AI: Levelling the Playing Field
I've never been the academic type. My highest level of education is GCSEs, and for a long time I thought that was simply down to unlucky circumstances in my upbringing. My parents weren't in a position to offer financial support, and education was never really championed at home. At best, it was limited to questions like, "Do you want to be a vet?"—with no explanation of what that actually meant. No one mapped out the exams, the years of study, or the cost of university.
I left home when I was 14 and from there had to find my own way. I gained educational trades and NVQs, and I surrounded myself in the corporate world, striving to be around people who were—at the time—what I saw as successful. Eventually, I found myself in a stable, respectable 9–5 job. On paper, it looked like the dream. My kids don't really understand now what that job even was, but back then it felt like the "right" thing to do. The problem was, I wasn't happy. I wasn't settled. And I certainly wasn't passionate about what I was doing.
For much of my life I carried a feeling of being slightly on the outside. Not broken, but unsettled. I couldn't understand how people were able to simply accept life as it was, to settle in and be satisfied. From a young age, I was a fantastic chameleon—able to adapt, mask, fit in—but internally I felt mentally separate, like I was watching life through a glass window.
As women, we're often expected to mask our quirks, soften our edges, and suppress habits that might look "odd" or "too much." My late mother-in-law used to call me "Can-do Ellie." To me it was nothing special—why wouldn't I just do something if it needed doing? But I later realised that trait stood out because not everyone approaches the world that way.
Great minds are often remembered for their obsessive curiosity—taking things apart, tinkering, rebuilding. I never did that with engines or machines. But with AI and software, I found myself doing exactly that. I built something before I even understood it. And once it existed, I pulled it apart piece by piece until I did. Completely backwards from how we're "supposed" to learn. But it worked.
And that got me thinking: why isn't backwards learning a thing?
For minds like mine—the tinkerers, the restless, the ones who need to see it first—this could be the better way. If I can physically see the end goal, I can understand it better. When I built something with AI, I saw the finished output first, and then I worked backwards to understand how it had happened. That's when it all clicked.
Take music as an example. If someone sat me down and explained a piece of Chopin—pointing out the patterns, the layers, the rise and fall—and then showed me how the scales connected into that masterpiece, it would all make sense. But if I had to sit in a practice room, repeating scales without context, I'd be frustrated and disengaged.
I'm not saying this approach works for everyone. But for some of us, being able to start at the end—to see the picture before learning the brushstrokes—creates a completely different connection to learning.
And that's the thing: AI is rewriting the rulebook.
AI offers intelligence and information at the speed of light—particularly for people who historically might never have had access to it. For someone with dyslexia, it's now possible to channel thoughts into an essay with clarity. For someone who struggles with structure, AI provides scaffolding. For someone who has passion but lacks the patience to sit through traditional study, it provides shortcuts, guidance, and real-time feedback.
Looking back, yes, I could say I should have studied software or coding. But truthfully, it wasn't even something that felt available to me. Back then, coding was for the "geniuses"—the maths prodigies, the kids who already spoke in computer languages. Not for someone like me. And had I tried to take it the conventional way, there's no guarantee I would have understood it—or enjoyed it.
AI changed that. It allowed me to approach technology in my own way. To break the rules of how you "should" learn. To start at the end, pull it apart, and understand it backwards. And in doing so, it unlocked a passion I never knew I had.
Alongside that, I've learnt to accept who I am.
I know I need heavy metal blasting in the morning to calm my racing mind—it's like shaking the energy out before the day begins. I've learnt to recognise when I slip into my "crazy development mode," the hyper-focus where I disappear into building, writing, or coding. And I'm surrounded by beautiful friends who understand me in those moments—who don't judge, who know not to expect a reply until I resurface. That kind of acceptance has been just as transformative as the technology itself.
I'm writing this because I'm a firm believer—and an avid fan—of the idea that the rest is history. To understand how or why something is the way it is, you have to understand the history. And for the first time in history, the knowledge of the world really is at our fingertips.
When I talk about AI and intellectual technology, I realise I'm the most animated and confident I've ever been. I feel supported by a bank of knowledge that never runs out. I can create anything—and I have the scaffolding, the history, and the education right there for me. All I have to do is ask the right question, or frame the right prompt. The original vision of the World Wide Web is here—and it's only getting better.
Education needs rethinking. Not everyone fits into the neat paths of lecture halls and textbooks. With the technology we now have, we can build entirely new ways of learning—for those who typically couldn't, didn't, or were told they wouldn't.
I don't know if it's my personality, my brain, or simply my obsession with AI and software. All I know is that for the first time, I've found something I love. My mind races, yes—but now it's racing with purpose.
AI isn't just levelling the playing field.
It's letting people like me finally step onto it.