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Excellent Law School Personal Statement Examples By David Busis Published May 5, 2019 Updated Feb 10, 2021

We’ve rounded up five spectacular personal statements that helped students with borderline numbers get into T-14 schools. You’ll find these examples to be as various as a typical JD class. Some essays are about a challenge, some about the evolution of the author’s intellectual or professional journey, and some about the author’s identity. The only common thread is sincerity. The authors did not write toward an imagined idea of what an admissions officer might be looking for: they reckoned honestly with formative experiences.

Personal Statement about a Career Journey

The writer of this personal statement matriculated at Georgetown. Her GPA was below the school’s 25th percentile and her LSAT score was above the 75th percentile. She was not a URM.

* Note that we’ve used female pronouns throughout, though some of the authors are male.

I don’t remember anything being out of the ordinary before I fainted—just the familiar, heady feeling and then nothing. When I came to, they were wheeling me away to the ER. That was the last time I went to the hospital for my neurology observership. Not long after, I crossed “doctor” off my list of post-graduate career options. It would be best, I figured, if I did something for which the day-to-day responsibilities didn’t make me pass out.

Back at the drawing board, I reflected on my choices. The first time around, my primary concern was how I could stay in school for the longest amount of time possible. Key factors were left out of my decision: I had no interest in medicine, no aptitude for the natural sciences, and, as it quickly became apparent, no stomach for sick patients. The second time around, I was honest with myself: I had no idea what I wanted to do.

My college graduation speaker told us that the word “job” comes from the French word “gober,” meaning “to devour.” When I fell into digital advertising, I was expecting a slow and toothless nibbling, a consumption whose impact I could ignore while I figured out what I actually wanted to do. I’d barely started before I realized that my interviewers had been serious when they told me the position was sink or swim. At six months, I was one toothbrush short of living at our office. It was an unapologetic aquatic boot camp—and I liked it. I wanted to swim. The job was bringing out the best in me and pushing me to do things I didn’t think I could do.

I remember my first client emergency. I had a day to re-do a presentation that I’d been researching and putting together for weeks. I was panicked and sure that I’d be next on the chopping block. My only cogent thought was, “Oh my god. What am I going to do?” The answer was a three-part solution I know well now: a long night, lots of coffee, and laser-like focus on exactly and only what was needed.

Five years and numerous emergencies later, I’ve learned how to work: work under pressure, work when I’m tired, and work when I no longer want to. I have enough confidence to set my aims high and know I can execute on them. I’ve learned something about myself that I didn’t know when I graduated: I am capable.

The word “career” comes from the French word “carrière,” denoting a circular racecourse. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me then, that I’ve come full circle with regards to law school. For two college summers, I interned as a legal associate and wondered, “Is this for me?” I didn’t know if I was truly interested, and I was worried that even if I was, I wouldn’t be able to see it through. Today, I don’t have those fears.

In the course of my advertising career, I have worked with many lawyers to navigate the murky waters of digital media and user privacy. Whereas most of my co-workers went to great lengths to avoid our legal team, I sought them out. The legal conversations about our daily work intrigued me. How far could we go in negotiating our contracts to reflect changing definitions of an impression? What would happen if the US followed the EU and implemented wide-reaching data-protection laws?

Working on the ad tech side of the industry, I had the data to target even the most niche audiences: politically-active Mormon Democrats for a political client; young, low-income pregnant women for a state government; millennials with mental health concerns in a campaign for suicide prevention. The extent to which digital technology has evolved is astonishing. So is the fact that it has gone largely unregulated. That’s finally changing, and I believe the shift is going to open up a more prominent role for those who understand both digital technology and its laws. I hope to begin my next career at the intersection of those two worlds.

Personal Statement about Legal Internships

The writer of this essay was admitted to every T14 law school from Columbia on down and matriculated at a top JD program with a large merit scholarship. Her LSAT score was below the median and her GPA was above the median of each school that accepted her. She was not a URM.

About six weeks into my first legal internship, my office-mate gestured at the window—we were seventy stories high in the Chrysler Building—and said, with a sad smile, doesn’t this office just make you want to jump? The firm appeared to be falling apart. The managing partners were suing each other, morale was low, and my boss, in an effort to maintain his client base, had instructed me neither to give any information to nor take any orders from other attorneys. On my first day of work, coworkers warned me that the firm could be “competitive,” which seemed to me like a good thing. I considered myself a competitive person and enjoyed the feeling of victory. This, though, was the kind of competition in which everyone lost.

Although I felt discouraged about the legal field after this experience, I chose not to give up on the profession, and after reading a book that featured the U.S. attorney’s office for the Southern District of New York, I sent in an internship application. Shortly after, I received an offer to work at the office. For my first assignment, I attended a hearing in the federal courthouse. As I entered the magnificent twenty-third-floor courtroom, I felt the gravitas of the issue at hand: the sentencing of a terrorist.

That sense of gravitas never left me, and visiting the courtroom became my favorite part of the job. Sitting in hearings amidst the polished brass fixtures and mahogany walls, watching attorneys in refined suits prosecute terror, cybercrime, and corruption, I felt part of a grand endeavor. The spectacle enthralled me: a trial was like a combination of a theatrical performance and an athletic event. If I’d seen the dark side of competition at my first job, now I was seeing the bright side. I sat on the edge of my seat and watched to see if good—my side—triumphed over evil—the defense. Every conviction seemed like an unambiguous achievement. I told my friends that one day I wanted to help “lock up the bad guys.”

