Poor: Grit, courage, and the life-changing value of self-belief

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This book is a compelling read that proves both difficult to put down and challenging to read. Katriona O'Sullivan pours her heart out to the reader, using her memoir as a cathartic medium to elucidate and comprehend her upbringing and early life, enabling her to move forward and embrace her own life to the best of her abilities. From an educational and policy perspective, it is essential to grasp the hardships some individuals face and the seemingly insurmountable obstacles they encounter. Twelve years later, I get to sit here and write a book review for one of the most important books I have ever read. I don’t say that because O’Sullivan is my friend – though she is – but because she has written a memoir that brings the reader to the edges of their tolerance and empathy and profoundly challenges the judgment that readers may harbour towards families like O’Sullivan’s.

Growing up in a working class community in Coventry to Irish parents, Katriona O'Sullivan dealt with far more trauma and poverty than any child should ever know. In her book Poor, Katriona speaks about her hardship growing up as a child of parents who were drug addicts, and how ofttimes it was school and kind teachers that first taught her that she deserved more than what she had, and instilled a love of learning and education within her. The next couple of years were difficult, dealing not only with the trauma of her own childhood, but also with a baby. We normalise the struggle of life with a newborn for older, middle-class mothers, she points out, “but young mothers are punished for the same thing”. To her horror, O’Sullivan found the pattern of her childhood repeating itself: it was easy to forget the trauma of her life if she was out at pubs and clubs, drinking and taking drugs; desperate for love, she confused it with sex. O’Sullivan was cleaning toilets in the train station when a chance encounter with an old friend on O’Connell Street changed the course of her life. The friend, also a young single mother, told O’Sullivan how she was studying law in Trinity College.We love a rags-to-riches story, and we love to see someone triumph through sheer determination. But the story is rarely that simple. My story isn't, anyway.' I so wanted her to be one of us, the working class, and I felt it in my gut that she was. I deeply longed to see myself in the structures surrounding me and felt she was a bit of me. I loved meeting smart, successful women who were very grounded in working-class culture and identity, and I knew I was in the presence of someone I could learn from. Her relationship with addict parents Tony and Tilly is gut-wrenching and yet, because of O’Sullivan’s empathy and love for her parents, my judgment and disdain that I had for them at the beginning of the book falters. There’s no doubt of their negligent, harmful actions. But you are also given an understanding of the turmoil that Tony and Tilly lived through. Being able to hear Katriona tell her story in her audiobook, in her own voice brought me to tears several times.

Poor is this story, the story of how a once-bright student found herself on the wrong path and how, through sheer grit, determination and bravery, turned her life around thanks to an unexpected encounter with the Trinity Access Programme as an adult. Clearly, O’Sullivan didn’t want a world where she would be the only one that found solid ground. We see this in her efforts to place her experience within her parents’ experiences and her parents’ experiences within their histories. O’Sullivan expertly gives us an insight into the genuine harm of her parents’ addictions but by no means defines them by it. She beautifully and lovingly tells the story of two whole people. Two people who struggled and fought, who lived a life shrouded in pain and poverty, but also in song, loyalty and books. Being a child in poverty is the greatest indicator you will suffer from asthma, cancer, heart disease or mental illness, that you will go to prison, be addicted to drugs , get divorced, die young or commit suicide. Despite this understanding we allow children to go to school hungry and live in danger where drugs and alcohol are used. Despite what we know we still pretend that all it takes to succeed is hard work when the truth is only the privileged can. Addiction, too, is seen as a personal failing rather than a complex issue. “There’s nobody I know who is addicted to drugs who planned that,” says O’Sullivan. “Especially for women with addiction, we do not provide enough support and services. My mother was judged so harshly, more than my dad, for being an addict. We need to look at how we moralise around addiction, and poverty.”Poor is the extraordinary story – moving, funny, brave, and sometimes startling – of how Katriona turned her life around. During her schooldays there had been teachers who looked out for her – beacons of stability in a chaotic childhood. They planted seeds of self-belief. In Dublin when she sought help, she found mentors whose encouragement revived that self-belief. She got her act together, got a flat and a job as a cleaner, and got into Trinity College. Today Dr Katriona O’Sullivan is an award-winning lecturer whose work explores barriers to education. It was 2011 when I first met the now-published author Katriona O’Sullivan. She stood at the top of the lecture hall in Trinity College Dublin in a beige cardigan down to her knees, blue denim jeans and a pair of runners. She spoke about addiction, and I couldn’t quite tell if she had an accent like mine because of her English twang. O’Sullivan, grew up one of five children in England with Irish parents, both heroin addicts, in a home environment riven with dysfunction, abuse and poverty.

