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From Me, to Me... With Love

Wed, 27 Aug 2025 14:14:14 GMT

Dear me,

It’s 2017. Gran’s gone. The woman who raised you — who made the world feel safe and made you feel like you mattered — is suddenly no longer here. And with her goes your sense of direction. The next couple of years are a fog of grief, silence, and survival.

Then in early 2019, you break. Fully. Everything falls apart, and you don’t see a way forward.

But later that same year, you give college one last shot. You don’t feel smart enough. You don’t feel like you belong. But you show up anyway — quietly, nervously, bravely. And that small step becomes the turning point.

You make it through college. You get into university. And slowly, you start finding your place. You create a Disabled Students Society. You help shape the university’s disability audit. You don’t just take up space — you help reshape it for those who come after you.

Then 2024 arrives — and it changes everything.

You graduate with First Class Honours. That would be enough. But the same week, you challenge the McGlashan Trust to remove their age cap on postgraduate funding. And you win. Because care doesn’t end at 30 — and you made them see that. That change is what allows you to access your Master’s — and it opens the door for so many others who thought they were too late.

Then, on graduation day, you’re named the Most EDI-Focused Event Student in the UK by AEME. You — the care-experienced kid who nearly walked away before it ever started — are now leading the field in inclusion. You don’t just show up. You show others what’s possible.

You start your Master’s, and once again, you build. You create a new Events Society — not because you had to, but because you needed it. You saw how postgrads were often left out, so you created regular socials and built a space where people could feel seen. Your peers noticed. They nominated you for an award, and you received special recognition — not for ticking a box, but for making people feel like they mattered.

And behind all the degrees and achievements, you were constantly giving your time. Pride events. Arts festivals. Sporting events. Conferences. Club nights. University balls. You’ve done it all. You didn’t just find your passion — you lived it.

You helped bring TEDx to campus. You weren’t on the stage — you didn’t need to be. You helped build it. You gave others a platform. And that, more than anything, shows the kind of leader you’ve become.

Now it’s 2025. You’re about to submit your Master’s dissertation. And for the first time since losing Gran, you finally feel like you know who you are.

You didn’t just survive.
You didn’t just succeed.
You became someone she would be so proud of.

And you're just getting started.

With love, pride, and power,

Me x

An Open Letter to My Old English Teacher

Tue, 19 Nov 2024 08:17:50 GMT

Dear Sir, I hope this letter finds you well.

You might not remember me, but back in 2009 I was a student in your English class at Wester Hailes Education Centre. I sat at the back, alone, facing the wall. I was the one you said you’d help “if you had time” however, it seems, time was always in short supply.

I want to start by being honest: you hurt me. Your actions made me feel stupid and singled out. Every single day that I attended your class was a reminder that I wasn’t like the others, that somehow I was less capable, less worthy of attention and guidance. The isolation I felt of that desk at the back of the room became a physical manifestation of how I felt inside - alone, confused, and struggling.

Your promise to help me “if you had time” was a constant disappointment. Why? That time never came, and with each passing lesson, my self-esteem became a little more damaged. I began to believe that maybe I was stupid, incapable of learning, and undeserving of an education.

Years later, however, I discovered the truth: I am dyslexic. This revelation was both a relief and a source of frustration. Relief, because I finally understood why I struggled so much. Frustration, because I realised how much unnecessary pain and self-doubt I had gone through. Learning about my dyslexia opened new doors for me. I found ways to learn that worked with my brain, not against it. The anxiety that had plagued me in your classroom began to disappear as I discovered my true potential.

Now, 15 years later, I stand before you as a different person. I’ve graduated from Edinburgh Napier University with a First Class Honours degree in International Festival and Events Management. As I write this, I’m pursuing a Master’s degree in International Marketing with Consumer Psychology. It does seem surreal to have achieved so much academically when once upon a time I felt so incapable. The journey from that isolated desk at the back of the room, to where I am now with a first class honours degree, has been long and challenging, but immensely rewarding.

Oddly enough, I find myself wanting to thank you. Your lack of faith in me, intentional or not, ignited a determination within me to prove you wrong. Each achievement, each hurdle overcome, has been a silent rebuttal to the limitations you inadvertently placed upon me. However, this thank you comes with a word of caution: what you did was wrong. No child should feel stupid or unworthy of attention in a classroom. Your actions had a profound impact on my self-esteem and my relationship with education. It’s crucial that educators understand the power they hold and the lasting effect their words and actions can have on their students.

