I Got Into Columbia’s Psychology MA Program. I Rejected Their Offer.

I got into Columbia’s psychology master’s program.

And I rejected their offer.

You might be stopping by from my TikTok, where I shared my surprise acceptance to Columbia. If so, welcome to the fuller, messier, more honest version of the story.

For a long time, I wanted to attend an Ivy League school. Like, I really wanted to. I have been obsessed with prestige for a bit, and I think part of that stemmed from feeling like I was always trying to prove I belonged in rooms not built with people like me in mind.

I originally applied to Columbia’s PhD program in clinical psychology. I was not accepted. But they later asked whether I wanted to be considered for their MA in psychology program instead. I said yes because why not? Despite having nearly two master’s degrees, I decided to toss my hat in the ring and give it a go. And just like I said in my video, I really didn’t think much of it.

I genuinely did not expect to get in.

In my mind (as you can see in my reaction video), I did not believe I was the kind of person who got into Columbia. I was not smart enough. I was not gifted enough. I did not come from the kind of background I imagined Ivy League students came from.

But alas… I did.

I did get in.

And I was shocked.

Elated, yes. But shocked.

After the excitement and pure disbelief settled down, I immediately thought to myself: “Holy shit. Should I really go to Columbia?”

Because this was a dream of mine. And working adjacent to Ivy League spaces, working with Ivy League graduates, and moving through academic spaces in the Northeast had made me very aware of how much prestige matters. Or at least, how much people act as if it matters.

To me, Columbia felt like a chance to enter the upper echelons of society. Something I had not fully seen before and something I was not really given the opportunity to experience growing up. I have always longed for the kind of prestige that I thought would give me an easier life. Something I desperately wanted in my career and, honestly, in my life.

But then reality set in. I had to decide between a third masters and a PsyD program.

I went to admitted students day. I called out of work, took regional rail to Trenton, took New Jersey Transit from New Jersey into Manhattan, and then made my way to Columbia’s campus.

Immediately, I was enthralled.

The campus was beautiful. It gave me a completely different first impression than the one I had when I visited my PsyD program’s campus. Columbia felt grand. Historic. Important. Like the kind of place people dream about.

I sat in a classroom and waited for the presentation to start. What immediately stood out to me was the wealth disparity between some of the admitted students and me.

One parent visiting with his daughter made a comment about paying her tuition.

And I remember thinking, “Can people really do that? Just cut a check for $45,000 to $55,000 a year?”

Meanwhile, I was sitting there wondering how on earth I could make this work financially. I asked about financial aid. I asked about scholarships. I went to the financial aid office and asked if there was any way to get any funding.

The answer was basically: it is late in the game, so it is highly unlikely.

That was sobering.

Because the only way I could ever really see Columbia working was if I got to go for close to nothing. Otherwise, the math simply did not make sense.

The program itself is a research-focused MA designed to strengthen PhD applications. On paper, that sounds like a great opportunity. It could help someone build connections, gain more research experience, and potentially reapply to stronger PhD programs.

And believe me, I thought about that.

I thought about it a lot.

Because I had spent the admissions cycle seeing how much prestige seems to reproduce itself (more will be revealed in subsequent blogs). When I interviewed for doctoral programs, so many applicants had backgrounds from places like Brown, Harvard, Yale, Princeton, or other elite institutions. And their outcomes often seemed very different from mine.

Since moving to the Northeast, I realized how much people care about where you studied. Growing up as an immigrant in the South, I did not really have exposure to these kinds of academic pathways. I went to a state school. I did not know how to navigate all of this. I did not know the hidden curriculum.

So Columbia felt tempting.

It felt like one of those rare moments where maybe I should just take the opportunity because who knows if it would ever come again.

But then I had to come back to reality.

Columbia was expensive.

The program was unfunded.

There was no guarantee it would lead to a PhD.

And I would essentially be delaying doctoral training for two more years.

I also spoke with a current first-year student in the MA program. She shared that while there are opportunities, they may be limited due to the size of the cohort. Not everyone is able to secure research positions or meaningful faculty engagement. Some students reach out to professors and never hear back.

That really stuck with me.

Because if I were going to take on that level of debt, move to New York, and delay doctoral training, I needed to know that the opportunity was more than just the name.

And I was not sure that it was.

There was also a moment during the admitted students’ day that I kept thinking about. One student said something along the lines of, “We love to hear what you have to say. If you got into Columbia, you obviously have something worth hearing.”

I am sure it was meant to be kind. I am sure it was meant to affirm us.

But for reasons I am still unpacking, it made me uneasy.

Because part of me heard: “now that Columbia has validated you, your voice matters.”

And that is probably not what they meant. And that's what I interpreted, which may very well be my own insecurities surfacing. But it hit something in me.

It made me think about all the voices outside of elite spaces. All the people who have something worth hearing but may never receive that institutional stamp of approval. All the people who are brilliant, but not polished in the ways academia rewards. All the people who are capable, but were never taught how to navigate these rooms.

And maybe that is why this decision felt so personal.

Because Columbia was not just a school to me. It was a symbol.

It was a symbol of access. Prestige. Validation. A version of myself I had been chasing.

But I had to ask myself: am I choosing this because it aligns with my goals, or because I still think a prestigious name will save me?

At the same time, I had already committed to a great PsyD program. It is not the flashy choice. It is not the school name that makes people gasp in the same way. But it is a doctoral program. It gets me closer to becoming a psychologist now.

And that matters.

My goals are clinical work, research, academic medicine, global health, and eventually building a career that allows me to work directly with people while still contributing to scholarship. Hartford may not be as research-intensive as Columbia, but they were clear that I could still pursue research and publications if I am proactive.

The program is also close to Yale, and students have had training opportunities in strong clinical settings. I have seen alumni go on to respected roles, including at places like Stanford and Yale’s hospital system. So I know the path does not end because the name is not Columbia.

I think that was the biggest thing I had to learn.

Prestige can open doors.

But it is not the only door.

And sometimes, chasing the most impressive option can pull you away from the option that actually fits your life today.

I do not think Columbia is a bad program. I do not think people are wrong for choosing it. For the right person, with the right funding, and the right goals, it could be an incredible opportunity.

But for me, it did not make sense to take on massive debt for an uncertain outcome just because I wanted the name.

And honestly, I do not think I would have thrived in that environment. I have heard enough about highly competitive, dog-eat-dog academic spaces to know that I have no desire to place myself in one unnecessarily. I have turned down impressive opportunities before because the culture did not feel right. This felt similar.

The name was beautiful.

The offer was validating.

But the fit was not there.

So I declined Columbia.

And I chose Hartford.

For so long, I thought prestige would make me feel safe. I thought if I could just get the right name on my CV, people would finally see me as smart enough, capable enough, worthy enough.

But getting into Columbia taught me something unexpected.

The acceptance was not the finish line.

It was proof that I could get into the room.

Declining was proof that I did not have to abandon myself to stay there.

I am proud that I got in.

And I am proud that I said no.

Because sometimes the dream is not the thing you accept.

Sometimes the dream is realizing you have options.

And choosing the one that actually feels like yours.