Most of the time being poor felt like a sodden blanket which was lying heavy across my shoulders dragging me down into dark waters" There's a very striking, moving scene early on in the book and it was a real take-home point from the book for me. A kindly teacher, Mrs Arkinson, took an interest in Katriona from a very young age and recognised the fact that Katriona came from a home where she was utterly neglected. Mrs Arkinson gave Katriona clean underwear and clothes, and a towel, and showed the young girl how to wash herself. Poor is the moving, inspirational and brave story of a seven year old girl who needed love and care and found it with her teachers. Of a teenager whose English teacher believed she was fantastic. Of a young mother who had a caring nurse who encouraged and supported her. Of a woman who becomes a doctor of psychology and works to increase diversity in education. O’Sullivan has dedicated her life’s work to changing society for other women like her, but she has rightly dedicated this memoir to herself I read poor in one sitting ... I found it so complelling. An amazing story ... moving, uplifting, brave, heroic ' - Nuala McGovern, Woman's Hour, BBCFull of insight into a life lived right up against the boundaries placed on it by poverty . . . so important . . . we'd highly recommend Fi Glover, Off Air with Jane and Fi, Times Radio

It’s like I lived two lives,” she says. “A life up to the point where my mind was opened by education. Prior to that, I had no idea that you could be anything different.” She is furious at the rhetoric around poverty – during the past decade especially – that if someone is poor, it is their own moral failing, and if only they worked harder, they could drag themselves out of it. “What I’ve done is miraculous, and rare, because we don’t have investment. If I was in that situation now, I wouldn’t be here.” Because I’ve been empowered, I have been able to change my life, my children’s lives. I’m not costly any more to the state Coming from poverty dreams aren't sky high, most of the time they barely go past the ceiling of a council house. And being 'better' meant having a job or not selling drugs

In a lecture room at Ireland’s most elite university, a woman in a hoodie and jeans, her hair in a messy bun, was sorting out some chairs. A student came in and told her that she couldn’t clean in there because a class was about to start. “I know,” the woman told her. “I’m teaching it.” It is one of my favourite moments in Dr Katriona O’Sullivan’s new memoir, not just for the delicious awkwardness, but because, despite O’Sullivan’s path from virtually unimaginable poverty and trauma to a top-level education, it exposes the truth about whom we believe those institutions are really for. The book helped. She likes herself now. “I think I’ve always liked myself, though. What’s really sad about growing up is that I can clearly remember being a young girl, alive to the world, inquisitive and bright, like all kids are but, unfortunately, I was born in this community where I wasn’t given an opportunity to flourish.” She feels now, nearly four decades on, closer to that girl, before the weight of neglect, predatory men, fear and low expectations crushed her. “Like, I’m alive again.” Katriona was born in Coventry to Irish parents. She grew up in dire poverty, became a mother at fifteen and ended up homeless. Moving to her father's native Dublin, Katriona was hopeful that a change of place would bring positive changes to her life. As she says herself, it turned out that "nothing would change in Dublin......I had come to Dublin and to change my life and simply replicated it". Although she wouldn’t necessarily have classed herself as an addict – “I sometimes think: ‘Was it bad enough for me to own the same space that my parents did?’” – she could see the way she was going, and she wanted to stop. “I didn’t want that for my son, and that was horrific. I remember waking up to the fact, living in Birmingham in this council house, no carpet on the floor. I used to buy electric and gas keys on a Monday, and by Friday, it was gone, so it was cold. I remember thinking: ‘I am her, I’m my mam, and this beautiful boy deserves better.” As the middle of five kids growing up in dire poverty, the odds were low on Katriona O'Sullivan making anything of her life. When she became a mother at 15 and ended up homeless, what followed were five years of barely coping.