I want you to know that I forgive you. I’ve come to understand that everyone, including teachers, can make mistakes. Perhaps you were overwhelmed, or maybe you lacked the training to recognise and support a student with dyslexia. Whatever the reason, I’ve chosen to let go of the anger and resentment.

My hope in writing this letter is twofold. First, that you might reflect on your teaching practices and consider how you can better support all students, especially those who struggle. Second, I hope that my story might inspire other students who feel defeated by the education system. To them, I say: your struggles do not define your potential. With the right support and a lot of determination, you can achieve more than you ever thought possible.

In closing, I want to thank you once again - not for what you did, but for what you inadvertently inspired me to become. My success is not because of your treatment, but in spite of it. And in that, there is a powerful lesson for us all.

Sincerely,

Your Former Student, Alistair

Homelessness: My Story

Sun, 14 Oct 2018 11:17:40 GMT

Recently I was travelling home on a bus and looked out of the window to see a boy who was in the same care home as me when we were teenagers. He was younger than me, and this is what he had been reduced to: lying inside a sleeping bag, on the side of the road in the capital city of Scotland, the 14th richest country in the world.

Earlier this year, I read an article about a young man who was given a sandwich by a girl leaving Starbucks – despite the staff telling her to ‘let nature take its course’. As I continued reading, the article mentioned that he had experienced the care system. This is not the first time Starbucks has discriminated against the homeless. Last year, they refused to serve a homeless man, ejecting him from the premises, despite him having the funds to purchase a sandwich. This inspired me to write this article and open up about my own experience with homelessness and look at the relationship this has with the care system.

Back in 2002, the Homelessness Task Force report set landmark new standards on the issue. But budget cuts, reductions in social security payments for some of the most vulnerable, and an insufficient supply of social housing, mean that levels of rough sleeping are on the rise across many towns and cities like my own: Edinburgh.

According to The Salvation Army, in 2015 a third of Scots over the age of 18 believe that addiction is the main cause of homelessness and only 3% have stated that they believe it is down to relationship breakdowns. It is a common misconception that homeless people are addicts and that they are using the money gained from begging to feed this addiction. This perception dehumanises people and does not shine light on the real issue, which is that drug users require support, not vilification.

There is another common misconception that homeless people are simply ‘faking it’, using their homeless status as a way to make money, despite having a place to stay and an income. Although it has been proven that this is sometimes true, it takes concern and attention away from people who are genuinely homeless and do not have the stability that others do. Many people beg for hours every day, just so they can get money to rent a room in a B&B or a hostel. For many people, hostels are the only home they have which is a terrifying thought.

Formal statistics by Who Cares? Scotland suggest that at least 21% of care leavers become homeless within five years of leaving care, however this relies on care experienced people declaring their care status, so it’s estimated this figure could potentially sit a lot higher. In reality, there is a whole host of circumstances that can lead to someone declaring themselves as homeless, such as physical/mental health or relationship breakdowns. Homelessness is a massive issue that is known in the public eye that is not yet fully understood. Statistics are valuable, research is insightful, but the only way that society will ever grasp or understand these issues is by listening to real life stories from people who have lived through homelessness.

Throughout my life, I have experienced the turmoil, inconsistency and darkness that homelessness contains and have decided to open up about my own experience, as I know how important it is for the homeless and care experienced population to have their voices heard. From a very young age, I was brought up by my grandmother. Just before my sixteenth birthday, she was diagnosed with cancer. My social worker decided that it was within my best interest to go into residential care as neither me nor my gran could cope. My behaviour was out of control and my mental health deteriorated due to a number of factors. Just under a year later, I was moved to a supported tenancy and was given help to secure my own tenancy in the future. At the age of 19, I secured my first council flat. I thought this would be great for me, but I was living in a rough area, miles away from my gran and nothing in the flat worked. On my first night, I laid down newspaper on the floor and sat down, hoping that the loneliness and terror would go away. It never did.

