Should They Do a Postgrad? A Parent’s Guide to the Decision (and the Application)
I was putting away clean mugs when my daughter asked, “Do you think I should do a master’s?” She had just finished her undergraduate degree in June and had spent the summer doing online data-entry work from her old bedroom. The question came out flat, like she was asking whether we should order takeout. But her hands were twisting the edge of her sleeve.
I wanted to say yes. I also wanted to say no. Instead, I said, “I don’t know. Let’s look at it together.”
That was the beginning of a process that took longer than either of us expected. We didn’t have a plan. We had a kitchen table, a laptop, and a lot of unanswered questions.
At first, we made the classic mistake: starting with the degree itself. She listed programs she liked—creative writing, public health, urban planning—based on nothing more than a few course titles and a vague sense of what sounded meaningful. It was exciting for an hour. Then she closed the laptop and said, “I still don’t know if this is the right thing to do.”
That’s when I remembered something a colleague had told me when she was in her thirties and considering an MBA. She said, “Don’t ask whether you should get the degree. Ask what you want the year after the degree to look like.” So we did that.
We sat down with a notebook and wrote down three answers to the question: “What do you want your daily life to be in two years?” Her answers were: working with people, not staring at a screen all day, and making enough money to live without shared housing. Then we wrote down what a postgrad would change about those things. That became the real conversation.
The practical advice that emerged from this might seem obvious, but it took a while to get to. First, we stopped looking at programs and started looking at job postings. Not entry-level jobs after a bachelor’s, but jobs she might want in three to five years. We searched for roles in local nonprofits, universities, and government offices. We read the qualifications sections carefully. Some jobs said “master’s degree preferred.” Others said “bachelor’s degree plus relevant experience.” We made a simple spreadsheet with columns: job title, degree requirement, experience requirement, starting salary, and whether the job actually sounded interesting.
This shifted everything. A degree that looked impressive in a program brochure lost its appeal when we saw that the jobs she liked didn’t require one. Another program, one she hadn’t considered seriously, matched almost exactly with a type of job she’d been eyeing for years. The degree wasn’t just about learning; it was about access.
We also talked about money in a more specific way than I was used to. Not just “can we afford it” but “what will this do to your options after graduation?” We looked at tuition, fees, lost income, and the cost of moving to a city with more opportunities. Then we divided that total by the salary increase the degree might provide. That number was sobering. For some programs, it would take more than a decade to break even. For one, it would never break even. That doesn’t mean those degrees are worthless—just that the return isn’t financial. We had to be honest about whether the experience itself was worth the cost.
My daughter was lucky enough to have no undergraduate debt, because her grandparents had helped. That made the decision more about opportunity cost than survival. But for many families, debt is the first and last question. If your child is considering a postgrad, it helps to put that question on the table early, before anyone falls in love with a program brochure. Ask directly: “If you had to borrow this amount, how would that change your life? What would you need to earn to make it feel manageable?” Then look at real salary data for the field. The numbers won’t make the decision for you, but they’ll make it honest.
After the money came the timing. The longer we talked, the more we began to understand that the biggest question wasn’t whether to do a postgrad. It was whether to do it now. A master’s degree in a subject like social work or education makes sense right after a bachelor’s because it leads to licensing and early-career roles. But many professional degrees are better with work experience behind you. My daughter’s favourite program in urban planning wanted applicants who had worked in a related field for at least two years. If she had applied right away, she would have been rejected. Not because she wasn’t smart enough, but because she wouldn’t have had anything to contribute to classroom discussions. The program coordinator told her that on a phone call.
That phone call was another step that made a difference. I had always assumed applications were just forms and essays. But we learned that program coordinators and admissions staff will talk to prospective applicants if you ask. It can feel awkward to call a university office and ask questions, but it’s a normal part of the process. My daughter drafted a short email: “I’m considering this program. Are there opportunities to speak with a current student or a faculty member?” That one email led to two conversations that completely changed her ranking of programs. One professor described the workload and the kind of student who thrived. Another talked about where graduates ended up working. This was far more useful than any official information session.
The application itself was a different kind of work. We were both surprised by how much the essays matter. My daughter spent two weeks writing what she thought was a strong personal statement. Then she showed it to a friend who worked in university admissions. The friend crossed out the first two paragraphs and said, “This is all about what you want. Start with what the field needs and what you’ve done.” That advice was hard to hear, but it was right. The essays that finally worked were not about her passion. They were about a specific problem she wanted to help solve, and the evidence that she had already worked on it. If you’re helping your child through applications, offer to read their statements out loud to them. Hearing your own words is the fastest way to spot nonsense.
We also learned about references. My daughter had lost touch with most of her professors after two years of online classes. She had to reach out to one professor she’d only spoken to twice, and it felt embarrassing. But the professor replied within a day and said yes. That was a reminder that asking for references is a normal, low-stakes thing. The best time to ask is a few months before the deadline, not two weeks. And when you ask, you should provide the professor with a brief list of things you did in their class. It makes it easier for them to write something specific.
In the end, my daughter did not apply to the urban planning program. She applied to one in public administration, with a part-time job alongside it. She was accepted. But two weeks before the start date, she had a long conversation with a recent graduate of the program, someone she met through a family friend. That conversation made her realise that the degree would be useful, but not essential for the job she wanted. She decided to defer for a year and apply for a city-level internship instead. The university allowed the deferral without penalty. She still might go. She hasn’t decided yet.
I think about that kitchen-table conversation a lot. There was no moment where I gave her advice and she took it. There was a series of questions, spreadsheets, phone calls, and honest conversations with people who had done the thing she was considering. The best thing I did as a parent was to not answer her question directly. I helped her build a process for answering it herself.
If your child is thinking about a postgrad, I’d suggest starting with those simple questions: What do you want your daily life to look like after this degree? Would the jobs you actually want be closed to you without it? How long would it take for the financial cost to pay off? And maybe most importantly: is this the right time, or are you choosing it because it’s the next expected step?
A postgrad can be a wonderful thing. It can also be a delay wrapped in expensive paper. The only way to know which one it is, is to look at it from as many angles as possible before you commit. We’re still looking. And for now, that feels okay.
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