My parents and grandmother drove five and a half hours from our hometown to the city where I studied to attend my graduation. It was a significant occasion—not just because 320 miles was considered a long journey back home in the UK, but because I was the first in our family to earn a degree. I'll never forget the proud smiles on their faces as I walked across the stage in my cap and gown to receive my certificate from the chancellor. We took photos on the lawn and shared casual drinks with my professors.
Almost immediately, I started missing my friends. Less than 24 hours later, I found myself crying quietly in the backseat of the car, with my belongings packed in the trunk. I turned my face to the window so my grandmother wouldn’t see my tears. Most of the sadness came from already missing the friends I had made over the past three years.
Some friends remained in the city, having found jobs nearby or enrolled in master's programs. Others scattered across the country—some moved to big cities like London, others returned home like me. Along with the sadness, anxiety crept in. I was scared of the unknown. How would I manage without the structure of college, the hustle of classes, and the buzz of campus life? I tried to push away the pessimism, but the reality of stepping into adulthood and standing on my own was harsher than I had imagined.
I didn’t have a job to go to. I hoped to become a journalist, but the field was competitive and paid positions seemed out of reach. Although I qualified for unemployment benefits, standing in the "dole queue" was humiliating. Thankfully, the dark days didn’t last long. I found occasional work as a waitress and shop assistant, though the hours were irregular and the pay barely minimum wage.
There were days when I sat in my childhood bedroom feeling like I had come full circle—leaving home full of hope, only to end up back in the same place. It was one of my lowest points, feeling lost and without direction.
Things began to improve when I stayed with my older sister and her roommate. Then I landed a couple of interviews for trainee reporter roles, one about 70 miles from home. When the editor-in-chief offered me a week of work experience to test how I coped, I was nervous but determined. I made it through, and secured the job. My dad drove me to my new apartment, and this time, I didn’t cry on the way.