It wasn’t until I interned at the public defender’s office that I realized how much I’d oversimplified the world. In my very first week, I took the statement of a former high school classmate who had been charged with heroin possession. I did not know him well in high school, but we both recognized one another and made small talk before starting the formal interview. He had fallen into drug abuse and had been convicted of petty theft several months earlier. After finishing the interview, I wished him well.

The following week, in a courtroom that felt more like a macabre DMV than the hallowed halls I’d seen with the USAO, I watched my classmate submit his guilty plea, which would allow him to do community service in lieu of jail time. The judge accepted his plea and my classmate mumbled a quiet “thank you.” I felt none of the achievement I’d come to associate with guilty pleas. In that court, where hundreds of people trudged through endless paperwork and long lines before they could even see a judge, there were no good guys and bad guys—just people trying to put their lives back together.

A year after my internship at the public defender’s office, I read a profile of Preet Bharara, the U.S. attorney for the Southern District of New York, and my former boss. In the profile, he says, “You don’t want a justice system in which prosecutors are cowboys.” The more I saw at the public defender’s office, the more I rethought my experience at the USAO. When I had excitedly called my parents after an insider trading conviction, I had not thought of the defendant’s family. When I had cheered the conviction of a terrorist, I hadn’t thought about the fact that a conviction could not undo his actions. As I now plan on entering the legal profession—either as a prosecutor or public defender—I realize that my enthusiasm momentarily overwrote my empathy. I’d been playing cowboy. A lawyer’s job isn’t to lock up bad guys or help good guys in order to quench a competitive thirst—it’s to subsume his or her ego in the work and, by presenting one side of a case, create a necessary condition for justice.

Personal Statement about Cultural Identity

The writer of this essay was offered significant merit aid packages from Cornell, Michigan, and Northwestern, and matriculated at NYU Law. Her LSAT score was below the 25th percentile LSAT score and her GPA matched the median GPA of NYU.

By the age of five, I’d attended seven kindergartens and collected more frequent flier miles than most adults. I resided in two worlds – one with fast motorcycles, heavy pollution, and the smell of street food lingering in the air; the other with trimmed grass, faint traces of perfume mingling with coffee in the mall, and my mom pressing her hand against my window as she left for work. She was the only constant between these two worlds – flying me between Taiwan and America as she struggled to obtain a U.S. citizenship.

My family reunited for good around my sixth birthday, when we flew back to Taiwan to join my dad. I forgot about the West, acquired a taste for Tangyuan, and became fast friends with the kids in my neighborhood. In the evenings, I’d sit with my grandmother as she watched soap operas in Taiwanese, the dialect of the older generation, which I picked up in unharmonious bits and pieces. Other nights, she would turn off the TV, and speak to me about tradition and history – recounting my ancestors, life during the Japanese regime, raising my dad under martial law. “You are the last of the Li’s,” she would say, patting my back, and I’d feel a quick rush of pride, as though a lineage as deep as that of the English monarchy rested on my shoulders.

When I turned seven, my parents enrolled me in an American school, explaining that it was time for me, a Tai Wan Ren (Taiwanese), to learn English – “a language that could open doors to better opportunities.” Although I learned slowly, with a handful of the most remedial in ESL (English as a Second Language), books like The Secret Garden and The Wind in the Willows opened up new worlds of captivating images and beautiful stories that I longed to take part in.

Along with the new language, I adopted a different way to dress, new mannerisms, and new tastes, including American pop culture. I stopped seeing the neighborhood kids, and sought a set of friends who shared my affinity for HBO movies and  Claire’s Jewelry . Whenever taxi drivers or waitresses asked where I was from, noting that I spoke Chinese with too much of an accent to be native, I told them I was American.

At home, I asked my mom to stop packing Taiwanese food for my lunch. The cheap food stalls I once enjoyed now embarrassed me. Instead, I wanted instant mashed potatoes and Kraft mac and cheese.

When it came time for college, I enrolled in a liberal arts school on the East Coast to pursue my love of literature, and was surprised to find that my return to America did not feel like the full homecoming I’d expected. America was as familiar as it was foreign, and while I had mastered being “American” in Taiwan, being an American in America baffled me. The open atmosphere of my university, where ideas and feelings were exchanged freely, felt familiar and welcoming, but cultural references often escaped me. Unlike my friends who’d grown up in the States, I had never heard of Wonder Bread, or experienced the joy of Chipotle’s burrito bowls. Unlike them, I missed the sound of motorcycles whizzing by my window on quiet nights.

It was during this time of uncertainty that I found my place through literature, discovering Taiye Selasi, Edward Said, and Primo Levi, whose works about origin and personhood reshaped my conception of my own identity. Their usage of the language of otherness provided me with the vocabulary I had long sought, and revealed that I had too simplistic an understanding of who I was. In trying to discover my role in each cultural context, I’d confined myself within an easy dichotomy, where the East represented exotic foods and experiences, and the West, development and consumerism. By idealizing the latter and rejecting the former, I had reduced the richness of my worlds to caricatures. Where I am from, and who I am, is an amalgamation of my experiences and heritage: I am simultaneously a Mei Guo Ren and Taiwanese.

