so much green pen on my work....

For my Law on Trial module, I have to write three essays on various topics, each one challenging where the law stands and asking what I truly think of it.

I had been so eager to dive into this module. The subject matter is rich, controversial, and meaningful. The kind of work that, in my mind, should produce something powerful, something memorable, something that might even change the way people think.

And yet, with only a week until submission, I feel more deflated than inspired.

I read back over my essays and feel disappointed. Disappointed in my prose, in my analysis, in the way I’ve expressed myself. In my head, these essays should be exceptional, but on the page, they feel… plain. Almost lifeless. The kind of writing that makes me want to shut my laptop and throw it out of the nearest window.

In a small moment of hope, I signed up for a workshop with one of my favourite lecturers, Claire.
Even walking in, I felt that familiar knot of imposter syndrome tightening, convinced I was about to present something embarrassingly poor.

But then something unexpected happened.

I bumped into another student, a young man I had worked with briefly before. We started chatting, casually at first, but within minutes, the conversation shifted. And with it, so did my perspective.

As he spoke, I felt a weight settle, not of judgment, but of realisation.
While I had been consumed by worries about phrasing, structure, and academic polish, he was quietly carrying something much heavier: lack of family support, fear of failure, the reality of being far from home, and the loneliness that comes with it.

It stopped me in my tracks.

How had I become so focused on my own perceived shortcomings, when someone beside me was struggling just to breathe under the pressure of it all?

We talked about essays, of course we did. About writing styles, methods, and approaches. But mostly, we talked about life. About family. About what it really takes to keep going.

I often feel a little “motherly” towards my fellow students, and this time was no different.

Studying abroad sounds like a dream, an opportunity, an adventure. But sometimes we forget the emotional cost that comes with it, the quiet sacrifices that don’t make it into prospectuses.

I hope I see him again.

Claire, as expected, covered my essays in green ink, helpful, precise, and exactly what I needed. But when I left, that wasn’t what stayed with me.

I wasn’t thinking about my corrections.

I was thinking about him.

About the strength it takes to keep showing up when everything feels uncertain. About the courage it takes to carry on when you feel alone.

I told him he was doing okay. That he had already come so far, and that it would be a tragedy to stop now. And I meant it.

Because in that moment, his struggles, so much heavier than mine, quietly reshaped my own anxieties.

Perspective has a way of finding you when you need it most.