Some unsolicited advice about finding researchers, building relationships, gaining experience, and preparing for graduate school.
I have a question.
How is it that we can spend hours tracking down the exact lip gloss someone wore in a 12-second TikTok video, identify a song from three seconds of audio, investigate someone's entire social media history, or figure out where a particular pair of shoes came from, but when it comes to finding a graduate supervisor, suddenly nobody knows how to use Google?
I'm teasing. A little.
But I also think we need to have a conversation about how we approach preparing for graduate school.
I regularly hear from aspiring graduate students asking some variation of the same questions: Who should I reach out to? Who should I talk to? How do I get research experience? What certifications should I take? How do I make myself competitive?
These are legitimate questions. Graduate admissions can feel mysterious, particularly when you are the first in your family to navigate academia or when you lack access to people who can explain its unwritten rules. There is an entire hidden curriculum to higher education, and some people have been given the instruction manual while others are trying to figure things out as they go.
I know that. I also know how difficult the current economic and employment landscape is, and how much pressure there can be to make the right decision.
So, I want to offer a different starting point.
Before we talk about who you should email, let's talk about you.
1. Start with knowing yourself. Even if you are still figuring yourself out.
What do you care about?
What makes you curious? What makes you angry? What problems do you find yourself thinking about long after everyone else has moved on? What kind of work feels worth doing, even when it becomes difficult?
And what are your values?
You do not need to have a beautifully articulated life purpose or a five-year plan. You might still be figuring out what you believe, what you enjoy, or even who you are becoming. That's part of being human.
I also want to acknowledge something important.
We live in an economic reality where survival is a legitimate priority. Rent needs to be paid. Groceries are expensive. People have families to support, debts to repay, and responsibilities that do not disappear because someone tells them to "follow their passion."
For many people, particularly those who have experienced structural and economic disadvantage, the idea that you should just pursue your dreams can feel profoundly disconnected from reality.
So I am not asking you to ignore those realities.
I am asking you to begin examining what you care about alongside what you need to live, what opportunities are available to you, and the kind of future you want to build.
Because you need to start somewhere. And your curiosity is as good a place as any.
You might be interested in mental health, but what specifically interests you? Access to services? Trauma? Neuropsychology? Structural inequities? How people experience care? Why some interventions work for some people and not others?
The more you explore your interests, the more useful your questions become.
And those questions will help you figure out where to look next.
2. Put those investigative skills to work.
You already know how to research things that interest you.
Now apply those skills to graduate school.
Start looking at universities. Look beyond their rankings and reputations. Explore specific programs, their curriculum, faculty members, research centres, funding structures, placement opportunities, and graduates' career pathways.
If you want a research-intensive graduate degree, find out who is actually doing research that interests you.
And please, read their research.
I cannot emphasize this enough.
If you want to be part of a research lab, you are going to have to read research. You might as well start now.
Go to Google Scholar. Search for a topic you care about. Look for published articles, systematic reviews, and studies that investigate questions that intrigue you.
If you no longer have university library access, look for open-access publications, institutional repositories, and freely available versions of articles.
Follow the research.
Read an interesting paper? Look at who wrote it. Where do they work? What else have they published? Who do they collaborate with? What kinds of projects are they currently conducting?
You might discover that someone studying the exact issue you care about works at a university you've never considered.
If geography is a constraint, that's useful information too. Focus your search on institutions in Canada, Ontario, or wherever you could realistically study.
And please do not stop at an impressive-sounding research title.
Read enough to understand what the researchers are actually studying.
You might love the topic and discover that the methodology does not interest you. You might find someone whose research questions are different from yours but whose approach to community engagement, clinical practice, or knowledge mobilization resonates deeply with you.
That is valuable information.
You're not just looking for a name to put in an email.
You're looking for an intellectual environment in which you might want to spend several years of your life.
3. Talk to the people who are already there.
Here's something that I think aspiring graduate students overlook.
You do not always have to start with the professor.
Many research labs have websites listing their research assistants, graduate students, postdoctoral fellows, and collaborators.
Those people can be extraordinary sources of information.
Reach out to current students in programs you are considering. Ask about their experiences. What do they appreciate? What opportunities have they had? What has been challenging? What do they wish they had known before applying?
Ask what their typical week looks like. Ask about mentorship, funding, research opportunities, teaching responsibilities, and how students are supported when things become difficult.
A professor's publication record can tell you quite a bit about their scholarship. It cannot tell you everything about the experience of being supervised by them.
Current and former students can offer additional perspectives.
You can also ask about their pathways into graduate school.
What kinds of experiences did they have? How did they find their research positions? What helped them prepare? Were there things they invested time and money in that turned out to be less useful than they expected?
Many students are generous with this kind of information, particularly when you approach them respectfully and keep your request manageable.
And remember: one person's experience is one perspective. Talk to several people when possible.
You are conducting an investigation into whether this is somewhere you want to learn and grow.
That is worth your time.
4. Please understand what you are asking when you contact a researcher.
Now, let's talk about that email.
The one that begins:
Dear Professor, I am extremely passionate about research and would love an opportunity to work in your lab.