Just as I once reconciled my Eastern and Western identities, I now seek to reconcile my love of literature with my desire to effect tangible change. I first became interested in law on my study abroad program, when I visited the English courts as a tourist. As I watched the barristers deliver their statements, it occurred to me that law and literature have some similarities: both are a form of criticism that depends on close reading, the synthesis of disparate intellectual frameworks, and careful argumentation. Through my subsequent internships and my current job, I discovered that legal work possessed a tangibility I found lacking in literature. The lawyers I collaborate with work tirelessly to address the same problems and ideas I’ve explored only theoretically in my classes – those related to human rights, social contracts, and moral order. Though I understand that lawyers often work long hours, and that the work can be, at times, tedious, I’m drawn to the kind of research, analysis, and careful reading that the profession requires. I hope to harness my critical abilities to reach beyond the pages of the books I love and make meaningful change in the real world.

Personal Statement about Weightlifting

The writer of this essay was admitted to her top choice—a T14 school—with a handwritten note from the dean that praised her personal statement. Her LSAT score was below the school’s median and her GPA was above the school’s median.

As I knelt to tie balloons around the base of the white, wooden cross, I thought about the morning of my best friend’s accident: the initial numbness that overwhelmed my entire body; the hideous sound of my own small laugh when I called the other member of our trio and repeated the words “Mark died”; the panic attack I’d had driving home, resulting in enough tears that I had to pull off to the side of the road. Above all, I remembered the feeling of reality crashing into my previously sheltered life, the feeling that nothing was as safe or certain as I’d believed.

I had been with Mark the day before he passed, exactly one week before we were both set to move down to Tennessee to start our freshman year of college. It would have been difficult to feel so alone with my grief in any circumstance, but Mark’s crash seemed to ignite a chain reaction of loss. I had to leave Nashville abruptly in order to attend the funeral of my grandmother, who helped raise me, and at the end of the school year, a close friend who had helped me adjust to college was killed by an oncoming car on the day that he’d graduated. Just weeks before visiting Mark’s grave on his birthday, a childhood friend shot and killed himself in an abandoned parking lot on Christmas Eve. I spent Christmas Day trying to act as normally as possible, hiding the news in order not to ruin the holiday for the rest of my family.

This pattern of loss compounding loss affected me more than I ever thought it would. First, I just avoided social media out of fear that I’d see condolences for yet another friend who had passed too early. Eventually, I shut down emotionally and lost interest in the world—stopped attending social gatherings, stopped talking to anyone, and stopped going to many of my classes, as every day was a struggle to get out of bed. I hated the act that I had to put on in public, where I was always getting asked the same question —“I haven’t seen you in forever, where have you been?”—and always responding with the same lie: “I’ve just been really busy.”

I had been interested in bodybuilding since high school, but during this time, the lowest period of my life, it changed from a simple hobby to a necessity and, quite possibly, a lifesaver. The gym was the one place I could escape my own mind, where I could replace feelings of emptiness with the feeling of my heart pounding, lungs exploding, and blood flooding my muscles, where—with sweat pouring off my forehead and calloused palms clenched around cold steel—I could see clearly again.

Not only did my workouts provide me with an outlet for all of my suppressed emotion, but they also became the one aspect of my life where I felt I was still in control. I knew that if it was Monday, no matter what else was going on, I was going to be working out my legs, and I knew exactly what exercises I was going to do, and how many repetitions I was going to perform, and how much weight I was going to use for each repetition. I knew exactly when I would be eating and exactly how many grams of each food source I would ingest. I knew how many calories I would get from each of proteins, carbohydrates, and fats. My routine was one thing I could count on.

As I loaded more plates onto the barbell, I grew stronger mentally as well. The gym became a place, paradoxically, of both exertion and tranquility, a sanctuary where I felt capable of thinking about the people I’d lost. It was the healing I did there that let me tie the balloons to the cross on Mark’s third birthday after the crash, and that let me spend the rest of the afternoon sharing stories about Mark with friends on the side of the rural road. It was the healing I did there that left me ready to move on.

One of the fundamental principles of weightlifting involves progressively overloading the muscles by taking them to complete failure, coming back, and performing past the point where you last failed, consistently making small increases over time. The same principle helped me overcome my grief, and in the past few years, I’ve applied it to everything from learning Spanish to studying for the LSAT. As I prepare for the next stage of my life, I know I’ll encounter more challenges for which I’m unprepared, but I feel strong enough now to acknowledge my weaknesses, and—by making incremental gains—to overcome them.

Personal Statement about Sexual Assault

The writer of this essay was accepted to many top law schools and matriculated at Columbia. Her LSAT score matched Columbia’s median while her GPA was below Columbia’s 25th percentile.

My rapist didn’t hold a knife to my throat. My rapist didn’t jump out of a dark alleyway. My rapist didn’t slip me a roofie. My rapist was my eighth-grade boyfriend, who was already practicing with the high school football team. He assaulted me in his suburban house in New Jersey, while his mom cooked us dinner in the next room, in the back of an empty movie theatre, on the couch in my basement.

It started when I was thirteen and so excited to have my first real boyfriend. He was a football player from a different school who had a pierced ear and played the guitar. I, a shy, slightly chubby girl with a bad haircut and very few friends, felt wanted, needed, and possibly loved. The abuse—the verbal and physical harassment that eventually turned sexual—was just something that happened in grown-up relationships. This is what good girlfriends do, I thought. They say yes.

Never having had a sex-ed class in my life, it took me several months after my eighth-grade graduation and my entry into high school to realize the full extent of what he did to me. My overall experience of first “love” seemed surreal. This was something that happened in a Lifetime movie, not in a small town in New Jersey in his childhood twin bed. I didn’t tell anyone about what happened. I had a different life in a different school by then, and I wasn’t going to let my trauma define my existence.