A few months later, I found drugs in the garden. I called the police and they took the drugs away, but within an hour, my door was kicked in and my neighbour had a knife held to my throat. I was terrified. After that, I was moved for my own safety and although I didn’t fit the stereotypes, I was now classed as being homeless. I was moved about to various settings, such as a B&B and a hostel. Sometimes I didn’t even know where I would be sleeping. Being in these environments reminded me of being in residential care. Things would go missing from my room and to this day, my experience of homelessness was one of the most terrifying ordeals that I had ever lived through.

I couldn’t cope with being in the hostel and eventually applied for a private let, but I was not financially stable and did not have parents to help me, as other young people might. I had restarted college four times and had almost as many mental health breakdowns.

Eventually I secured a tenancy with a housing association and managed to re-engage support to become independent again and give me the stability I needed. I returned to college and was able to begin volunteering as a shop assistant at my local Shelter charity shop, where I worked my way up to become a supervisor. This gave me a chance to give back to those who had faced the same difficulties as I had.

I have been involved in many campaigns with organisations such as Who Cares? Scotland and The Rock Trust, I have voiced my opinion on tackling youth homelessness which has now given a platform for the voices of Scotland’s care experienced people and those facing homelessness to be heard.

Every twenty minutes, a household becomes homeless. Tomorrow morning, more than 5,000 children in Scotland will wake up without a home. They don’t have a voice and neither does my friend on the street. So the rest of us need to speak up loud and support the many demands from organisations such as Shelter, that our government should commit to delivering a new National Homelessness Strategy.

FEANTSA (the European Federation of National Organisations working with the Homeless) disclosed that young people account for 27% of Scotland’s homeless applications despite only making up 11% of the population. In Scotland there are 24 named corporate parents, all of which have a legislative duty to act as a parent towards Scotland’s care experienced young people. Since April 2017, The Rock Trust has stated that around 11% of the young people they support have come from a care background.

Recurring themes, such as leaving care too soon, lack of support and inappropriate placements, have caused up to 5% of care experienced young people to become homeless as soon as they leave care, with as many as 35% of the care experienced population presenting as homeless to their local authorities before their 25th birthday.

Another reason so many care experienced young people become homeless, may be down to the fact that they lack the necessary skills to live independently. In my opinion, if schools were to incorporate life skills and budgeting in some capacity, this may decrease the number of young people lacking these essential skills and will benefit from the knowledge of money management when they become independent.

Homelessness is one of the many issues that the care experienced population have faced and are still living through to this day. I want to make society understand that homelessness isn’t always a choice, and in some cases, it is the only option.

It is time to re-forge Scotland’s commitment to tackling homelessness, with a new national strategy building on the last decade of work. We want clear leadership and accountability, and for the action plan to be considered a priority for the Scottish Government. That’s why I feel compelled to speak out because I am one of the lucky ones. Not all of us come out the other end fighting.

Dyslexia: Waffles & Spaghetti

Mon, 19 Feb 2018 12:13:24 GMT

Let me paint the picture of a waffle and spaghetti.

Someone without dyslexia, there brain is gonna look like a waffle. It has compartments, it’s totally organised and a 1, 2, 3 process will make total sense to them yet someone with dyslexia, their brain may look like a plate of spaghetti. The outside world looks very messy, everything is touching, they start with step 1, jump to step 3, add in step 4 and reverse back to 2, the answer may not be as efficient but it is the same. It makes sense in my brain.

Dyslexia has made a lot of things hard for me like spelling, talking (I used to totally go blank), reading issues, so a lot of subjects at school were extremely hard for me. I’ve always been very frustrated at the fact that I have dyslexia. I’ve always thought it meant I was slower than everybody else, I couldn’t solve the same problems, I couldn’t keep up with everyone, I got really mad at myself.

At one point I just stopped. I stopped beating myself up over this learning disability that I have and started seeing all the benefits. I’m always problem solving and coming up with new creative ways to solve things I feel it has helped me tremendously with being such a creative person. The whole idea behind my blogs is to say something that’s already been said but in a completely different way with a twist on it and I feel that is exactly what I do all day, everyday with having dyslexia so I have so much practice. I’ve had to work with this disability for most of my life, and it’s never going to go away but being so committed to working with something has made me a super hard worker.

There was a lot of people who always said that because of my dyslexia I’d never get good grades, I’d never do well in life but I used that negativity as fuel and have actually bettered my life. I have people telling me it’s not possible for me to have dyslexia because I do so well with my work… don’t put limits on yourself.

