university. And I clearly remember my response: ‘Don’t worry, grandma, I’ll be fine’. I could have never imagined then, of course, that nothing could have sadly been further from the truth.

Weeks later, I found myself extremely unhappy in my university halls in Sheffield, South Yorkshire, around an hour and a half away from the comfort of my mum’s home in Halifax, West Yorkshire, and the warmth of my mum, grandma and brother’s company. And yet, despite the pleas of my grandma, with whom I’ve always been exceptionally close, I didn't say anything for months. Why? Because I felt ashamed. That and because I didn’t want to worry my family, and I kept hoping - and wishing - it would get better.

Like hundreds of thousands of new students every year, I couldn’t wait to start university. I’d visited many open days and poured over countless university prospectuses as I made my choice about which university I wanted to attend, and all of them sold the same story: university will be the best time of your life. And I bought it. I genuinely thought that university was going to be incredible from day one, and then when I wasn’t I was very upset and felt like I must have done something wrong.

Nobody, aside from my own family members, ever dared to say that the experience of moving miles away from home, living without my family for the first time, meeting hundreds of peers on a daily basis, studying and learning to truly look after myself for the first time in terms of financial management, food decisions and more, would be anything other than amazing.

Well, I want to say that it’s not always amazing. In fact, sometimes it can be absolutely awful. And that’s okay. Well, it’s not okay, it’s a terrible experience, but it is okay if that’s your view of university, no matter what the reasons for this, and no matter what your expectations of it were. If you are a new university student, or a student in a second, third, or fourth year for that matter, and you’re not enjoying it, please know that your feelings are perfectly valid, it’s not your fault - but also that it can get better. I know that from experience too. I would not be sitting here writing this, as a journalist, if it didn’t get better for me as I would have dropped out of university and I wouldn't have got the degree needed for me to get this job.

'The feeling of loneliness and isolation I felt the day I moved into my flat was almost instant'

I was a fresher back in 2011. Yes, I’m now 30-years-old, (something else which society tells me I’m supposed to feel a certain way about). I’d decided that I wanted to be a writer aged four, so it was an easy decision for me to study BA (Hons) Journalism. My university of choice ended up being the University of Sheffield. I’d only turned 18 at the beginning of August, just a few short weeks before freshers’ week began in late September.

 Of course I didn’t think so then, but looking back I realised how young I still was. I’m also very close to my family; evenings had always been spent sharing family dinners and conversations with my mum and twin brother. My brother started his own university journey in York the day before I moved to Sheffield. It was, and always will be, one of the most emotional weekends of my life.

The feeling of loneliness and isolation I felt as soon as my mum and grandma left me on the day I moved into my flat was almost instant. Determined to stay upbeat, I tried to get to know my five new flatmates. Like most first-time students I didn’t know anyone else who was attending my university and had been randomly assigned people with which to share a living space with. It quickly became apparent they were not going to be my friends.

Serious about my education, well aware of the thousands of pounds of debt I’d signed myself up for, and my sights set firmly on my dream job of being a journalist, I took my degree very seriously from day one. My freshers’ week was spent doing some preparatory work which had been set for us by one of the journalism tutors and finding the location of my lecture halls so I wasn’t too stressed when I had to find them all, sometimes within minutes, the week after when classes properly began. 

By comparison, my flatmates wanted to spend their freshers’ week doing the typical student thing - going out and drinking to excess every night. I went out with them once, tentatively drinking cocktails and testing my limits with alcohol, trying to have a good time while being very aware that I didn’t know where my limits were yet as I hadn’t had anything beyond glasses of wine with meals previously and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself or end up being unsafe. My flatmates quickly made it obvious that my approach to university life was not welcomed and I was shunned.

'I considered dropping out numerous times'

I became aware that my flatmates were planning things together and not inviting me, and these things didn’t always involve drinking. I’d hear them all giggling as they crept past my room and gathered to watch a film. A cleaning rota was devised while I was in bed, I was given the worst jobs and then notes were passively aggressively pinned to my door demanding that I carry out such tasks. One girl told me that she’d assigned roles to our “flat family”, as she called it, and that I was the grandma. Then, when my back was turned, she tried to steal my food.