As I grew older, I was confronted by the fact that rape is not a surreal misfortune or a Lifetime movie. It’s something that too many of my close friends have experienced. It’s when my sorority sister tells me about the upstairs of a frat house when she’s too drunk to say no. It’s when the boy in the room next door tells me about his uncle during freshman orientation. It’s a high school peer whose summer internship boss became too handsy. Rape is real. It’s happening every day, to mothers, brothers, sisters, and fathers—a silent majority that want to manage the burden on their own, afraid of judgement, afraid of repercussions, afraid of a he-said she-said court battle.

I am beyond tired of the silence. It took me three years to talk about what happened to me, to come clean to my peers and become a model of what it means to speak about something that society tells you not to speak about. Motivated by my own experience and my friends’ stories, I joined three groups that help educate my college community about sexual health and assault: New Feminists, Speak for Change, and Sexual Assault Responders. I trained to staff a peer-to-peer emergency hotline for survivors of sexual assault. I protested the university’s cover-up of a gang-rape in the basement of a fraternity house two doors from where I live now. As a member of my sorority’s executive board, I have talked extensively about safety and sexual assault, and have orchestrated a speaker on the subject to come to campus and talk to the exceptional young women I consider family. I’ve proposed a DOE policy change to make sexual violence education mandatory to my city councilman. This past summer, I traveled to a country notorious for sexual violence and helped lay the groundwork for a health center that will allow women to receive maternal care, mental health counseling, and career counseling.

Law school is going to help me take my advocacy to the next level. Survivors of sexual assault, especially young survivors, often don’t know where to turn. They don’t know their Title IX rights, they don’t know about the Clery Act, and they don’t know how to demand help when every other part of the system is shouting at them to be quiet and give up. Being a lawyer, first and foremost, is being an advocate. With a JD, I can work with groups like SurvJustice and the Rape Survivors Law Project to change the lives of people who were silenced for too long.

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Law School Personal Statement: The Ultimate Guide (Examples Included)

Learn how to write a law school personal statement for top schools like yale, including law school personal statement examples and topics.

AN EXCELLENT LAW SCHOOL PERSONAL STATEMENT CAN HELP COMPENSATE FOR A less competitive UNDERGRADUATE GPA OR LSAT SCORE

Part 1: Introduction

Part 2: why does the law school personal statement matter, part 3: what should a law school personal statement do, part 4: law school personal statement brainstorming, part 5: how to write your law school personal statement, part 6: law school personal statement examples, part 7: frequently asked questions.

The law school admissions process can feel confusing, scary, and overwhelming. Questions like “What LSAT score do I need?” , “How many law schools should I apply to?,” and “Do law school rankings matter?” likely weigh on your mind.

But amid all the uncertainty, there’s one thing we know for sure: the two most important components of your law school application are your undergraduate GPA and your LSAT score.

That means you should spend as much time as you’re able improving those two things. If you’ve already graduated from college or are about to graduate, you should focus on improving your LSAT score as much as you reasonably can. But while those two statistics are invariably the most important factors affecting the success of your law school admissions cycle, they aren’t the only factors admissions committees consider.

In this guide, we’ll discuss the third-most important part of your application: your law school personal statement.

Because your LSAT and GPA carry so much weight, you shouldn’t begin thinking about your personal statement until you have already taken the LSAT. But while you wait for your scores, you can turn your attention to the essay.

Before we get into the step-by-step guide, we’ll offer some general framing thoughts about the law school personal statement. While many people applying to law school are already strong writers with backgrounds in the humanities, social sciences, public policy, or journalism, they often forget the components of good storytelling as soon as they sit down to write their essays.

Remember that the tone of your law school essays isn’t the same tone you’ll use in a legal brief. Law schools are admitting the whole person. An artificial intelligence can handle legal research; only you can display the kind of narrative understanding of your own background and your own future that a good future attorney needs.

Learn everything you need to know to get into T-14 law schools.

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A quality personal statement—a short essay in which you articulate who you are and why you want to go to law school—allows an admissions officer to understand your motivation to attend law school, and the reasons why you want to attend their school, specifically.

As admissions committees decide between students who have similar stats (i.e., GPAs and LSAT scores), they might turn to a tiebreaker: the personal statement. An effective law school personal statement can mean the difference between a letter that begins with “Congratulations!” and one that starts “We regret to inform you...”

In 2018, law school enrollment soared for the first time in nearly ten years. And the number of applications has continued to rise since then, with the 2020–2021 cycle bringing a 13 percent increase in applications compared to the previous year—the largest applicant pool of the past decade.

While the competition to get into a top law school has grown stiffer, students from these programs have less collective debt than their peers at lower-tier schools. A strong personal statement is one major way to push you beyond your scores and into the top 5, 10, or 14 programs , giving you a shot not only at a top-notch education with less debt, but also a flourishing career in the years after.

The personal statement also matters because lawyers have to write, and they have to come up with creative arguments to support a variety of claims. If you can’t make a case for yourself, how can a law school trust that you’ll defend tenants’ rights or argue successfully on behalf of a major corporation?

Your personal statement can demonstrate that you’re not only a rigorous, clear thinker but also a pristine writer, so make sure you don’t leave any typos for an eagle-eyed admissions committee to nitpick over.

Lastly, a strong set of law school essays demonstrates that you aren’t just going to law school by default. Unlike, say, medical school, law school has no undergraduate prerequisites, making it a generic possibility for many students who don’t know what to do next but want a respected career. Offering specificity, passion, and context for your application assures programs that you can make the most of these three years, and that you’ll represent them well as an alumnus or alumna.

