Broken Families; Broken Britain. Part 2: Swimming Against The Tide

For a year, I continued working and looking after my baby on my own. It was tough as hell. I was getting up continuously throughout the night. I got virtually no sleep - a fragmented couple of hours if I was lucky. I was forever having to call in to work, apologising that I couldn't make my shift because my daughter was e.g. teething/had a temperature/upset tummy and I couldn't take her to the creche. The company I worked for were very good, I have to say. They often allowed me to make up the time, by working through my breaks and starting earlier or finishing later. On the odd occasion that I could get a babysitter at the weekend, I went in to work to catch up on missed hours or days. 

My one-bedroomed flat was very cramped. I hadn't realised just how much space a baby could take up, with all the necessary paraphenalia. On my salary, I had no chance of being able to afford anywhere bigger. I was getting into debt already. I was also very stressed and very, very tired.


When rumours starting to filter through the company grapevine that a relocation was on the cards, I wasn't too concerned. I didn't mind my job, but it wasn't what I wanted to do with my life. It was a stop-gap; something I just "fell into". It wasn't the career I'd always dreamed of and imagined I would have. So I decided that it was "now or never" and, against the wishes and advice of everyone who cared to voice their opinion, I resigned from my job and went to university, full time. I thought this was the way forward. I thought that if I got a degree, I'd get a better paid and more interesting job.
 
To fund myself and pay for childcare, I sold my property and moved into a rented place.
University was a real eye opener. Yes, academically I gained valuable knowledge and skills. (Well, the value of those skills has in fact become rather questionable).  But I was also educated in the politics of academia. University life. The nuts and bolts of higher education. I didn't like what I encountered.  But I worked hard. I studied whenever my daughter was sleeping and hardly ever slept myself. My studies were ultimately successful and I graduated with a 1st class Hons degree. Fantastic. Soon, I thought, I would be able to get a decent job, another mortgage, a place with 2 bedrooms. Life would be better for my daughter. I would be able to provide for her as well as love her.

Oh, how wrong I was.