Followed by three paragraphs of generic statements that could have been sent to approximately 400 other researchers.
I want you to understand what happens on the other side of that email.
Today, my inbox was a dumpster fire.
And I suspect I am not alone.
Researchers teach courses, prepare lectures, grade assignments, supervise students, sit on committees, review manuscripts, write grant applications, manage research projects, navigate research ethics, support community partnerships, and try to secure funding so that their research teams can continue working and, ideally, earn a living wage.
We receive rejections. A lot of them.
We revise, resubmit, reorganize, and figure out how to keep projects moving.
Some of us also have children, aging parents, caregiving responsibilities, disabilities, chronic health conditions, and entire lives outside academia.
And somewhere in that already crowded landscape, your email arrives.
This is not an argument that aspiring students should never contact busy researchers. Mentorship and training are part of academic responsibility, and emerging scholars deserve opportunities to learn.
I am telling you this because understanding the context can help you make your outreach more meaningful.
Supervising and training someone is work. Important work. Work that many of us genuinely love. But work nonetheless.
When a researcher brings a new person into a lab, they are often committing time to helping that person understand research ethics, protocols, methodology, data management, scholarly writing, teamwork, and a host of other skills.
Yes, they have to train you.
And that is precisely what learning opportunities are supposed to provide.
The question is how to begin building a relationship in which both people understand what they are hoping to accomplish.
5. Stop asking only what someone can do for you. Think about what you can contribute.
Here is one of the biggest shifts I would encourage you to make.
When you approach a researcher, think about the relationship from both perspectives.
What are you hoping to learn?
And what might you be able to bring to the work?
Perhaps you have exceptional organizational skills. Perhaps you are a strong writer, know how to create accessible infographics, have experience working with communities, speak multiple languages, understand digital communications, or have practical knowledge of a population or service system relevant to a research project.
Maybe you have already learned how to conduct a literature search, organize references, work with statistical software, or develop a knowledge mobilization product.
Maybe you are still new to all of this, but you have read about the lab's work, are prepared to learn, and can explain why a particular project interests you.
That's a perfectly legitimate starting point too.
You do not need to pretend to have expertise you have not yet developed. Curiosity, reliability, thoughtful preparation, and willingness to learn are valuable qualities.
For those with more experience, think about concrete contributions.
Could you support a literature review? Assist with developing a grant proposal? Help translate published findings into an accessible resource? Contribute to community engagement activities? Work on an appropriately supervised secondary analysis? Help build a research database?
One idea I particularly like is creating a small portfolio of your work.
Suppose you read a researcher's recent publication and find it fascinating.
What if you developed a one-page infographic explaining the findings in accessible language, with proper attribution, and included it as an example of your knowledge mobilization skills?
You could write:
I recently read your study on barriers to mental health care among young adults. I was particularly interested in your discussion of institutional responsiveness. I created a short infographic based on the published findings as part of building my knowledge mobilization portfolio. Your work aligns with my interests in service access, and I would appreciate learning whether there might be opportunities to contribute to your research team.
Now we have something to talk about.
You've demonstrated that you read the research, understood something about it, took initiative, and connected the work to your own interests.
Of course, building a portfolio should not mean producing endless unpaid deliverables to persuade someone to give you an opportunity. Researchers have responsibilities to make opportunities equitable, clarify expectations, and compensate substantive work appropriately.
The point is to demonstrate your emerging skills through work that is useful to your own development, whether or not a particular researcher responds.
That portfolio belongs to you.
6. Research experience does not have to come from a university lab.
I hear this all the time:
I cannot get into graduate school because I cannot get research experience. And I cannot get research experience because no lab will hire me.
I understand how frustrating that cycle can feel.
But let's broaden what we mean by research experience.
Community organizations, health services, advocacy groups, municipalities, non-profits, and other organizations regularly encounter questions that would benefit from systematic investigation.
Some are conducting formal research. Others are involved in program evaluation, quality improvement, evidence synthesis, community consultation, or knowledge mobilization.
These experiences can help develop research-relevant competencies.
You might contribute to a needs assessment, assist with evaluating a program, summarize literature to support a funding application, or help an organization understand how its services are being experienced.
That is meaningful work.
And because community organizations are frequently under-resourced, genuine partnerships can create opportunities for mutual learning and contribution.
However, please be attentive to the ethics of this. Community organizations are not free training grounds for aspiring academics. Their time, priorities, and knowledge deserve respect. Any proposed activity should respond to an actual organizational need, with clear supervision, agreed responsibilities, appropriate permissions, and fair consideration of compensation.
There are also things you can do independently.
You can practise formulating research questions, appraising published studies, developing a literature review, working with openly available data, or creating a research proposal.
Statistics Canada, for example, makes some public-use microdata files available that can support learning and secondary data analysis.
You might even explore reflexive or autoethnographic writing, while checking applicable institutional research ethics requirements before conducting or disseminating work involving research participants or identifiable information.
You do not have to wait until someone gives you a formal research title to begin developing your understanding of research.
And if you are already working in an organization where you contribute to research-related activities, consider whether those responsibilities can be formally recognized in your role description or position title.