(Suggested reading: How to Write an Amazing Law School Diversity Statement )

Your law school personal statement should tell the admissions committee something about you outside of your academic qualifications or work experience.

The personal statement is an opportunity to showcase your personality, reflect on the experiences that led you to apply to law school, and demonstrate how you will make a great addition to the school’s incoming class.

Meeting our students

Throughout the course of this post, we’ll provide examples from students who have gone through this process so you can see the writing process in action. These examples are either real essays that have been slightly adjusted for anonymity or are composites based on real students who have had success applying to T-14 (top-tier) schools.

Tucker: Tucker is from North Carolina and studied at UNC. He has bits and pieces of political experience, most notably working on a state representative’s successful campaign. He wants to return to North Carolina after law school to work as a public defender or return to politics.

Teresa: Teresa is a first-generation Nigerian immigrant who went to a large technically-focused state school, studied mechanical engineering, and ultimately decided a strictly technical career is not her forte.

Deepika: Deepika graduated with a 4.0 from a state school close to home. She studied premed, but toward the end of her undergraduate career decided med school wasn’t for her. In the last year, she’s worked for a local law firm as a paralegal and wants to become an attorney, preferably ending up at a big firm in New York City.

Pavel: Pavel did well as an undergraduate at Michigan, winning the collegiate national debate title along the way. He doesn’t know what kind of law he wants to practice, but right now he’s most interested in the work of prestigious non-profits like the ACLU.

Eric: Eric attended Morehouse, a historically Black college, and spent his undergraduate years studying American history while also getting involved in local Atlanta politics. He’s originally from rural Alabama, and moved to Baltimore after Morehouse to teach high schoolers for two years.

Victor: Victor, a Dallas native, took advantage of his liberal arts education at Harvard. He pursued an interdisciplinary major, Social Studies, and earned good but not fantastic grades in the competitive concentration. He did everything possible on campus: performed with an improv troupe, did work-study in the admissions office, attended weekly religious group meetings. When he graduated, it wasn’t obvious what he would do. He entertained offers from banks and consultancies alike, and he took his time before applying to law school, working in local government and attending a graduate program in France first.

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Before you begin writing, you should spend time brainstorming ideas. Because law school personal statement prompts are almost always broad—e.g. “Why do you want to go to law school?”—applicants often feel uncertain about how to proceed. Either you have too many ideas, or no clue what to write. First, let’s look at a strategy you can use if you don’t know where to start.

Grab a notepad, and answer the following questions:

What’s a time—a year, a summer, a month, even a day—that helped define who you are today?

What are your fondest memories from college?

When did you first think about becoming a lawyer?

What’s the hardest thing you’ve experienced?

What personal accomplishment are you most proud of?

What cause do you care about most? When did you first begin to care about it?

What qualities do you associate with the law? When did you first begin to think about the law in those terms?

Who’s had a significant impact on you? What’s an important experience you had with that person?

What’s a Big Idea that changed the way you think? How did you encounter it (i.e. in school, with a friend, through religion, etc)?

What is definitely not on your resumé but is still an important part of who you are?

Feel free to ask yourself additional questions. The more ideas, the better.

Another way into your PS is to ask what qualities make a good lawyer, and how you embody those qualities. Here are a few to get you started, though this is by no means a comprehensive list.

A commitment to justice or the rule of law

A passion for a particular policy matter or issue (e.g. climate change, religious freedom)

A strong ability to communicate, verbally or in writing

Critical thinking skills and a facility for argumentation

A creative approach to problem-solving

Before moving from the idea-generation phase to the writing phase, take some time, whether it’s a few hours or a day or a week to step away from the process. This next step is best done when removed from the context of your brainstorming.

Focusing your ideas

Here are some of the topics that our students came up with:

Working on a local election campaign

Losing faith and deciding to leave the church he grew up in

Making environmental documentaries during his film coursework

Her senior product design engineering lab

Grandmother teaching her how to cook as a child

Interning for a civil/environmental engineering firm focused on renewables

Interning for a human rights non-profit

Growing up in Slovakia

The route to becoming the collegiate national debate champion

Being on the swim team in college

Her favorite painting, which is by a Sudanese refugee who immigrated to the United States

Working at a local law firm

Moving from a rural environment to a major city

Studying abroad in Oxford

Personally facing police injustice

Living and studying in France

Working underneath the mayor of a major city

Turning around his college improv troupe

Once you’ve generated a list of ideas, choose the one that most compellingly answers ALL of the following questions:

Why go to law school?

Before applying , let alone writing your personal statement, you should be crystal clear on why applying to law school is the logical next step for your ambitions and career.

This matters because admissions committees see too many law school applications from people who just need another step—a credential, a degree to top off their BA in English and render them more employable, or a place to hide out for three years. Explaining how a law degree will help you achieve your professional goals is crucial.

What personal strengths do I have that are not apparent in the rest of my application?

The admissions committees get two windows into your personality and life beyond the numbers: your personal statement and your letters of recommendation . Since, at the very least, you know what context your professors and/or other recommenders have on your professional and academic life, you can also deduce which aspects of yourself they might miss out on that an admissions officer would find compelling. The personal statement is a great place to highlight those.

Why do I want to attend this school specifically?

You should be able to articulate the reasons why a particular school appeals to you. Does the school have a strong reputation for your intended specialty (e.g., public interest law, constitutional law, intellectual property law)? Is there a specific faculty member with whom you want to conduct research? Is there a student organization on campus that can benefit from your expertise and leadership?

