Graduating with a Master's Degree as a First-Gen College Student

Written by Lorena Kanzki

As a first-gen college student, the idea of grad school had always felt like some abstract, unattainable concept to me. I never considered applying until December in my senior year of undergrad school at Syracuse University. I did a random Google search of “Media Activism” and found a master's course at New York University. The course excited me enough to click through the program website. I dived deeper into the full curriculum, and I fell in love. I thought to myself, wouldn't that be nice? But it was nothing more than a dream in the moment. I minimized my search results and allowed my hesitation to turn me away.

One month later, I sat in my faculty advisor’s office while he questioned me, “Why’d you decide not to apply? This program seems perfect for you!” I responded, “It was just a nice idea. I don’t think I would get in.” He shook his head and proceeded to instill powerful words of affirmation and encouragement. In that moment, almost as if on cue, the sun peeked out from behind those gloomy Syracuse clouds and flooded his office with light. I received the message, but there was only one month until the application deadline. He assured me he would help me get my materials together in time. I thanked him and said I would be in touch, then I walked out into the hallway and sat on a bench to accept the reality of my change of heart. I decided that this was for me, and I was determined.

In one month, I studied and passed the GRE exam, wrote 20 pages of essays for scholarship applications, and sought out my favorite professors to write recommendations and proof-read my writing. I say this to state my truth, but I don't say this with pride. I definitely recommend taking more than one month to complete application materials to the best of your ability, and to ensure that you have more space to breathe and take care of yourself in the process.

To get a little deeper into what my graduate school program's application looked like, I'll split it into three parts:

1. Part one was my general application on the NYU website. This included filling out the application form with my personal information and submitting my resume, my transcript, my personal statement essay, two letters of recommendation, and paying $75 for the application fee (I wish I would've looked into the fee waiver options at the time!) The personal statement, also called "statement of purpose," was the hardest part for me. This essay was two to three pages about my background and objectives for the program, and it was unlike anything I've ever written. I did many google searches, went through a myriad of sample essays, wrote a first draft of "word vomit" across four pages, and then identified professors who helped me edit it all down to two pages.

2. Part two was taking the GRE General Exam, which was required by my program at the time. GRE stands for Graduate Record Examinations, and the General Exam is a standardized test that I describe as a graduate school version of the SAT. My personal process to pass the GRE was intense due to my short timeline. I practiced GRE vocab flashcards on the Magoosh App during my bus commutes to campus everyday. I watched GRE Math videos on YouTube every night before bed and wrote all of the important formulas on one page for memorization. I searched through the ETS website and downloaded their free test prep materials. I searched for affordable practice exams to practice testing myself in timed sessions once a week. Overall, I got an average score, but it was considered a passing score so it was good enough for me in the moment. Because I was applying so late, I only had one shot at this before my application deadline, but I recommend giving yourself more time to study.

3. Part three was my essay application for a scholarship. This wasn't mandatory for my program application, but it was mandatory for me personally to be able to afford this. I was given a list of writing prompts with no minimum or maximum page count. It was a Media Diversity Scholarship, and the application questions asked about my thoughts and experiences with the media industry. I had so much to say for each question, and I ended up writing about 20 pages altogether. I reached out to an advisor to help look over my answers, and we cut them down to keep them as straightforward as possible while still capturing my message and passion.

Note that this application process was for NYU's Media, Culture, and Communication Master of Arts program. Different programs can have different admission requirements, so others may not look the same as mine. Hopefully this glimpse into my process will help you get a general sense of what a grad school application can look like.

After finishing my application materials, I looked for ways to boost my spirits for admission and manifest that congratulatory email. I downloaded a photo of NYU's campus and made it my phone background to look at everyday. I watched YouTube videos of campus tours and pointed to certain areas to say “thats where I’ll study, and that’s where I’ll have my coffee breaks.” I mustered all of the confidence I could, thanks to those who helped me to believe in myself. Then— I got in.

I received the admission letter congratulating me on getting into my program, and immediately paused my excitement until I knew I could pay for it. A few weeks later, I received the next congratulations letter notifying me I made it into a scholarship program to have my studies fully covered. I was chosen as one of the four students to receive this scholarship. My heart stopped.

Although I entered my first semester full of excitement, I was dually terrified. I was intimidated by the language used in class discussion, and had to google the definition for every third word of my readings. I met with my professors in office hours to share my concerns, and luckily, many were supportive. I joined study groups to learn more from my peers and quickly found that many of them felt just as lost as I did, and the few who didn't were kind enough to help. We formed a community, and I slowly learned to let go of the feeling that I was failing by not understanding everything the first time. My learning curve didn't need to look the same as everyone else's. My existence in these spaces was enough. My effort in these spaces was enough. My contributions to these spaces were more than enough, they were necessary.

I got involved with initiatives on campus for first-generation students. I spoke on panels sharing the first-gen experience. I consulted with faculty and administrators to identify areas of opportunity to strengthen support. I shared my first-gen-focused research at the annual New York State Communication Association Conference.

When the time came to write a thesis paper, I felt lost again. The idea of being qualified enough to contribute to academic knowledge was daunting to me. I decided to harness these feelings and dedicate my topic to the first-gen experience. I wrote about 50 pages under the title, "Reimagining Digital Communications for College Access and Support: Strengthening Higher Education Institutions’ Connections to the First-Generation Student Population.” The process was both emotionally and physically exhausting. Many tears were shed as I worked to validate my own capability and credibility to write such a thing. I reminded myself that my lived experiences also count as knowledge. I am the expert of my own life. This writing is both a personal piece and a piece of something much bigger than myself, and that concept kept me going. I sought help from my thesis advisor and alumni of my program for the technical part of writing a thesis. I sought help from my friends and family for the emotional support aspect of writing a thesis. In the end, I finished. I turned it in, received an A, and completed my graduate career.

As my final semester came to a close, I received a congratulatory email stating I was nominated and selected to represent my school at Commencement. I would receive my MA degree on behalf of the 2,730 degree candidates of the Steinhardt School of Culture, Education, and Human Development. This meant my name was on a list of nominations, spoken in rooms I never imagined having access to, and selected to represent an entire class of undergraduate and graduate students. I shed innumerable tears, and prepared to represent my school.

Lights flashed across the stage, the dean called my name, and I walked with pride as tears slowly coated my eyes. NYU posted a professional photo of the walk on their Instagram page. I sat in disbelief, and fought every feeling of dissociation. I had to repeat to myself numerous times that this was me, and I deserved it.

I'm not 100% sure what will come next for me, but I'm learning to sit more comfortably in the unknown. My first-gen experience has taught me to navigate spaces where I don't feel a sense of preparedness or belonging. My first-gen experience has taught me that my resilience, while unfortunately necessary, has brought me all the way to where I am today, and I have to trust it will carry me through tomorrow.

We all come from different experiences and positionalities, so I don't believe in narratives that give the impression of "I did this and so can you." I share my story in hopes that any part of it may resonate with other first-gens, and help garner a sense of community to remind you that you are not alone.

As I continue my first-gen research and initiatives, I happily offer myself as a resource to anyone seeking to chat or ask questions you feel I can help with. You may reach me at 1stgenyesyoucan@gmail.com.

Congratulations to all of my fellow Class of 2021 Graduates!

Congratulations to my fellow first-gen students, graduates, and alumni for all that you are and all that you do!

With Love and Power,

Lorena