I opened the car windows and laughed and cried into the scent of oilseed rape. I felt as if I had removed a horrible, itchy mask and was throwing it to the wind.
For me, the degrees were proof that I was as good as anyone else in the arts, despite my background.
On my first official day at the University of Hull, in 2015, there was a social mixer to meet the other students, but I ended up sitting in my car, crying, because I had such severe impostor syndrome.
Having left school to start work at 16, I had missed out on the in-person university experience; I was excited about finally getting to enjoy it.
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