The more you’re able to tailor your personal statement to each school, the greater your chances of admission. This requires thorough research: look at the school’s website, reach out to current students and faculty members, and go on a campus tour if possible.

How do I embody the qualities of a good lawyer?

Your personal statement shouldn’t just tell a story of your own past, present, and future. In an ideal world, it’ll also speak to one or more of those intangible qualities that we listed above, or that you came up with in conversation with attorneys or professors. An admissions committee should be able to read your essays and think, “Yes, I see how this person will fit right into our larger legal world, because they’ll have to call on these qualities every day.”

How our students applied these principles

Teresa’s desire to be a lawyer is tied to her background in engineering. She wants her future career to be technical, but she sees real appeal in the skills that practicing law would employ, which has her thinking that a career in IP law could be a good fit. When she writes her essay, she wants to make sure she refers to her engineering expertise. Her idea to write about her experience on a product design engineering team survives this scrutiny.

It also demonstrates a fascination for creative problem-solving, and one can easily see how an engineer could turn her analytical mind toward the law.

Tucker, as we mentioned, was politically active throughout college, but much of that activity was informal, so he found it hard to capture in his resume or elsewhere. He wants to use his personal statement to highlight some of that passion, so he’s chosen to write about his Appalachian roots through the lens of the local candidate he worked with and how they relate to his advocacy. This topic also shows off Tucker’s passionate commitment to a whole constellation of causes and paints a clear picture of how he might use his law degree—to return home to North Carolina to address major systemic issues like poverty, racism, and the opioid crisis.

If you feel like you still have a few winners after narrowing on those criteria, you still have to pick just one. The final selection should be a combination of all the above lessons, while also asking yourself, “Which of these can tell the best story?” At the end of the day, great personal statements tell a story, and some of your ideas probably map more easily to that reality than others. If the idea doesn’t yield a story, it may not be your best. Kill it.

These questions may serve as a litmus test for whether an idea can turn into a good tale:

Do you have a story and not just a topic? In other words, can you reference a specific anecdote (a day, a summer)? Could you, if pressed, write a scene, with characters and images to illustrate your larger narrative?

Is yours a story no one else could tell? If there were other people who did your exact same jobs, or attended your exact same university, could they come up with the same essay?

Is there a natural tension or conflict present?

Did you change at all from the beginning to the end of the relevant time period? How? Was it a surprise?

In telling this story, will you sound like yourself, or is there a risk that you’ll have to write robotically or flatly?

Whichever idea you choose, you should be able to answer yes to at least one of these questions.

To that end, while Deepika felt at first that her time at a local law firm melded naturally with her desire to go to law school, the emotional arc she identified in how moved she was by the painting and the emigré narrative of the artist felt an easier story to tell, not to mention a more unique one (law schools read a lot of essays about being a paralegal).

Similarly, Pavel was torn between writing about his debate experiences or interning with an NGO, but his version of the former gives more insight into who he is and how he’s changed and grown, which means he’ll be able to tell a better story.

Eric, for his part, opted to tell a story that was personally gut-wrenching but which drew a very clear connection between him and the law: the moment a police officer wrongfully arrested him for “loitering.”

And Victor made a bold choice: he didn’t really choose. Instead, he decided to use several of his experiences as canvas in a larger, quilted story about his passions and sense of self.

Before you dive into writing the best personal statement the admissions committee has ever seen, it’s often useful to create an outline. An outline will keep your ideas organized and help you write more efficiently.

Here’s one path you could follow as you outline:

First paragraph: Lead with the anecdote or story

It may be tempting to write straight away about the importance of the legal system or why you’re excited about a particular school, but beginning with your narrative draws readers in more effectively. In addition to hooking readers, an essay that tells a story will be more memorable than one that feels focused entirely on listing your readiness for or interest in studying the law. To drive this home further, every applicant has an interest in studying the law. Pinning that interest to a story only you can tell will make your application all the more memorable.

How do you know what the right anecdote is? Remember how our litmus tests above asked about scenes? A story is a story—rather than an idea or a topic—if it can be populated with vivid descriptions of the characters and setting. Can you recall the smell of the damp room where you sat when it was announced that your boss has won the state senate seat? How did you feel on the first day of your new teaching job in the Texas border town? What was the weather like? How big was the space? Who else was there? Did someone say something particularly memorable?

Another way to check for your anecdote is to think about what growth or change you’re trying to demonstrate through the essay. What was the beginning of that growth or change? What, in other words, was the inciting incident that kicked off your epiphany or transformation?

This opening anecdote or personal hook is the place our only you litmus test matters most. No one else should be able to tell this story the way you can tell this story. Your personal views, history, and perspective will color what details pop out.

Tucker chose to open with a beautiful, personal reflection on the place that shaped him. It both sets the stage with narrative finesse, literally demonstrating place and space, but also gives us an inciting incident that spurred Tucker’s new relationship to his hometown.

Note also that Tucker’s opening is not explicitly or even obviously related to the law. Take a look:

I did not know that my home town was a small one until I was 15 years old. Growing up, I thought I lived in the big city, because Greensboro has skyscrapers—isn’t that the dividing line between the big city and not? It’s also the first town that appears on interstate signs in North Carolina once you get on I-40, headed west from Durham. I figured if the interstate thought we were important, why shouldn’t I? So when I went to Rochester, New York in tenth grade for a student conference with my friends at school, I proudly announced that I was from Greensboro to the first person who asked, only to have her, a Bronx resident, respond, “Uh, where?” It was then that I learned one thing it could not claim to be was “the big city.”

