29/06/2026
I've had to write a personal statement for my BA (Hons) Counselling top-up course. One of the questions was simply, *"Why do you want this degree?"*
I thought I was writing an assignment.
Instead, I ended up writing my life.
When I'd finished and read it back to myself, I cried.
It wasn't until I sat and reflected on everything I'd written that I realised just how much I've been through, and more importantly, just how much I've overcome. Sometimes we're so busy moving forward that we forget to look back and see how far we've actually come.
My interview is on Thursday at 10am, and I'll admit I'm nervous, but I'm also excited. This degree means so much more than a qualification to me. It's years of hard work, determination and proving to myself that I can achieve something I once believed was out of reach.
Here's to taking the next step.
Class of 2027... I'm coming for you. 🎓❤️
My Motivation for Completing the BA (Hons) Counselling Top-Up
When people ask me why I want to complete my BA (Hons) in Counselling, the simple answer is because I want my degree. The deeper answer goes back to when I was five years old.
From the age of five until I left school at sixteen, my education was, quite honestly, horrific. I attended three different schools and never really felt that I fitted in or that anyone believed in me. Looking back now, I know I had dyslexia, but it was never identified. Instead of someone recognising that I learned differently, I was labelled as "the thick kid." Those words, whether spoken directly or implied, stay with a child.
I still remember sitting through an entire maths lesson being taught how to write a cheque book while everyone else seemed to be moving on with their learning. Some of my GCSEs I wasn't even entered for because people had already decided what they thought I was capable of.
Instead, I was put through HAPA awards (Hertfordshire Achievement Project Awards). Although they were meant to celebrate achievement, they felt incredibly patronising. My certificates proudly stated things like, "Tina can read. Tina can write. Tina can count." They were supposed to be positive aspirations, but to me they simply reinforced that the expectations for me were so much lower than everyone else's.
One memory has stayed with me all my life. My dad only attended two parents' evenings during my entire time at school. At one of them, when we were discussing my future and sixth form choices, the deputy headteacher looked at us and said that my career aspirations should be to work behind a counter.
Imagine hearing that as a teenager.
For a long time, I believed them.
I genuinely believed I wasn't clever enough to achieve anything more. When the people who are supposed to educate you repeatedly lower the bar, eventually you begin to lower it for yourself.
Life, however, had different plans.
In 2013, I experienced what I describe as a breakdown. At that point, I was carrying years of unresolved grief and pain. My dad had died when I was young. I'd experienced relentless bullying at school from three particular individuals whose words stayed with me long after I left education. I had also lost my horse, something that affected me far more deeply than many people realised.
For the first time in my life, I had counselling.
Counselling didn't magically erase everything that had happened, but it helped me understand myself. It helped me process my grief, make sense of my experiences and realise that the labels I'd carried for years didn't define who I was.
It helped me find myself again.
At the time I was working as a recruitment consultant. It was a perfectly good career, but I knew it wasn't where my heart was. Through my own therapeutic journey, I realised I wanted to become the person who had helped me.
So I trained as a counsellor.
Without sounding too cheesy...I absolutely love what I do.
I often joke that I'm a bit of a weirdo, and I'm completely happy to own that. I'll happily stick a sign on my forehead if I have to! I genuinely love talking to people. I love hearing their stories, understanding their experiences and helping them navigate life's complexities. Every client is different, every person has their own unique journey, and I never stop learning from the people I work with.
If helping someone means reading another research paper, attending another training course or exploring another therapeutic approach, then that's exactly what I'll do. Learning doesn't stop once you've qualified, and I think that's one of the things I love most about counselling.
If I'm honest, I only wish I'd found this profession years earlier.
At the same time, I firmly believe that our history shapes our future.
Would I choose to lose my dad? Absolutely not.
Would I choose to experience a breakdown? Of course not.
Would I choose to be bullied? Never.
But those experiences have helped shape the counsellor I am today.
When a client says, "You don't know what this feels like," there are times when, although our experiences will never be identical, I genuinely understand aspects of what they're describing. I know what grief feels like. I know what it feels like to lose yourself. I know what it feels like to think you'll never feel okay again.
I've lived it.
I believe that makes me more relatable as a counsellor. Not because my experiences are more important than anyone else's, but because I understand what it is like to sit in the client's chair as well as the therapist's chair.
I'm real.
Clients don't need someone who's perfect. They need someone who's authentic, compassionate and willing to walk alongside them while they find their own answers.
I often describe myself as being a metaphorical poker. Not someone who pokes people for the sake of it, but someone who gently nudges them towards the things they've been avoiding, always with kindness, curiosity and compassion.
My hope is that every client leaves a session standing just that little bit taller than when they arrived.
That their crown is sitting a little straighter.
That they believe in themselves just a little bit more.
Completing this BA (Hons) means far more to me than gaining another qualification. It represents proving something to myself that I have spent decades believing I wasn't capable of.
It isn't about proving my teachers wrong anymore.
It's about proving to the younger version of Tina that she was never "thick" in the first place.
I know this course won't be easy. I'm dyslexic, and I'm under no illusion that academic writing comes naturally to me. It takes me longer than many people. I have to work harder. Sometimes I have to read things several times before they click.
But here's the thing...
I've already overcome far bigger obstacles than essays.
I've survived grief.
I've rebuilt myself after a breakdown.
I've changed careers.
I've qualified as a counsellor.
I've built a private practice that I'm incredibly proud of.
So yes, this course will be challenging, but I know I can do challenging things.
And when I finish, there will absolutely be a celebration.
I'm already planning it.
There will be a cap, a gown and probably far too much food. Everyone will be invited because I intend to celebrate every single step that got me there. It won't just be celebrating a degree; it'll be celebrating the little girl who was told she wasn't good enough, the woman who found herself through counselling, and the counsellor who now helps other people believe in themselves.
I'll be 49 years old when I graduate.
And do you know what?
That sounds pretty good to me.
I fully intend to be standing there with the Class of 2027, collecting the degree that once felt impossible.
Not because it was handed to me.
But because I earned every single word written on it.