At the same time, I was trying desperately hard to adjust to being away from my real, and very loving, family. I considered dropping out numerous times and became very close to starting the process on more than one occasion. I spoke to my mum daily, and somehow I’d manage to hold it together while we would chat, then cry myself to sleep. I spoke to my brother regularly too, but it was obvious that he was having a completely opposite experience to me; his friend count was growing daily, he did lots of things with his housemates and his joy radiated down the phone. 

I desperately wanted to tell them how unhappy I was, but I told myself that I was an adult now so I could deal with it on my own, telling them would be pointless as there was nothing they could do and I’d only worry them, and besides that I needed to be there to get my degree so I could get my dream job - so I forced myself to carry on.

How I wish I could speak to my 18-year-old self now and give her the advice I am sharing here. How I wish I’d spoken up sooner than I did. In the end, the first person that I told was one close friend I had made on my course. Happily, I can say she is my best friend to this day. She encouraged me to not only tell my family, but also my personal tutor. Every person on my 80 person strong course had been assigned a personal tutor within the journalism department. This person was supposed to be our first port of call if we had any issues at all, related to the course or not.

'I will forever be grateful for that hot chocolate'

I remember the day, with the support of my friend, I decided I was going to tell him. It was just before the Easter break. I asked him if he had some time to talk and, possibly owing to what I’m sure was a very pained look on my face, he immediately took me out and bought me a hot chocolate. 

He listened patiently as I told him the truth and then offered to speak to my flatmates, and also asked what else he could do to support me. I told him I was worried about the end of year exams that were looming and he told me he would sort it so that if I wasn’t in a position to take them I didn’t have to and could instead take them during the exam resit period in August. That relieved some of my worry. I didn’t know if I was going to leave university or not, but if I did I wanted it to be my choice, I didn’t want to have to leave because I’d failed exams.

He said he didn’t want me to worry about anything to do with my degree at that moment and just wanted me to be okay. I hope this doesn’t sound self-indulgent, but he also told me that he really didn’t want me to drop out because he could see my talent and he knew how passionate I was (and still am) about journalism and writing and thought I’d have a good career if I could get my degree. I will forever be grateful for that tutor and that hot chocolate.

Next, I realised I had to tell my family. I went back to Halifax for the three-week Easter break and, at the end of it, I couldn’t force myself to go back to the flat anymore. I broke down and finally told my mum about my months of hell. She wept as I did and vowed to help me find a way forward. Long story short, I didn’t return to university for the second semester. I moved back to my mum’s house and spent weeks trying to decide if my departure from university was temporary or permanent. 

My friends and personal tutor were in frequent contact, and they all just wanted to check on my welfare. I was never once pressured to make a decision but, in the end, I did decide to stay on because the support they had given me made me realise that I couldn’t let a few bad people stop me from pursuing my dreams - as corny as that sounds. Plus, I knew they’d all be there for me when I did go back, and they were.

'Don’t suffer in silence, please talk'

My experience prompted me to become a student ambassador in my second and third years of university that followed. With the permission of my tutors, I delivered speeches on this topic to prospective students and their parents, reassuring them that if their child did choose to study my course they would be exceptionally well taken care of. I also shared my contact details with them and urged any of them to speak to me if they needed help at any point. 

I could see the looks of relief on faces as I spoke, not just from the parents but from the students themselves. It was as if they were pleased I had voiced the unsayable. One of my proudest moments was when a mum approached me afterwards and told her that my talk had inspired her daughter to apply for the course. She joined the next year and we spoke often - although I am happy to say she did not require any support because she had a wonderful time.

If you are a parent reading this, more than likely sitting at home wondering if your child really is having a good time during freshers’ week, please send this article to them. I always said in my talks that I hoped people would have the best time ever during university but it was okay if they didn’t and there is help out there if that’s the case, and that still stands today - even though it has been 12 years since I was a fresher.  I can’t speak for the specific support available at different institutions, but I do know there will be someone to speak to.

If you are a student who is struggling, please reach out to someone. Start with a friend like I did if that’s easier but also speak to someone who can offer guidance, be it a family member or university lecturer. Our mental health has never been so important, so please make sure you prioritise yours, please don’t suffer in silence and please talk.

You can also visit the Mind website for a list of useful student mental health helplines, no matter which university you’re studying at. There’s also a network of university mental health advisers for anyone who is having issues in any area of their life.