My Experience as a Working-Class Student at Durham University
After graduating from Durham University, Katy Willis looks back upon how her working-class identity framed her experience.
Katy Willis
3 December 2020
3 December 2020
The summer before you start university is one that most millennials today will look back on with immense pride and a sense of unmatched achievement. Bejewelled with feelings of elation and excitement at the thought of an adventure in, quite often, a new city; those few months are all about preparation for a new era, and saying goodbye to an old one. For me, a working-class student from the North East of England, being offered a place at Durham University to study English Literature was a chance to prove to myself that I was not going to be confined by society’s expectations of me. So I spent the summer before Michaelmas term with the biggest sense of gratification, because I had been accepted onto the course of my dreams, without the help of private school grades and a wealthy family. In a matter of speaking, I had achieved what I assumed would be unachievable.
Little did I know just how isolated I would feel in a city so close to home, and how, despite my newfound love of the northern city, the very thing which pushed me to apply to such a prestigious university would be the source of my insecurities.
Attending a world-leading university and trawling through the streets of Durham felt like living in a sort of constant daydream. It felt like at any moment I could splash myself with cold water and I would wake up elsewhere, which was both a terrifying and wildly romantic notion. But while this feeling of disbelief was an evident portrayal of my overwhelming happiness, it sometimes made me feel nauseous. My mindset slowly crept away from the I-cannot-believe-I’m-actually-here feeling, and closer towards the I-don’t-believe-that-I-am-good-enough-to-be-here feeling. It ended up taking a lot longer to admit to myself that I actually deserved my place at Durham University.
It felt like I was self-sabotaging, which was something that anyone with just the correct amount of disbelief in their abilities can do. I, for one, did not believe in my own abilities as an English Literature student. Not straight away anyway, and not until I was months into my studies - even then, the self-doubt still lingered. Battling against myself week after week became somewhat of a normality during at least the first year of my university experience. What I didn’t know at the time was that a lot of these insecurities surrounding my worth as a student, derived from the negative connotations which attach themselves to the northern working-class person.
Little did I know just how isolated I would feel in a city so close to home, and how, despite my newfound love of the northern city, the very thing which pushed me to apply to such a prestigious university would be the source of my insecurities.
Attending a world-leading university and trawling through the streets of Durham felt like living in a sort of constant daydream. It felt like at any moment I could splash myself with cold water and I would wake up elsewhere, which was both a terrifying and wildly romantic notion. But while this feeling of disbelief was an evident portrayal of my overwhelming happiness, it sometimes made me feel nauseous. My mindset slowly crept away from the I-cannot-believe-I’m-actually-here feeling, and closer towards the I-don’t-believe-that-I-am-good-enough-to-be-here feeling. It ended up taking a lot longer to admit to myself that I actually deserved my place at Durham University.
It felt like I was self-sabotaging, which was something that anyone with just the correct amount of disbelief in their abilities can do. I, for one, did not believe in my own abilities as an English Literature student. Not straight away anyway, and not until I was months into my studies - even then, the self-doubt still lingered. Battling against myself week after week became somewhat of a normality during at least the first year of my university experience. What I didn’t know at the time was that a lot of these insecurities surrounding my worth as a student, derived from the negative connotations which attach themselves to the northern working-class person.
"I had to tell myself over and over again that my northern accent deserved to be heard in a room full of voices so dissimilar to my own."
I have always been aware of the north-south divide, but none so much as I was during my time living in Durham. Being acutely aware that in a northern city my accent was the one that stood out amongst so many southern accents, was unnerving to say the least. Despite my hometown being just a stone throw away, there was an unmistakable sense of otherness which ended up being synonymous with my experience living in Durham. My attendance felt misplaced because the city was overrun with privilege: a privilege which I, as a working-class student, did not have, nor did I care to possess. I did not attend a private school and my parents were not in the financial position to pay for my tuition fees, but despite those - clearly insignificant - factors, I had earned my place there.
I was equally as excited to speak in seminars as I was embarrassed, and my northern accent played a huge part in that embarrassment. Having a view to express but being wary of what others may think when you splutter out ‘like’ after every other word - a habit that is simply part of the Geordie lingo - really makes you feel hesitant to contribute in discussions.
Plucking up the courage to speak up in a seminar often meant that in a room full of southern voices, your strong northern one felt oddly out of place. Whenever this happened, reality hit home that I was part of the minority. What a bizarre feeling it was to be an outcast in your own region: to feel the need to talk quicker so that the awkwardness would subside, or to train your voice so that it sounded softer; not as strong. Not as ‘common’. I had to tell myself over and over again that my northern accent deserved to be heard in a room full of voices so dissimilar to my own.
Finding your voice comes with time though, and believing in my ability to analyse a book from cover-to-cover and form intelligent opinions about said book, was what I grasped onto. Did I often sound like I was about to throw up during a presentation? Probably. Am I almost certain that my insecurities at university, surrounding my worth as an Undergraduate, can be traced back to the harmful stereotypical views of the working-class? Absolutely. But there was not one seed of doubt in my mind about my worth when I stood in the beautiful Durham cathedral on graduation day in my gown. In fact, I felt an unbelievably strong sense of belonging that I had not previously felt.
Nobody can see growth as it happens. It is only when you look back in hindsight at the amount of times you said ‘like’ during a seminar that you realise how bizarre class division is and how you suddenly stopped caring about your societal ‘place’; you understand how absolutely diabolical it is that accents and places of origin can alienate people. I may have uttered my fair share of northern jargon when explaining the use of imagery in Shakespeare’s Richard II, but I graduated alongside every other student with the biggest smile on my face and an overwhelming sense of worth.
I was equally as excited to speak in seminars as I was embarrassed, and my northern accent played a huge part in that embarrassment. Having a view to express but being wary of what others may think when you splutter out ‘like’ after every other word - a habit that is simply part of the Geordie lingo - really makes you feel hesitant to contribute in discussions.
Plucking up the courage to speak up in a seminar often meant that in a room full of southern voices, your strong northern one felt oddly out of place. Whenever this happened, reality hit home that I was part of the minority. What a bizarre feeling it was to be an outcast in your own region: to feel the need to talk quicker so that the awkwardness would subside, or to train your voice so that it sounded softer; not as strong. Not as ‘common’. I had to tell myself over and over again that my northern accent deserved to be heard in a room full of voices so dissimilar to my own.
Finding your voice comes with time though, and believing in my ability to analyse a book from cover-to-cover and form intelligent opinions about said book, was what I grasped onto. Did I often sound like I was about to throw up during a presentation? Probably. Am I almost certain that my insecurities at university, surrounding my worth as an Undergraduate, can be traced back to the harmful stereotypical views of the working-class? Absolutely. But there was not one seed of doubt in my mind about my worth when I stood in the beautiful Durham cathedral on graduation day in my gown. In fact, I felt an unbelievably strong sense of belonging that I had not previously felt.
Nobody can see growth as it happens. It is only when you look back in hindsight at the amount of times you said ‘like’ during a seminar that you realise how bizarre class division is and how you suddenly stopped caring about your societal ‘place’; you understand how absolutely diabolical it is that accents and places of origin can alienate people. I may have uttered my fair share of northern jargon when explaining the use of imagery in Shakespeare’s Richard II, but I graduated alongside every other student with the biggest smile on my face and an overwhelming sense of worth.