My first Moot

Last Friday, I had my first moot exam. Truthfully, I had no idea what to expect. While most of my classmates were doing their moots earlier this year, I was in a hospital, recovering from an unexpected delivery of my daughter, who decided to make her debut a month early.

Since then, I’ve been grappling with a lot of questions. Was everything unfolding the way it was meant to? Am I still on the right path, or am I just holding onto a sinking ship? These thoughts aren’t new—I’ve been battling inner turmoil about school for a while now. It’s wild, really, considering it’s exam season. You’d think I’d be desperate for a break, but instead, I found myself missing school. FOMO will do that to you.

I’ve always loved academia; it’s a space where I feel alive. But like most things in life, it comes with its share of complications. Over the last few years, I’ve had to navigate a fair number of those, and at times, they’ve made me wonder if I belong here at all. Anxiety, as always, hasn’t been kind to me. It hits like a storm, leaving me battered in every direction—mentally, emotionally, physically. And now, as a new mother, I’ve had to wrestle with a new layer of anxiety: separation anxiety.

That day, my daughter was in safe hands, but knowing that didn’t stop the tears. It was the first time in a long time that we’d been apart, and for two hours, mind you. My heart ached. To make things worse, I was running on two hours of sleep and dealing with a migraine that had been raging for four days. My friend, who had kindly offered to babysit, asked if I was sure I could handle presenting my case. And, honestly, I didn’t think I could. I was already losing sight in my right eye. 

I wanted nothing more than to take my sedatives, curl up in bed, and escape reality until I could feel somewhat human again. But here’s the thing about living with a chronic illness, especially one as misunderstood as migraines: people don’t always get it. They think it’s “just a headache.” They can’t fathom that the pain doesn’t go away—that you have to function through it.

The spectrum of my migraines goes from “dull ache” to “this is worse than death; I can’t even touch my head.” And yet, you can only miss so many classes, exams, or moments in life before people start to question your reliability—or worse, your integrity. I’ve learned the hard way that, for better or worse, you often have to show up, even when every fiber of your being is screaming for rest.

I’d already missed my first chance to do the moot, and after a series of back-and-forths with my lecturer and the HOD, I knew this was my last opportunity. So, I did what I’ve done countless times before: I pushed through.

At 6 a.m., I put on my robe. And for the first time in four years, the imposter syndrome I’d been carrying like a heavy cloak lifted. Looking at my reflection in that moment, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: confidence. I could do this. I belonged here. The realization hit me so hard that I shed a tear or two before stepping out the door.

The moot itself went better than I could have ever imagined. After all the horror stories I’d heard about presiding officers tearing students apart or making them cry, I walked out feeling proud of myself. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

I’m writing this to remind myself—on the days when self-doubt creeps back in—that I’ve been through the trenches and bounced back stronger. And for anyone reading this who feels like an imposter in their own life: you’re not alone. You can claw your way out of self-doubt, one step at a time, even if you have to do it through tears and migraines.

For the first time in a long time, I believed in my ability to see this path through to the end. I hope you do too. 

All the love, N.