Gap years, grades, and nine grand for online lectures – the linearity of the UK’s university system

At the end of September, millions of students will return to university. Some are going back after a confusing year of online tutorials, take-home exams, and a mildly disappointing summer blowout. Others are commencing their higher education journey sans freshers week club specials. Many – knowing first-hand the difficulties of finding a graduate role in the current economic climate – have made a last-minute panic masters decision. I, too, will be resuming my studies later this month, though I am returning following a year out of my degree. For the most part, I fit the gap year stereotype. I worked in a bar for most of the year but am somehow still broke. I can surf (albeit badly) and I bought my thumb ring at a market in Cambodia. But I am heading back into the fourth year of my undergraduate degree. And my gap year was not an exercise in finding myself, rather a medically approved leave of absence on the grounds of mental health. Something that is all too difficult to ask for (and subsequently be granted) within the UK’s higher education system.

“

The British university system takes perseverance too far.

“

I recall arriving at university around this time four years ago. As my parents unloaded a car full of IKEA cushions and fairy lights, I hung around the kitchen to scout out my new best friends. I had decided to read Chemistry at the University of Sheffield, and I was pretty excited to be moving into student accommodation. But as the year wore on, I became increasingly overwhelmed by both the workload and my new life, which took its toll on my mental health. Second year was better, but I was realising just how little the chemistry I was studying aligned with the weekly titrations of sixth form. I did not just dislike my degree, I hated it. The more I bemoaned my subject choice, the more unhappy I became. I quickly realised how few options there were to change it. I was already locked in to go on exchange to Australia, and my grades were decent, so if I wanted to leave the chemistry behind, I would have to start right at the beginning. Dropping out would mean “wasting” the previous two years. Perseverance is a key skill. But the British university system takes perseverance too far. There is very little flexibility in most courses of higher education. But at what expense? Students stoically endure the entire three (or more) years, or they drop out and walk away with nothing but debt. We are taught to study for the sake of grades and the finality of a piece of paper. Not because of our thirst for knowledge and information. Those who made wiser choices in the UCAS application process may still salvage a moral of genuine interest in some of their modules. But, personally, I know that my desire to complete my studies stems solely from an internal desire to wear a graduation cap and the satisfaction of completing a degree that will have spanned five years. Though gap years are becoming increasingly popular, they still carry some of the prejudice of laziness and lack of direction. Because, of course, not knowing what subject you want to dedicate four years to at age seventeen, will inevitably amount to an unsuccessful and unfulfilled life. Yet there are endless advantages to taking time out during your studies. In my case, it was essential for my mental health.

“

There is a finality in the decision to take time out, start over, or stop studying entirely that gets little recognition.

”

My course was a big source of stress and anxiety. At the end of my third year, the thought of returning to another entire year of chemistry was so overwhelming that it was starting to make me physically unwell. So, I chose not to. After quite a bit of admin and a psychological assessment, I was granted extenuating circumstances. Was I a failure? No. Did I lack prospects? No. Did I spend a year focusing on myself, reaching a more stable mentality, and reinvigorating my motivation to graduate? The evidence lies in my impending return. And I am sure I am not the first student to benefit from a gap year. For something that costs so much, universities show a disparaging lack of flexibility for students. It requires extenuating circumstances, or adverse conditions, to be permitted to take time out. Unlike in other education systems, there is little opportunity to take a breather. Students quickly learn to put grades above wellbeing. They have no choice. There is an all or nothing linearity to degree structures that whittles out any students who may face personal challenges or struggle within certain areas of study. Degrees are divided into years, which is both impractical and unreasonable. If you fail a module, you fail the entire year. In much the same way, if you want to pause your studies, you will have to wait for the academic year to recommence. In the few cases I know of, choosing not to study was the difficult option. There is a finality in the decision to take time out, start over, or stop studying entirely that gets little recognition. Some things necessitate perseverance, but others require knowing yourself and what is best for you at that given moment. There have been times (particularly over lockdown), where I have doubted my decision. I have felt cheated by Covid and the disruption this has caused to my year off. But here I stand – preparing to do the previously unimaginable, readying myself for a year of knuckling down to some hardcore quantum chemistry.

So, am I glad I took a year out? Of course. To me the rigidity of consistent and chronological study reaps no benefits. The linearity of the system is no longer viable. Maybe students (like me) need time to recoup, to gain practical experience, or simply to enjoy their early 20s. Perhaps greater flexibility could even increase motivation to work harder. If only there were more degrees like Liberal Arts and Science – of which I was totally unaware until midway through my degree. I want to study art, and English and Spanish, and politics and psychology, and agricultural management. Graduating from a certain degree no longer guarantees a career in that area. Unless I want to devote myself to a lifetime of laboratories and research (which I can assure you I do not), the chemistry I have learned is of little use to me. The types of jobs I would likely apply to ask only for your final results, not the intricacies of the atom. This may not be the case in all fields, but we are fortunate to have far more vocational choices than ever before. So why, when lifelong friends and transferable skills seem to be the only consistent takeaway from university, is there continuing pressure to study with so little breadth? With the 28th of September hurtling toward university returners and freshers alike, I am uncertain as to what we can expect from academia amidst the ongoing pandemic. Many students are questioning how Zoom lectures and email correspondence can be worth £9000. With most of the friends I made at university now graduated, I am wondering how on earth I am going to meet other students – particularly if a second lockdown is introduced. But am I ready to go back? For sure. After months of twiddling my thumbs, even the most shapeless of white lab coats have some appeal.