Along with the dyslexia and maybe even because of the dyslexia I have some serious social anxiety. When I’m stressed or tired or nervous it amplifies all of the effects of dyslexia. One of the most frustrating things about me in social situations is my word recalls. When you’re talking to somebody and you just can’t come up with the right words, you know the words but you just can’t find them. That to me stresses me out so much when it comes to interview’s because I know how I want to answer the questions but I just freeze and don’t always have the right words. I don’t always know the right questions to ask or have the right replies and I feel like there is this war going on in my head of me trying to get it together but then I can’t so I get frustrated and when I get frustrated I just want to go into a corner and I want to leave like I don’t want to be there anymore, I don’t talk to anybody.

As you can see social situations stress me out which most people wouldn’t automatically guess based on my natural state which is to be very friendly and outgoing because my happy place is hanging out with friends.

The biggest reason I wanted to write this post is to be an advocate for the fact that even if you have something in your life that has an impact to your day to day activity, don’t let yourself or other people put limitations on what you can and cannot do. If you can learn to work with it then maybe you can turn a weakness into a strength. Stop fighting yourself and start learning to embrace who you are.

Anxiety & Me

Tue, 26 Apr 2016 11:05:24 GMT

Sometimes, I shut down and don’t know what to say because socialising is hard. My mind goes blank because it’s all too much. Some days, everything in the whole world makes me nervous.

Am I a weirdo? Well, yes, but I have an anxiety disorder, and it scares me away from so many things. People sometimes want to know why I can’t just “get over it.” They phrase it in a less aggressive, nicer way than that (usually), but it’s still what they mean.

Why is it such a big deal? I shouldn’t let things bother me like they do. I just have to forget about it. It’s not a big deal, they say, and that’s what I try to remind myself, too — over and over again, every day. I know none of it should be a big deal, but my anxiety tells me a different story, and anxiety is very loud.

I have never not been anxious. Even as the youngest version of myself I can remember, I bit my nails, pulled my hair and was an anxiety-ridden mess. I will always have my anxiety, but it will never define all of who I am.

I am stronger than my anxiety, and I can live with it. I know that, but my anxiety still scares me away. It’s not crippling or anything. Unless I told you about it, you’d probably never know I’m an anxious mess. But, still, I don’t want to be anxious and I don’t understand why I have to be. It’s hard to explain and it’s hard to understand – even for me.

Sometimes, I think all of my friends hate me. I become sure they do. Or, at least, that’s what anxiety says. I know my friends love me, but it’s hard not to think my anxiety might scare them away, too. Relationships make me anxious. Well, not relationships, per se, but since my anxiety is always present, it affects relationships, like everything else. When you date someone, he or she becomes part of you, and since my anxiety is a part of me, it becomes part of him or her, too. My constant need for attention is not easy. My panic attacks are not fun: I ask a lot of questions; I cry; I freak out.

Existing in general makes me anxious. I ask a million questions because I’m convinced if I don’t, I might misunderstand something and do it incorrectly. Everything new I am asked or expected to do is an anxiety. It’s not easy for any of us. Anxiety is draining. It’s a pain in the ass and it’s way less than ideal. I know. My anxiety sometimes scares me away. I don’t want it to, but I can’t control it and neither can you.

My anxiety is a 15-year-old child, thinking it knows what it’s talking about, when really, it’s immature and naïve and will never know how to handle things correctly. Anxiety is like electricity running through my brain with no “off” switch. My whole chest fills with fear and I can’t breathe. My brain morphs into a petulant child who will not listen to logic. There are monsters in its closet, and nothing can convince it otherwise.

Anxiety-ridden people appreciate the little things. If something doesn’t make an anxious person anxious, then, ohmygod, it’s wonderful and so, so appreciated. The moments when I’m not anxious are ones I will always remember. Anxious people will never hurt you because they know too well what it means to get hurt. They don’t want you to go through it. They don’t want anyone to go through it.

My anxiety might scare me away – but as much as I cannot control it, I try not to let it control me. You feel like a burden. You feel like an inconvenience to the people you care about. You know it’s not your fault, but that doesn’t matter. It’s coming from inside of you and feels like you should be able to control it. Sometimes, I control it; I’m not always anxious.