The important thing is being able to explain what you actually did, what you learned, and how the experience prepared you for graduate study.
7. Build competencies, not a collection of certificates.
I know there is an enormous market for professional development certificates.
And some of them are useful.
But before you spend several hundred dollars on another course, ask yourself a question:
What competency am I trying to develop, and how will I demonstrate that I have developed it?
A certificate can document that you completed training. Depending on the program, it may contribute to your preparation. It does not necessarily demonstrate that you can apply what you learned.
Graduate admissions committees evaluate applicants according to program-specific criteria. In research-intensive programs, they may be interested in your scholarly preparation, research experience, academic performance, intellectual interests, references, and fit with available supervision.
In professional programs, other experiences and competencies may carry greater weight.
So investigate the actual requirements.
I often encourage aspiring applicants to make a simple matrix.
Competency or requirementEvidence I already haveWhat I can developResearch literacyCoursework and literature reviewsRead and critically appraise recent papersResearch methodsUndergraduate methods courseDevelop a proposal or practise secondary data analysisScholarly communicationAcademic essays and presentationsCreate a research brief or posterCollaborationCommunity and workplace projectsDocument specific team contributionsResearch alignmentEmerging topic interestsIdentify researchers and read their publications
This exercise helps you see your existing assets alongside areas for development.
And importantly, it helps you avoid spending money and energy on credentials that may have little relationship to the programs you want to attend.
8. Your application should tell a coherent story.
Eventually, you will have to put together a graduate school application.
A statement of interest. A CV. Reference letters. Perhaps a research proposal, writing sample, or interview.
You want those materials to make sense together.
I am not suggesting that everyone's educational journey must be linear. Some of the most interesting scholars have taken highly unconventional routes.
I am suggesting that you should be able to explain your journey.
What questions are you interested in? How have your experiences shaped those interests? What have you learned? Why is this program a meaningful next step? What do you hope to develop?
If you are applying to a clinical psychology program, for example, investigate the specific research and clinical training expectations of the programs you are considering.
If your long-term ambition is to enter clinical psychology, take that ambition seriously.
You can explore alternative pathways while remaining clear about what you ultimately hope to pursue.
At the same time, remember that one particular program is not the only possible route to a meaningful career or contribution.
A strong application communicates direction, preparation, and the capacity to learn. It does not require that you have already accomplished everything you hope graduate school will teach you.
9. The relationship you are seeking goes both ways.
I want to return to the question of finding a supervisor.
Yes, researchers may be overwhelmed. Yes, you should do your homework. Yes, thoughtful communication and initiative go a long way.
But you are also making an important decision.
You are choosing someone who may influence your intellectual development, professional opportunities, confidence, and relationship with research for years.
So pay attention.
Do they explain their expectations? Do they create meaningful learning opportunities? How do they acknowledge students' contributions? What do former students say about their experiences? Are their supervisory practices consistent with your values?
What happens when someone encounters difficulty or needs accommodations? How are research assistants compensated? How do they approach authorship, mentorship, and professional development?
These are legitimate questions.
A prominent researcher is not automatically a good supervisor for you. A large lab is not necessarily the best learning environment. An impressive publication record does not tell the whole story.
And if someone does not respond to your email, please do not automatically interpret that silence as a verdict on your ability or potential.
They may have no capacity, no funding, no available positions, or an inbox that resembles mine today.
You can follow up respectfully, continue your investigation, and pursue other possibilities.
10. Keep showing up, but be intentional about where you invest your energy.
Graduate admissions are competitive. Opportunities are unequally distributed. Some people have family members, networks, financial resources, and institutional knowledge that make navigating the system considerably easier.
Others are working multiple jobs, managing disabilities or caregiving responsibilities, or trying to build an academic pathway without a roadmap.
These differences are real.
And no amount of individual initiative will eliminate the structural inequities embedded within higher education.
Universities and researchers have responsibilities to make admissions, mentorship, and research opportunities more transparent, accessible, and equitable.
But within the circumstances you are navigating, there are still actions you can take.
You can investigate. You can read. You can ask thoughtful questions. You can cultivate relationships. You can practise research skills. You can reflect on your interests and identify the environments in which you might flourish.
You can also make yourself known to people whose work genuinely interests you, even when there is no immediate opportunity available.
Sometimes a conversation leads to another conversation. A connection becomes a collaboration. Someone remembers your interests when an opportunity emerges.
And sometimes nothing comes of it.
That's part of the process too.
So, where do you start?
Perhaps with one question:
What is something in this world that you are genuinely curious to understand better?
Find three research articles about it.
Read them.
Look up the authors.
Investigate their research labs, programs, collaborators, and students.
Figure out whether those places are realistic options for you, including their financial and geographical implications.
Reach out to someone with a thoughtful question.
Start building a record of what you are learning, doing, and contributing.
And then keep going.
Because if you can track down the exact lipstick shade someone used in a video posted four years ago, I have every confidence that you can find a few researchers investigating something you care about.
Bring that same curiosity, persistence, creativity, and investigative energy to your own future.
You do not need to know exactly where you will end up.
You need somewhere meaningful to begin.
And perhaps that's your first research question.
