A couple of weekends ago was my graduation day from the College of Naturopathic Medicine in London. I am so glad I went. I ummed and ahhed about it for a good while before booking my cap and gown, having not bothered with my PGCE graduation ceremony some, ooh, 24 years ago, when I started my professional life proper as a secondary history teacher in a failing comprehensive school in South London. I clearly like a challenge.

But there was something about getting to the end of this course, having sweated over the keyboard getting each essay down to the specific word limit allowed (hyphens are my friend), making sure each point was referenced, and revising long hours to pass the tricky exams, not to mention having crises of confidence over each clinic where we saw real-life clients. And that something was an enormous sense of achievement – one I absolutely needed to mark and celebrate. Unlike when I got my degree and post-grad qualifications, I was working throughout, experienced health challenges of my own, real personal tragedy, and in possession of a far older and creakier brain – so there’s that too.

Oh, the doubting, the crying over my laptop. Worrying and worrying about assessment results before they came in and being pleased when they did. Not being able to completely quiet the perfectionist inner voice that threatened to derail me time after time but getting it down to a dull roar enough to get the thing done without a complete nervous breakdown. Worth raising a glass to? I think so.

And besides, it was a blast, wearing the old mortarboard and throwing it up in the air at the end, once the slightly nerve-wracking part of walking on the stage to collect a nicely-rolled but ultimately blank piece of paper to the sounds of applause and, well, the next person’s name being called out. Getting back off the stage without falling over, although my gown did catch on the banister a tiny bit. But the best part was hanging out with my colleagues and now friends, who had more than the merest inkling of what I’d been through, as they had too.

*On a side note, everyone seemed to have great hair that day. I’m so glad I brought my hairbrush as mine tends to have a mind of its feathery-fine own.

And so, as well as my diploma certificate, that I have now framed (!) and will display in my new home very soon, I now have a memory of a thoroughly odd – the pomp and ceremony still baffle me – but enjoyable day, as well as some fetching pictures of me in an amusing hat.

One final thought. Friendships forged in fire tend to last. My colleagues and I supported each other through the ups and downs of what is reputedly an extremely challenging course. Not everyone made it. I believe the connections I made during the nearly three years (I did it a bit quicker than average just to make my life even more difficult) of this diploma will be enduring ones. That’s no small thing either. In fact, that’s probably been the best thing about this whole chapter of my life.