Anxiety is trying. Anxiety is crippling. Anxiety can be a nightmare. But, sometimes, anxiety is bearable. It shows me all I have, can and will overcome.

I have anxiety, but I am not anxiety. That’s the difference. My anxiety might scare me away; it might try to scare you away, too. But, maybe, sometimes, it’s okay to be afraid.

How Education Changed My Life (Part 1)

Tue, 06 Oct 2015 11:23:57 GMT

Years of bullying and loneliness; that’s just a few words to describe how education changed my life.

It all began in Primary School, that’s when things started going downhill. The few friends I had began to vanish into thin air, right in front of my eyes and I didn’t know what to do. What had I done wrong? I remember chucking chairs at the teacher and running away from school. Maybe that could explain it? I got picked on by the other boys in my class. Maybe because I didn’t like football and most of my “friends” were girls. Maybe they were jealous, or maybe there was another perfectly good reason as to why I became a victim to such torment.

One time when I was leaving school, a gang surrounded me and I panicked.I didn’t know whether to try and run or shout for help, or just stand there. One punch and I fell to the ground in pain. They started kicking me in the stomach and my Gran arrived at the school to see where I was as I hadn’t returned home. It wasn’t long before she was joining me on the ground after trying to stop the fight. Minutes past, which felt like hours; my nose pouring of blood, my stomach battered and bruised, just like my Gran. We struggled to our feet and managed to make our way over to the school reception to speak to thehead mistress, only to hear her say; “Sorry to hear that! However, it’s after school hours and out-with my control so unfortunately I cannot do anything! I suggest you both go home and contact the police!” After a long struggle home, I was in a daze and unaware of what had just happened. I didn’t know what to do. I was expelled from school due to my “inappropriate” behaviour and I had to transfer to another school.

I remember hearing the words “Welcome to Dalry” from my new head teacher on my first day. I moved here at the beginning of Primary 5 and had a bumpy start but things got better. The new school had a lot of time for me and they didn’t tolerate bullying in the slightest. They made sure I had the correct support in place for when I felt low due too my past experiences. They managed to help me control my behaviour and by my last day, I didn’t want to leave. I had found somewhere that I was accepted for being “different” and I was happy here.

Things changed thereafter. I started high school and I thought I would come out as a “gay man” which didn’t go down too well with my peers, especially the boys. Inside I felt like shit and remember skipping classes and running away from school. But I wasn’t running away from everything, more like running back home. During P.E. at school, I felt discriminated against not just by my peers, but also the teachers. The boys kept saying stuff like “We don’t want queers in OUR changing room.” and “That gayboy might try sucking our cocks or trying to bum us!” This resulted in me being made to use the disabled changing room and even at that, no one wanted me in their group for activities, so most of the time I just sat at the side and observed. I began feeling suicidal from this point and one day I just had enough. I went up the stairs and climbed over the balcony ready to jump. It didn’t help that everyone was encouraging me to do it while standing with their phones out recording it. I was dragged over the balcony by a teacher and locked in a room until an ambulance came. I got an automatic suspension from school and referred to see a psychiatrist.

Weeks and weeks passed until I managed to get into another school, thanks to David McLetchie (MSP). I had a close bond with several folk in the new school even though there was folk tormenting me on a daily basis. One day however, I got “happy slapped” at the bus stop and nothing was done about this until a witness came forward as I was told I was fantasising and making up stories. I was also accused of apparently “raping” a first year which turned out to be a false accusation made against me. Things got worse and worse so I packed up my bag and walked. I never returned to that school again.

I moved school again and was told this was my last chance to do it right. I became involved in the school pantomime and dance show and thanks to the staff at this school, I managed to get some qualifications before moving onto more challenging things in life. I have graduated from a Prince’s Trust programme, achieved more qualifications through Access to Industry and now I have finished an Adult Returners Course at college and have progressed on to study Health and Social Care.

I worked hard and overcame obstacles to get to where I am today and I am proud of who I am. I can now achieve what I’ve wanted in life… Acceptance! Education had a big impact on my life but not always for the right reasons. I suppose that if all those negative things hadn’t of happened at school, I wouldn’t be as strong as I am today. I came out the other end fighting. Life isn’t perfect and sometimes, things may start on the wrong path but soon divert to help you have a much smoother journey. I learnt the hard way but I wouldn’t have done anything different.

