Applying to graduate school is a gruelling process, more often than not encompassing a roller coaster of emotions. Most advice websites will tell you to begin your journey at least a year in advance in order to allow yourself time to prepare for generalized tests and to research schools, programs, and advisors. As someone who only nailed down the schools I was applying to less than 3 weeks before all the applications were due, I experienced this wild ride at a breakneck pace.

Usually, the application process starts with general hope, cautious but excited optimism. “I want to go to grad school because…” The applicant is bolstered by the three or four previous years of undergrad where they worked hard and learned lots. They start to put together experiences and achievements to highlight on a polished CV or resume. Maybe they had been thinking about grad school for a long time and the prospect of starting this next step of life is thrilling. Scared but excited, they start the work.

This leads to a wild swing into existential panic. The applications are asking so much. While it is true that the submission is only a few pages of writing and some abstract, meaninglessly standardized numerical scores, each piece of the admission package requires so much introspection, research, and putting your entire being on the line. Do I really want to go to graduate school at all? Am I even good enough to be a competitive applicant and is there a point in putting myself out there, raw and exposed, only to be packaged into a marketable parcel worth about 100 dollars in application fees and rejected after a faceless admissions committee systematically judges my absolute worth? It is not a bad idea to take a gap year. Maybe it would be better to take a break from school altogether and become a Norwegian sheep farmer for a bit.

But slowly, with support and hugs and advice from the stands, the optimism starts to build back up, manifesting into mild nihilism and unstable confidence. “Nothing matters, so I might as well try.” This idea might come from watching and re-watching season 3 of The Good Place during this time, but it helps. The applicant starts to reach out for help, a professor here, a previous lab supervisor there. Everyone is supportive and offers so many well wishes: “good luck!” and “you can do it” and “add oil!” (my personal favourite). After all, it is just one application process out of many. Get to work!

Aaaaand right back down. Because one of the best ways to improve is to ask for help, to hear other’s stories, and to see examples. Although this is immensely helpful, it is also a prime set up for imposter syndrome (see: everyone else is better than I am). A prime instance of this was when my professor told me she applied to 10 graduate schools and I had only planned on applying to 4. Immediately after, I met two more professors who applied to 12 PhD programs each. “Yeah, you should be applying to 10-15 schools. Mathematically, it just makes sense to maximize the probability of getting in.” Other applicants have such stellar publications and research experiences. Should the moving to Norway plan be revisited?

The process is an emotional roller coaster, to say the least. However, it is largely a story of hope. Zooming out, the graph shows a generally positive trend. The amplitude of the waves get smaller, each crest is higher than the last. With each fluctuation in well-being, the applicant ends up better than before and with a stronger application. Every tribulation is a testament to your courage and vulnerability to keep going.

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Throughout these few months, I sent out emails to and scheduled meetings with every professor and supervisor who could offer me some advice. One particular meeting stood out. My research supervisor and professor from last year was in town for a conference and offered to meet with me during her lunch hour between presentations. There was definitely no pathetic fallacy: it was a gorgeous fall day, brisk and sunny, and I probably resembled a dementor, emerging from the house for the first time in two or three days.

But making my way downtown, I was reminded of a similar scenario almost exactly one year ago. At that point, as a meandering junior studying peace, conflict, and political science, I had no research experience, no personal academic interests, and no idea I would be pursuing further studies in psychology.

Last year, my professor held her office hours beginning at 8:30 am. As someone who struggled to get up for 10 o’clock classes, the prospect of being awake and alert enough for discussion at 8:30 in the morning was daunting, to say the least. But her office was just two buildings down from my residence and she was somehow studying psychological concepts in global affairs and political science settings. That was what I wanted to do and I had to know how she did it.

As I was walking out of her office last year, she offered me a research assistant position. This year, Laura gave me a hug and told me I was doing everything right.

I thought about ending this article with an excerpt from my statement of interest, the crucial essay to be submitted with each grad school application, meticulously spelling out to the admissions committee, “I am good, please accept me”. Then I was scared of the possible plagiarism consequences of including anything from my application word for word because with each submission I had to declare and sign that yes, this is original work, not reproduced anywhere else.

So instead of representing myself with the essay I have written about six drafts of to date, I am including a quote in honour of the writing that inspired this article.

Margaret Atwood writes,

“This is a photograph of me

It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print”