Eric also set a scene in vivid, visceral, painful detail. Because his story was so intense, he didn’t limit himself to just one paragraph at the start. He took his time, the way a lawyer would, laying out every component of what happened to him when he was wrongfully arrested, and demonstrating everything he witnessed as part of the process. This sets him up to level a layered and specific critique of the system that was responsible for his arrest.

After less than four minutes of waiting on the front lawn of my private property for my uncle to arrive, I was arrested and forced into a squad car without a reason for my arrest. As he tightened the cold handcuffs on my wrists, the arresting officer asked my age. Perplexed, I informed him I was eighteen years old. “Great,” he exclaimed, as he slammed the door in my face while he exchanged smiles with his partner. Oblivious, I waited in the back seat, as he drove down the block, anxiously awaiting an explanation for my arrest. Less than thirty seconds after forcing me in the car, the police officer jumped out of the car, pursued an unsuspecting boy riding his bike in the neighborhood, aggressively pulled him from his moving bike, and placed him in handcuffs. After throwing the boy in the back seat with me, the cop sped off—leaving the boy’s bike behind on the sidewalk to be stolen. The caravan of police proceeded to rampage the area arresting more young men walking through the neighborhood.

On the ride to the police station, I repeatedly asked the officer the reason for my arrest. After a few minutes of ignoring my questions, he said he arrested us for loitering. After arriving at the police station, the cops expressed their disapproval of my choice of clothing. At that moment it was clear that I was profiled based on my appearance alone.

A couple of hours later, my mother arrived and demanded my release. When releasing me, the cops repeatedly apologized to my mother insisting that they did not know they had a “good kid.” The whole experience left me wondering how many people, besides the ones I witnessed, are wrongfully arrested or wrongfully convicted, due to their appearance, ignorance, and lack of access to quality legal advice and representation.

Lastly, let’s look at Victor’s essay, which took an unconventional approach. He didn’t begin with a specific anecdote, but he did take on the voice of a storyteller.

The house is quiet—its residents have been asleep for some time now. In a modest room on the second floor, only faint specks of moonlight peek through the window blinds. A few of these beams land on a small, round face, his eyes glittering in the darkness. Although he retreated to his bedroom hours ago, sweet slumber eluded him. This was not the first time: for as long as he could remember, he would lie awake when he should have been in repose, his mind excitedly flitting from one thought to the next. He pictured distant lands, from Spain with its beautiful language and world-renowned cuisine, to his parents’ mother country of Ghana, where farmers journeyed for miles to sell their wares in vibrant cities teeming with life. He also loved superheroes, and he sometimes imagined himself launching into the sky like Superman, sailing through the air as quickly as possible to help a family in need. At this late hour, when the sun had not yet nudged above the horizon and his loved ones were just beginning to dream, he was obsessed with the world not as it was, but as it could be.

Victor knows that someone might read his application and wonder about his seeming lack of focus. By opening here, he demonstrates that his diversity of interests is a core part of who he is, and that he wasn’t a waffler or a flip-flopper but, rather, a curious person by nature.

Body paragraphs: Convey who you are

You should try to accomplish the following in your body paragraphs. They don’t—and probably shouldn’t—happen in this order, with each of the below points being assigned to a paragraph. But as you write, you ought to be able to pull off each of the following.

Connect the narrative to a thesis. Only after you’ve told the story should you articulate your thesis, your “here’s why I am applying to law school/want to be a lawyer/care about the law.”

Teresa accomplished this beautifully. She opened with a personal anecdote about her father’s annual “Design Days,” days in which the family would make physical things, and which spurred in her a love of creating with her hands. It’s not obvious what that has to do with the law at first, which is part of what makes it a great opening. By the third paragraph, she links it brilliantly to her legal preoccupations, and, in doing so, explains why a former engineer is applying to law school.

But the reality for many creators in America is that their work is under threat. The chief protection for many fledgling creators, whether they’re scientists or engineers or musicians or writers, is the legal system. Patent trolls aim to trounce startups; large institutions create environments unfriendly to more nascent artists. In between them stand good lawyers ready to defend the individual artist, scientist, inventor. While the American intellectual property system is not void of imperfections, it remains true that copyright and patents can and should protect the creations of every person who experiences the same precious sense of creativity my father introduced me to every November 1.

Articulate what kind of lawyer you hope to be. You might have a sense of what sort of law you want to practice, whether it’s being a defense attorney or general counsel for a big corporation. But that’s not what we’re talking about. Go back to the qualities you came up with in the brainstorming phase. What values and ideals does your life so far reflect, and what do those have to do with the kind of legal career you hope to have? This doesn’t have to take up too much space. Deepika neatly and simply explains:

I want to apply my desire for more legal experience specifically to the problem of migration.

Connect the personal to the professional. Don’t leave your opening personal anecdote out to dry. Even something that has ostensibly nothing to do with the law, like, say, Deepika’s choice to write about the artist, will need to say something about your own commitment to pursuing the law.

Remember, though, that by this point, you’ve defined what exactly the law means to you , which should help you connect your personal story to the legal profession. You don’t need to draw a through line from your grandmother’s illness to late nights as an associate lawyer working off your school debt. But you can connect your presence throughout your grandmother’s illness to the continuity of care that you’ll give your clients when they sue nursing homes for negligence.

Take a look at how Tucker does that at the end of his personal statement, which has spent most of its time in the terrain of the personal, but turns toward the professional as it closes.