Depression: The Demon Inside Me

Tue, 06 Oct 2015 10:51:54 GMT

It took me a while to realise I had depression but it took me even longer to admit it to anyone. I didn’t want to have something wrong with me, I just wanted to be normal. But what is normal?

Depression is my childhood friend, the midnight voices inside my head. It’s kind of like having something eating at you from the inside out. It feels like something is weighing you down all the time, controlling your every move, and you don’t feel like doing anything. Loneliness has developed an authority where my thoughts are my family, always fussing about the wrong I have done. I feel as if I’m falling through a never ending black hole and I’ve no way of escaping. Depression makes you block out the positive in your life, and only let’s you see the negative. It is poisonous and toxic, but depression has been part of my life for as long as I can remember.

I struggled with my sexuality in the past and could never accept the fact that I was gay. I got bullied at school for being “different” to everyone else. I went through stages of self harm and insecurity. In fact, to this day I’m still vulnerable but I can manage it a lot better than I used to. I remember a few months ago I was having mental breakdowns constantly. One day I randomly started crying at my work, for no reason. I just felt tired and weak. I had cuts on my arm and had to wear a bandage which made it more obvious. I even turned to meeting strangers from the Internet and having unprotected sex. At the time it felt like the best thing to do but looking back I realise how stupid I was. To have my body being used like that just makes me feel even more ugly. It makes me physically sick. I hated myself. I used to take my anger and frustration from these events out on people close to my heart. I would lash out and hurt them, because I wanted them to feel the same way I felt.

When someone tries to make you happy, no matter what they do, at the end of the day you’re still feeling depressed and weighed down… It’s like being sad, but lasts a lot longer. It’s constant. It just never goes away. People think it’s just a way to seek attention. I don’t think they realise how much it hurts and that there is more to it than just being sad. I feel as though, the older I get, the more fragile I become. I’ve lost a lot of friends because they didn’t understand. They just got sick of me being sad. They don’t understand the pain. Imagine closing your eyes at night and your brain just won’t switch off. It’s like a million voices just screaming over and over again. Most nights, I end up just crying myself to sleep to drown out the noise.

I’m sick of people telling me I’m strong. I’m not strong. Going out everyday, having to paint my face with a smile to satisfy everyone else…. That’s what I find difficult. I have to not show any signs of how I’m really feeling because I know if I do, people will start asking questions. I don’t like the attention, in that sense. I just want to be left alone.

Most days I just want to curl up in a ball and be left alone in a dark room where no one can hurt me. I feel that sometimes, I fade away into someone else, until I myself, don’t even recognise who is staring back at me in the mirror. It makes me sick seeing my own reflection sometimes because in my head, all I can think off is how worthless I am, and how lonely I am. How depression took over my life. Depression told me I’ll never be happy, and here I am, afraid of everything.

I hardly socialise anymore, because I know I will ruin everyone else’s day, so instead, I spend my days hiding behind a locked door, in darkness. One day, I begged my depression to leave me alone but it refused. It made me suicidal! It made me want to find the nearest bridge or walk on the road. I think to myself “Wouldn’t I just be better off dead?” All that goes through my head is that a fastened rope can take away my pain.

I have tried medications, therapies, counselling, psychiatrists but none of which seem to work…. so for the majority of my life, I’ve learnt to deal with my own depression. I’ve learnt to “get a grip” as people tell me constantly. But should I really be living like this?

To all of you who are suffering, it’s ok to not be ok. I want you to know that you’re not alone in all of this. Those feelings that you’re feeling are valid and you’re not wrong in your emotions. But you do need to know that this is not a way of life. Every day should not be a bad one and every morning should not be a struggle. If you’re feeling unexplainable sadness or having thoughts of harming yourself or others, it’s ok to talk to someone. You don’t have to live in the darkness forever. Harming yourself will not fix your problems. Those toxic coping mechanisms are causing bigger problems in themselves. I promise you that they will not make any of this go away. So stop! Reach out to your loved ones and those who you can trust. Scream as loud as you can until they hear you and listen to what you have to say. It’s not always about getting answers, in fact, it’s never about wanting answers. It’s about knowing someone is there, to listen to you, so you know that you’re not alone.