The Unlikely Career Shift from Higher Education to Financial Planning

This was not the original goal. Growing up, I didn’t have much exposure to different professional career paths. My parents were low-income wage workers who emphasized doing well in school and going to college. The rest was left vague: a choose-your-own-adventure approach to adulthood.

By the time I got to college, all I knew was that I enjoyed teaching my audience of teddy bears and barbie dolls as a kid and I loved animals enough to consider becoming a veterinarian. Assessing that science was not my strongest subject, I declared English Education as my major. My student teaching internship during my final semester uncovered that while I loved teaching, the pay did not equate with the high stress of dealing with parents and bureaucratic systems. 

Higher education felt like a better fit. I loved the university environment. I pursued a master’s degree in the field and eventually landed a role in Residence Life at a private university. The work aligned closely with my values. I was supporting students, building community, and helping people navigate pivotal moments in their lives. Being at a private university also offered more flexibility to work with underserved populations, including DACA students. Over time, the job’s all-encompassing nature, combined with balancing the National Guard, began to wear on me. I transitioned to the Office of Financial Aid, initially seeing it as a possible pivot into Admissions.

Instead, I found myself increasingly unsettled by the conversations I was having.

I was starting to realize that the university’s incentive was to make money, with little consideration for what that meant on an individual level. In their minds, the degree was priceless. In mine, these debt loads would be felt for decades to come. It became uncomfortable to watch families take on life altering amounts of debt with limited guidance on what repayment would actually look like after graduation. It felt like the institution—much like the world we live in—could continue to thrive as long as its consumers weren’t fully equipped to make informed decisions. Having lived the reality of paying off student loans myself, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing from the conversation.

Wanting to be more responsible with the information I shared, I started teaching myself what I didn’t know. One evening, I Googled “financial planning certificate,” not with the intention of changing careers, but simply to better understand the systems shaping these decisions.

I figured if I learned what the professionals knew, I could provide better advice and guidance.

That curiosity led me to CFP coursework and, eventually, to sitting for the exam. A year later, I passed, without any prior industry experience, just a growing hunger for the information I was learning. Passing the exam mattered less than what it represented: proof that I could learn an entirely new discipline and apply it thoughtfully. It was also fun to find my love for teaching again. 

When I later allowed my information to be shared with potential recruiters, I wasn’t actively looking to leave higher education. But when Fidelity reached out with an opportunity to train as an advisor and gain hands-on experience, I listened. The role offered both professional growth and the chance to work directly with individuals on decisions that had real, lasting impact. As much as I valued financial literacy work in higher education, it was never going to be my full-time focus there (and not by choice). 

I took the leap.

What ultimately pulled me into financial planning was the belief that people deserve clear, honest guidance before making decisions that will shape their lives for decades. The countless hours of studying and personal investment paid off tremendously.