My Supervisor Asked Me the Question I Needed to Hear

After I got into Columbia’s psychology MA program, I spiraled a little.

Not in a dramatic way, but in the way you spiral when something you wanted for years finally happens, and suddenly you are not sure if you actually want it anymore.

In my last post, I wrote about getting into Columbia and ultimately declining their offer. I talked about prestige, money, admitted students day, and the realization that sometimes the dream changes when you get close enough to see the full cost.

But there was another part of that decision I wanted to write about.

My supervisor at Newcastle.

When I got the Columbia offer, I reached out to one of the people I trust most for academic guidance. She supervised my PhD that then turned into MPhil (we will touch on that in further blogs), saw me struggle through the research process, saw me grow, and probably had one of the clearest views of both my strengths and the places where I was trying to force myself into a version of academia that may not have fit me.

I asked her what she thought.

Part of me wanted reassurance. Part of me wanted someone to tell me I would be foolish to turn down Columbia. Part of me wanted someone to say, “Sam, this is Columbia. You have to go.”

But that is not what she did.

Instead, she gave me something much more useful.

She helped me think about the path after the path.

One of the things she said that stayed with me was that in academia, you always have to keep an eye on the step beyond the step you are about to take. The timelines are too long not to. A decision can look good on paper in the immediate moment, but if the next step after it is uncertain, expensive, or dependent on too many things going perfectly, then the risk starts to compound.

That language helped me so much because it gave structure to what I had already been feeling.

Columbia was not a bad opportunity.

It was Columbia.

Of course, it was impressive. Of course, it carried weight. Of course, it had a huge pull. I would be lying if I pretended otherwise.

But the question was not simply, “Is Columbia prestigious?”

The question was: What comes after?

If I went to Columbia, I would be pursuing another master’s degree after already completing graduate training. The MA was unfunded. It would mean delaying doctoral training for two more years. It might strengthen a future PhD application, but it cannot guarantee one. And if the goal was clinical psychology, research, academic medicine, and ultimately becoming a psychologist, then I had to ask whether this step actually moved me closer to that life or just made me feel temporarily validated.

That was the part I kept returning to.

What is the step after Columbia?

Another PhD application cycle?

More uncertainty?

More debt?

More waiting?

More trying to prove I belonged?

My supervisor also pushed me to think about the kind of talent I actually have, not just the kind of talent elite academic spaces tend to reward most loudly.

That part was uncomfortable.

Because in many research spaces, especially highly prestigious ones, it can feel like the highest form of intelligence is being insanely analytical, hyper-competitive, and willing to give your whole life to the work.

And listen, I am hardworking.

I am ambitious.

I care deeply about research.

But I also know myself.

I do not think my greatest strength is being the person who can disappear into a room, detach from the world, and produce hyper-technical work with no connection to lived experience. That is not an insult to me. It is just not the fullest picture of who I am.

My strength has always been in seeing connections.

In noticing what people miss.

In bringing lived experience, systems, culture, and research into conversation with each other. I connect dots and tie science into these discussions.

In looking at something old and asking whether there is another way to understand it.

In caring deeply about the people behind the data.

For a long time, I thought that made me less academic. Like maybe I was not analytical enough, not traditional enough, not polished enough, not the kind of person who could thrive in “serious” intellectual spaces.

But my supervisor helped me see that maybe the goal is not to become a different kind of thinker.

Maybe the goal is to find the environment where my actual strengths can become useful.

That changed something for me.

Because part of the Columbia pull was not just about education. It was about validation.

I wanted the name because I thought the name would say something about me that I was still struggling to believe on my own.

Smart enough.

Good enough.

Serious enough.

Worthy enough.

The kind of person who belongs in elite academic rooms.

But what happens if the room costs more than it gives back?

What happens if the room is impressive but not nourishing?

What happens if getting into the room becomes the goal, even when the room is not where you are meant to grow?

That was the question underneath everything.

I was not just deciding between Columbia and Hartford.

I was deciding between a path that looked impressive and a path that actually moved me toward becoming a psychologist.

And the more I thought about it, the more Hartford made sense.

The University of Hartford’s PsyD is not the flashiest choice. It is not the decision that makes people stop mid-conversation. But it is a doctoral program. It starts now. It leads to clinical training. It gives me a real path toward becoming licensed. It still leaves room for research if I am proactive. It aligns better with the kind of career I say I want.

Clinical work.

Research.

Academic medicine.

Global health.

Trauma.

Neuropsychology.

Work grounded in people’s actual lives.

Columbia may have given me prestige.

Hartford gives me a path.

And those are not the same thing.

Another thing my supervisor said stayed with me deeply. She described me as someone with strong values, bravery, and real potential to change the world — not just think about it.

I do not share that to be self-congratulatory. I share it because sometimes other people can see the version of us we are still learning how to trust.

For so long, I thought changing the world had to look like becoming the most impressive version of myself on paper. The best school. The biggest name. The most elite affiliation. The CV that made people immediately understand I was someone worth taking seriously.

But maybe changing the world also requires knowing which environments allow you to stay whole.

Maybe it requires choosing the path where your values remain intact.

Maybe it requires not selling your soul for a name, even when the name is one you once dreamed about.

That is not to say prestige does not matter.

It does.

I am not naive about that.

Academia absolutely rewards certain institutions, certain networks, and certain forms of polish. I have seen that. I have felt that. I have watched how prestige reproduces itself in admissions rooms, professional networks, and academic spaces.

But I am also learning that prestige is not the same as fit.

It is not the same as mentorship.

It is not the same as funding.

It is not the same as emotional safety.

It is not the same as a clear next step.

And it is definitely not the same as purpose.

When I finally declined Columbia, I did not feel completely fearless. I still wondered if I was making a mistake. I still had moments where I thought, “Am I really saying no to an Ivy League school?” I still had to sit with the part of me that wanted the name.

But I also felt grounded.

Because for once, I was not only asking, “What sounds impressive?”

I was asking:

What is my path?

What is my destination?

What kind of psychologist do I want to become?

What kind of life do I want to build while becoming her?

And what is the step after this step?

That last question changed everything.

Because when I looked at Columbia, the next step felt uncertain.

When I looked at Hartford, the next step felt clearer.

And at this stage in my life, clear matters more than impressive.

I am grateful to have gotten into Columbia. I am grateful I had the option. I am grateful for what that acceptance meant to the younger version of me who never thought she could even be considered by a place like that.

But I am also grateful to the people who remind me to choose in line with my values.

For the mentors who do not just tell me what sounds good on paper.

For the guidance that helps me think beyond the immediate sparkle of an opportunity and toward the life that comes after it.

So maybe the lesson is this:

Do not just ask whether the opportunity is impressive.

Ask where it leads.

Ask what it costs.

Ask whether it asks you to become more yourself or less yourself.

Ask whether the step after the step is one you can actually see.

And then, as best as you can, choose the path that lets you keep your values intact.

That is what I am trying to do.

One decision at a time.

- The Budding Psychologist