Is Grad School Worth It? A Parent’s Perspective on Choosing a Postgrad Program
“I think I’m going to apply for a master’s in public policy,” my daughter said, pushing her untouched broccoli around the plate. It was a Tuesday evening, and the only light in the kitchen came from the low-hanging pendant lamp. The dog had curled up under the table, and I could hear the fridge humming in the silence.
I put down my fork. “That’s a big decision. What made you land on that?”
She shrugged. “I just feel like I need more credentials. Everyone in my internship has a postgrad. Plus, the program’s ranked pretty high.”
That “ranked pretty high” part made me pause. I’d been there myself, twenty years ago, applying to graduate programs the way some people buy cars—based on shiny brochures and the names of professors I’d never met. I later spent two years and a fair amount of borrowed money figuring out that the program I chose wasn’t actually what I wanted to study. I’ve since learned enough to write a small handbook on what not to do, but I’d rather share what I know before she signs up.
So instead of nodding along, I asked her a different question. “What do you actually want to do after the degree?”
She looked at her plate. “I don’t know. Maybe research? Or policy analysis?”
“Okay. What’s a typical day look like for someone doing that?”
She couldn’t answer. And that’s fine—she’s twenty-one, and nobody expects a full career map at that age. But if you don’t have some rough version of a daily routine in mind, a postgrad can be a very expensive way to avoid making a decision. I’ve seen it happen to many smart, capable students. They apply because they think the degree will give them direction, but direction is rarely handed to you in a seminar. Often it comes from trying things out first.
That’s where the practical part kicks in. If your child is thinking about postgrad, or if you’re thinking about it yourself, the first advice I’d offer is to sit with the question of why. Not in a “find your passion” way, but in a very grounded, boring way. What jobs are you applying for that actually list the degree as a requirement? Can you find three job postings you’d want that you can’t get without it? If the answer is yes, then the degree might make sense. If the answer is “I don’t know but it looks important,” then that’s a red flag.
For my daughter, I suggested she spend a week contacting people who graduated from the program she was eyeing. Just a simple email: “Hi, I’m thinking about applying. Could I ask what you do now?” Most people like talking about themselves. She sent out about ten, heard back from six, and came back with a new piece of information that no website could have given her. Two of the graduates worked as financial analysts, not policy analysts. One was still trying to get a job after six months. Only one was doing exactly what she’d imagined. That’s not a dealbreaker, but it gave her something concrete to weigh.
Another thing I’ve learned is to look very closely at the funding. A postgrad is different from an undergraduate degree in that money is often quietly available—you just have to ask. My daughter’s friend, who’s now in an MFA program, nearly enrolled without any funding. Then she emailed the department secretary, who mentioned a teaching assistantship that wasn’t advertised. That assistantship ended up covering her tuition and a modest stipend. It’s a bit ridiculous that this sort of information is only revealed if you poke around, but that’s the reality. So my advice to any prospective grad student is to make a spreadsheet of every program’s funding options. Call the department, ask about research roles, stipends, and work-study. Say, “What do most students actually do to pay for this?” Don’t assume the published cost is the real cost.
I also think timing matters more than most people expect. There’s a strange cultural pressure to go straight from an undergrad degree into a postgrad, as if taking a gap year means you’ve failed. But in my experience, the students who do well in a master’s or PhD program are often the ones who took two or three years to work, even in a job that has nothing to do with their field. That sounds counterintuitive, but the reason is simple: work gives you a feel for what you don’t want, and that’s just as useful as knowing what you do want. I know a woman who spent two years as a junior editor at a local newspaper before getting her master’s in library science. She said the office work taught her patience, and the degree became something she chose actively rather than fell into. She graduated with clear goals and got a job within a month.
There’s also the question of subject fit. A lot of programs share similar names but vastly different content. Two schools might both offer a “Master’s in Education,” but one focuses on classroom teaching and the other on curriculum design from a policy perspective. My daughter’s initial plan was to compare only rankings, which is like choosing a shoe by the brand without checking the arch support. I convinced her to email the faculty who teach the core courses and ask for a syllabus. Most are happy to send one. Reading a real syllabus tells you more in one afternoon than any marketing page or .
“But what if I start and then hate it?” she asked, finally taking a bite of the broccoli.
“Then you leave,” I said. “You can leave a program. People stay too long because they think quitting is a failure, but it’s not. If you don’t like it, that’s information. You stop, you work, you try something else.”
That seemed to loosen something in her shoulders. We left the table with the sink full of dishes and no decision made. She’s still narrowing down her list, and I expect she’ll spend another month or two emailing strangers and reading syllabi. Maybe she’ll apply, maybe she won’t. The point is, the decision is getting smaller instead of bigger. The question isn’t “Should I go to grad school?” anymore. It’s “Does this specific program help me do the thing I want to do?” And that’s a much easier question to answer, even if the answer isn’t clear yet.
A friend of mine, a professor, once told me that the best students are not the ones with the highest test scores but the ones who’ve figured out that a degree is just a tool. It doesn’t change your value as a person, and it doesn’t guarantee a career. It’s a trade we make with our time and money. The trick is making sure the trade is worth it.
I don’t know yet if it will be for my daughter. But I do know she’s asking better questions now, and that’s half the battle. The other half she’ll figure out on her own, messy and uncertain as that might be.
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