July 6, 2026
Last week, I stood on a graduation stage to receive my MSc in Autism and Neurodiversity.
On the surface, it was a celebration of years of studying, research, essays, and a dissertation that was awarded a distinction. But for me, it represented something much bigger than an academic qualification.
As I waited at the side of the stage for my name to be called, I felt something I hadn’t expected. The spotlight was shining into my eyes, I was trying not to cry, and I was desperately hoping I wouldn’t trip over in front of everyone. In that moment, the enormity of the occasion finally hit me.
It wasn’t just about earning a Master’s degree.
It was about finally letting go of a story I’d believed for over thirty years.
1. One set of exam results doesn’t define your future
At 18, I left school with an E and two N grades at A Level (Maths, Economics and French).
At the time, it felt like proof that I wasn’t academic. I assumed university wasn’t really for someone like me.
Years later, I completed a Law degree, but I never quite shook the feeling that I’d somehow got there by luck rather than ability.
Looking back now, I can see that my A Levels didn’t measure my potential. They measured how well I fitted into one particular style of learning and assessment.
Those are very different things.
2. Sometimes the right question changes your whole life
Everything changed when my daughter was diagnosed as autistic.
Like so many parents, I spent hours searching for information that would help me understand her better. The more I read, the more I realised there were huge gaps in the information available, and much of what I found repeated the same messages without offering much practical understanding.
That curiosity led me to enrol on an MSc in Autism and Neurodivergence.
If I’m honest, my attitude was fairly simple:
“The worst they can do is throw me off the course.”
Instead, the course changed both my professional practice and the way I understood myself.
3. The right support can unlock potential you never knew you had
Just before I started my Master’s, I was diagnosed with ADHD.
Receiving that diagnosis answered questions I’d been carrying for years. More importantly, it meant I could access support that worked with my brain rather than expecting me to work against it.
For a long time, I found myself wondering what I might have achieved if I’d understood this in my teens or twenties.
That sadness is real.
But I’ve also realised something equally important.
We can’t rewrite the past, but we can stop allowing it to define our future.
4. Progress isn’t glamorous
People often imagine academic success as long, uninterrupted study sessions in quiet libraries.
My reality looked rather different.
Essays were started while waiting outside ballet lessons.
Research papers were read waiting in my van for rugby training sessions to finish.
Assignments were completed around client sessions, family life, and running two businesses.
There were moments of self-doubt, exhaustion, and wondering whether I was good enough.
But I made one promise to myself before I started.
I wasn’t going to quit.
If the university wanted me gone, they’d have to throw me off the course.
Thankfully, they never did.
5. Celebrate your achievements before chasing the next goal
One thing I recognised as I stood waiting to walk across the stage is something I also see regularly in my counselling clients.
Many of us, especially neurodivergent people, have become so used to proving ourselves that we barely stop to acknowledge what we’ve achieved.
We reach one goal and immediately move on to the next.
I realised I’ve spent much of my life doing exactly that.
Receiving my MSc made me pause for perhaps the first time.
Not because I’d reached the end.
But because I’d finally allowed myself to recognise just how far I’d come.
Why this matters to my clients
This qualification isn’t simply another line on my CV.
It has deepened my understanding of autism and ADHD, challenged assumptions, strengthened my confidence, and changed the way I work therapeutically.
Perhaps more importantly, it has reminded me what it feels like to doubt yourself, to question whether you’re capable, and to discover that your potential was there all along, it simply needed the right environment to flourish.
Many of the people I work with carry stories about themselves that were written years ago.
“I’m not academic.”
“I’m lazy.”
“I’m too sensitive.”
“I’m never going to succeed.”
Those stories often begin long before we meet.
My hope is that together we can start rewriting them.
Because everything always seems impossible… until it’s done.
If my journey has taught me anything, it’s this:
You don’t have to know everything before you begin.
You don’t have to be the most confident person in the room.
You don’t have to have had the perfect start.
You simply have to keep showing up.
One essay.
One conversation.
One brave step at a time.
For me, graduation wasn’t the finish line.
It was the moment I finally started believing in myself.
To find out more about me, here’s a link to my About Me page
And perhaps that’s the most valuable qualification of all.
