I must admit – it’s been one hell of a slog and I am terribly glad it’s over. It all started around January 2013 when I had a bright idea, probably after that night out I had when I fell over and banged my head really bad. I remember waking up the next morning and saying candidly: “I want to do a master’s degree.”

It was a statement of intent and I was determined to do it, come hell or high water. And boy, did they both come to accompany me on my journey.

Let me take a step back for a moment. I left school at 17 with very few qualifications to my name – essentially, a handful of O and A levels, nowhere near to what I needed to get into university. This was the result of a political system that penalized you for attending a church school, which I did, and a fair doze of laze (yes, pun intended). In between naps, I felt cheated of the chance to graduate. This was 1986.

Fast forward to 2013. Having completed my bachelor’s degree in 2010, I felt I was now ready to take on a master’s, confident in the fact that I would manage despite having a family with three kids, a very full time job, which included a lot of travelling, and being an amateur triathlete.

The first books arrived a week before my start date, around 15 July 2013, and I eagerly set about my studying in a purposely built man-cave-cum-study in the cellar. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I immediately realized that I had possibly bitten off more than I could chew. With the first few chapters read, I didn’t understand a word – nothing. Nothing. It dawned on me that I had 24 months left of this. 24 months.

It did get a tad easier, I must say, but not by much. Every waking hour was spent studying or thinking about studying. At home, during my breaks at work, early mornings, late evenings, on holiday, on trains and planes, everywhere and all the time.

Then, in November/December 2013, two events shook my world. First, on 4 November, my father passed away. It was terrible for obvious reasons, but it was made worse by the fact that I had a lot of things I wanted to tell him and never got the chance. One of these things was that, like my brother, I was doing a master’s degree. My brother has two, actually, and my father always mentioned it to me and the pride in his eyes was evident. I wanted to make him proud, too.

Exactly a month and a day later, I was made redundant from a job I loved. It was like kicking a man when he was down. It hurt and made me feel helpless, even because some people at my now ex workplace acted in an unbecoming manner. I was down, but not out.

I’m not quite sure what made me continue, but days became weeks, then months. And now, 24 months after starting, I have finally made it. I’m not sure what grade I’ll get – what I do know is that I gave it my all.

I guess that deep down, I wanted my dad to be proud of me, and my girls to look up to me as an example to follow. I also wanted to prove to my most vociferous critic that I could do it. And I did.