I went to university and immediately realised I wouldn't get the help I needed

The reality is, I’m exceptionally luckier than most estranged students, Niall explains (Picture: Niall Hignett)

‘Yeah, three-hundred-fifty quid mate.’

Standing in my uni’s car park, the stranger handed me the cash, and drove off in my ‘06 Renault Clio. It got wet inside when it rained, and the speakers only worked if I drove over a pothole, but I was sad to see it go.

Just a few hours prior I’d driven myself to university in Durham to study law.

I didn’t need my car anymore because I wasn’t driving back home, but I needed the money.

That’s because I’m an estranged student – someone who has little or no contact with their parents while in higher education. There are roughly 10,000 of us.

It was an awkward few weeks starting uni from this position – everyone I’d met was fixed on socialising, and getting the most out of the experience.

But my focus was finding work so I could afford to be there.

In the first few weeks, I needed a deposit for my next year’s housing, and had been quoted a few hundred pounds for a guarantor scheme – that was on top of my rent, food, and textbooks, which already amounted to more than my loan.

The bank of mum and dad wasn’t going to pay for me, like many of my peers.

I got the max loan after a laborious process of submitting evidence to Student Finance England, with the university confirming I’d flogged my car upon arrival as proof I met the narrow definition of estrangement.

But it still wasn’t close to enough.

Niall’s focus at university was finding work so he could afford to be there (Picture: Niall Hignett)

It’s not just covering living costs that I was worried about. Without the obvious back-up plan to return home, I needed to create a financial safety net for myself.

That meant earning as much as possible, and spending as little as possible.

For example, I haven’t ever been to an expensive ball or college formal – or even bought one of those Hogwarts-esque gowns.

Thankfully, the posh-boy aesthetic wouldn’t suit me anyway – but it’s isolating nonetheless.

And I had financial anxiety, constantly.

But that’s not uncommon in my situation with 84% of estranged students reporting worrying about money ‘all the time’ while at uni.

So, a couple of weeks after arriving, I got a job as a bartender – working evening and weekend shifts.

I spent more time serving drinks than I did in lectures or seminars in that first year of university.

Niall experienced constant financial anxiety (Picture: Niall Hignett)

This took a toll on me. I got hit-and-miss grades, mainly doing worse in the subjects where the lectures and seminars were on a Tuesday, since I worked Monday nights to 3am.

Having worked so hard to be the first in my family to go to uni, it was deflating to feel ‘not good enough’.

I’m not unique in this sense. Compared to the average student, 13% less estranged students get the 2.1 or above needed for most grad schemes.

The feeling that I must work harder, with the added mental health strain, makes it difficult to do a degree well.

Financial strain wasn’t my only problem. Seeing other students able to enjoy the experience, and engage more with their degree, was isolating.

After overhearing me complaining to the bouncer that I was tired on hour 12 of my shift, a student approached me.

Having worked so hard to be the first in my family to go to uni, it was deflating to feel ‘not good enough’ (Picture: Niall Hignett)

‘You’re tired? I’m doing a law degree!’, he jeered.

The bags under my eyes clearly hid my identity because while I recognised this student as being on my course, in my year, he didn’t clock me.

Instead, he wanted to let me know he worked harder than he could possibly imagine me, a mere bartender, doing.

It was the early hours, a few days after a big piece of coursework was due and my peers were presumably celebrating.

Of course, most aren’t like that, but sitting out on social events to save cash while others get the most from their uni years is pretty miserable.

The feelings of isolation peaked a few months after arriving in Durham, when the winter break was starting, and people were heading home for Christmas.

But, I wasn’t as I had nowhere to go back to. My maximum dose of antidepressants didn’t touch the sides of quite how lonely and upsetting this was.

After my shifts, I would walk home, with a lump in my throat, and collapse into bed

I had to find a way to get through it, so I had a game plan: work as much as possible over the break, and if anyone asked about my plans, change the subject.

I was mostly successful in evading peers’ questions. A few awkward conversations about ski trips, M&S turkey collections, and nuclear families passed by without much aggro.

But, when a customer at work would probe, jolly and unassuming, about what I was doing over the holidays, it was unavoidable.

You can’t really exit a conversation when you’re pouring someone’s pint in front of them.

‘Oh, nothing special, you?’ was my go to. The anxiety I felt when saying those words was immense – it was emotionally draining.

After my shifts, I would walk home, with a lump in my throat, and collapse into bed.

As you can probably tell from the picture of me in my teens, it’s been a tough journey to get to where I am (Picture: Niall Hignett)

I was, however, usually up a few hours later for the next shift. Looking after myself was second to racking up paid work. There was no time to come to terms with my isolation.

In the months that followed, I considered dropping out. I no longer felt like I belonged there.

This wasn’t unusual for estranged students who are three times more likely to drop out than the average student.

A part of me thought that if I was meant to be there, someone would have provided something by way of extra targeted support.

But it didn’t happen and so, I set about applying for full-time jobs.

I made my decision – I was going to leave university.

After a few applications I landed a role I enjoyed as an election organiser, which paid well on a 12 month contract.

I deferred a year, worked full-time, and saved up.

Niall is an estranged student – someone who has little or no contact with their parents while in higher education (Picture: Niall Hignett)

I lived relatively cheaply in a house-share, in a ‘bedroom’ that was actually a living room with a bed put in it – the landlord special.

People usually assumed I just found my degree too difficult, and had decided to pack it in – even when I explained my circumstances.

More broadly though, there are so many talented people who just cannot make university work, despite being more than good enough to do top degrees at top unis.

After a few months, when my savings started growing, I decided I had to go back and finish my course.

I’m now back doing my law degree, with much less financial worry than I had before.

But the reality is, I’m exceptionally luckier than most estranged students.

I never faced prolonged periods of sofa-surfing and homelessness, unlike the 30% of estranged students who were registered as homeless before starting their degrees.

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Unlike many others, I’ve never had to use a food bank or live in mouldy housing.

Yet – as you can probably tell just from the picture of me in my teens – it’s been a tough journey to get to where I am.

Financial pressure mixed with social isolation is a toxic combination – and it negatively impacted my mental health, social life and education.

There are so many ways it could be – and should be – easier for students in my position to get by in uni.

Measures like guarantor schemes removing a financial burden for those without a homeowner parent are easy wins. These hidden costs add up and have a massive impact on people’s wellbeing.

An incredible student group – the Estranged and Care Experienced Network – are working on setting up support networks – but it shouldn’t be on us to fix this, and funding is needed.

Research by the Unite Foundation found that when money worries are removed, the attainment gap closes to just 3%.

If there were more targeted bursaries and grants, and better mental health provision, students who’ve worked harder than most to get to where they are could be supported.

With a change of government potentially imminent – it’s time to take warm words about social mobility and levelling up, and turn them into action.

And that way, young people like me wouldn’t have to unnecessarily suffer.

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