At work, I email students all the time telling them that the only way to know if they can get into Harvard is to apply. I remind them that almost no one here thought they could, but somehow, they did. So, what happens in the few weeks after the seemingly impossible happens?
For me, my tremendous gratitude and excitement were mingled with guilt and a lot of fear. I wanted to write about these confusing feelings in case any new admittees are feeling the same way.
The day Early Action decisions were supposed to be released, I stayed at school late so I wouldn’t be refreshing my computer every five minutes at home. I got home at 5:05pm, a full five minutes past the release time, clearly proof of my “nonchalant chill.” My mom, brother and I crowded around our computer, and I carefully typed in my username and password. I think I closed my eyes when I clicked the “View Decision” button, but heard my mom scream. I opened my eyes and saw students jumping in a pile of leaves. I immediately lost all ability to read and kept screaming, “They wouldn’t be jumping if it was bad news right?!” My mom couldn’t answer because she was crying. My brother just grinned, said congratulations, and hugged me (clearly the only one in the family with actual chill).
Agassiz House
A picture of Harvard’s visitor center Agassiz, taken from my first visit to Harvard in the fall of my senior year. Although I had not considered Harvard an option before, I applied Early Action two months after this photo was taken.
A picture of Harvard’s visitor center Agassiz, taken from my first visit to Harvard in the fall of my senior year. Although I had not considered Harvard an option before, I applied Early Action two months after this photo was taken.
For the next three nights, I could barely sleep. I remember waking up throughout the night and checking the decision again to make sure it hadn’t been a dream. There had been a scandal at another college the year before where they had accidentally sent out acceptances to some students meant to receive rejections. Convinced this was me, I did not truly believe the news until a week later.
A whirlwind of intensity followed. The next morning, somehow my whole school seemed to know. People I hadn’t talked to since freshmen year congratulated me. I was much more reserved in high school than I am now so I was embarrassed, but happy. I began receiving emails from Harvard, calls from current students, and letters from alumni inviting me to open houses. I went to two of the events, both in mansions pristinely decorated for winter holidays and with catered food. The hosts were always incredibly kind, but I still felt underdressed and out of place. At the time, it was hard for me to imagine myself as somehow connected to the groups of people I was meeting – I didn’t live like them, dress like them, eat like them, talk about politics and books like them. My mom told me not to worry, we live near an incredibly wealthy area, so this sample of alumni and students was skewed. Still, it was hard to not extrapolate these experiences to images of what Harvard would be like.
This uneasiness was compounded by the classic worry of being the admissions office’s mistake. I thought that if I went to Harvard, I would be exposed as a fraud. I remember anxiously awaiting the decision from the state school I had applied to at the same time as Harvard. I wanted confirmation that I could get into another school, but, truthfully, I think I also wanted a backup option in case I lost my nerve and didn’t accept my admission to Harvard.
There was another feeling that I didn’t recognize at the time but I now know was guilt. Although I could not imagine what the next four years would bring, I knew my acceptance would bring opportunities many people I knew would never be able to access. I felt guilty that I had been chosen, feeling that someone else could surely make better use of this opportunity than me.
One weird thing I did to try to make myself feel more comfortable with the idea of going to Harvard was wearing Harvard clothes and taking pictures of myself in them. It strangely helped me picture myself as a Harvard student!
I came to Harvard with these worries still very much with me. Now a senior at Harvard, they still haven’t left. But I can say that they have been calmed by the strong sense of community and belonging I have built at Harvard. I have sought out groups of low-income students, with backgrounds more like my own, challenged myself in classes that have made me more confident in my academic abilities, and made friends who make Harvard feel like home. If there was one thing I could tell my high school self, it would be not to feel guilty for the mixed feelings she’s had about her acceptance and to recognize that her luck does not discredit her ability.