The Appalachian conversation is necessarily a legal one. As some Carolinians line up along racial boundaries, many good lawyers are working to combat the mass incarceration of minority populations, while other good lawyers champion free speech for even the most maligned activists. When free speech intertwines with debates about white nationalism and the South's history, impact litigators argue multiple sides to arrive at good legal judgments that do not stop at popular opinion. As my own mayor was maligning the presence of refugees, Virginia immigration lawyers were ensuring that local migrants were educated about their rights and responsibilities. The rigor in pursuit of justice that legal conversation applies has an immense role to play in these heated debates.

In particular, the conversation about race can go deeper here at home than most are willing to take it. One issue that has faced recent attention in the highest courts is equal representation in the electorate. Studying at Harvard will train me to ensure that existing civil rights are protected. It will teach me about the viewpoints informing present discussions of how civil rights are defined and advocated for. While race, gerrymandering, and voter ID laws are contentious issues on a national scale, both recent attention and my deep roots in the region have made it clear to me that North Carolina is a place where the legal conversation needs to be carried further. I want to attend Harvard to acquire the skills, legal context and history, and education to do this work in my home.

Don’t lose your sense of story. Often, when we reach the middle of the essay, we’ve grown tired and are eager to start summarizing our resumé.

Remember that you still need to maintain the narrative propulsion that you introduced by kicking off with an anecdote or personal hook. Another way of saying this is that you need to remain present throughout the body paragraphs. As with the whole essay, ask, with every paragraph: am I the only person who could have written this? Or could one of my fellow interns at the Goldman Sachs legal program have come up with the same take?

Victor does a great job of maintaining his commitment to the storyteller’s voice, even in the middle of his essay, as he’s showing off his professional accomplishments. Witness his use of character and dialogue here:

“I hope you have had no issues settling into life here… Now, on to business. What’s wrong with this city?” the Mayor asked softly, rapidly twirling his pen in the process. Needless to say, I was floored; it was my third day in public service, and I could not think of a weightier question, one with tremendous implications for the large city where I’d taken a job. Although I felt under-qualified for such a task, he was confident in my ability to review the city’s finances from a completely blank slate. A week later, we ruminated over innovative approaches to topics ranging from how to name our city a “sanctuary city” to solving the region’s major infrastructure issues. While there were clear legal frameworks for operating within each of these spaces, we also had substantial freedom to propose what we wished.

As we refined our proposals, I realized that laws gave us the framework necessary to think critically about what was possible, but they rarely led to a clear conclusion about how to proceed. Final decisions would come as a result of deliberations with relevant internal and external parties, discussions with our counterparts in nearby cities and regions, vetting particular approaches with members of our staff and even state Senators, and checking our conclusions against the advice offered by legal counsel. No one group could act unilaterally, and our contributions were but a small piece of a larger policymaking apparatus.

Demonstrate change and growth over time, and remember that it’s not the same thing as flip-flopping. Two key components of a compelling story are conflict and resolution. Something, in other words, has to change between the beginning and the end. The middle is a great place for that to happen. You can think of it the way fiction writers think about plot: a set of events alongside a set of emotional shifts. The events incite the emotional shifts.

Deepika does this by addressing her former interest in medicine, and explaining how it gradually shifted to an interest in the law. She doesn’t pretend that she’s always wanted to be a lawyer. It’ll be obvious from her transcripts and extracurriculars that her interests lay elsewhere . Making this change part of her narrative is a good choice:

I was spending the summer working for a public health nonprofit based in Kenya, exploring a future career in medicine, and I’d used my weekend to visit a gallery with some local friends. Despite growing up in a family that appreciated art deeply, no one had equipped me for a moment where a painting could bring me so immediately to tears. Agnostic to the artist’s story, which I got only after he saw my reaction to his work, the painting itself was just such a guttural and emotional work. Something about how directly he’d translated his own trials into the medium flew straight through me. The name of the piece was “Resurrection,” and it was scratched from a discarded advertisement board that he had repurposed. The faceless figure told a story of a life plagued by violence, that violence rendered on the work itself with haphazard scratching and peeling of the paint. I was breathless seeing what he had gone through, and thinking of how that had made its way onto the “canvas.” We talked for a while, swapping our very different stories of moving countries. After, I said a sincere thank you, and I left.

By the end of that summer semester, I was sure that medicine was not the career for me. But I didn’t immediately know where to put all my passion. In a moment of serendipity, I was able to experience firsthand the value of the legal world and see attorneys in action by working as a paralegal. The hands-on legal experience I received there was ultimately vital to my decision to practice law, but I return to that summer in Nairobi as a real clarion call to do something different.

Conclusion: Tie it all together

After telling a story and spending time articulating your goals more clearly, a concluding paragraph can leave the reader with an understanding of who you are and why you’re applying—the best result you can hope for from a good personal statement.

There are a number of ways to think about an ending, which can be the toughest, and most easily clichéd part, of any essay.

First, let it happen naturally, rather than forcing it. We recommend not stressing about the ending until you’ve written your way to it. An essay that ends in exactly the spot you thought it would when you began it risks sounding cliché.

Second, declarative statements often make for clichéd endings. Things like “and that’s why I want to become a lawyer” or “and I’ll use these skills every day in my life as an attorney” can sometimes work, but often read as default options. If everyone can come up with that ending, it might not be a good one.

For Tucker, it works. He writes:

I want to attend Harvard to acquire the skills, legal context and history, and education to do this work in my home.

This simple sentence works because so much of Tucker’s essay has involved literary writing and reflection on place. A declarative statement won’t hurt him here. It’s also a gentle, nice touch to end on the words “my home,” since his essay has been about what it means to belong to a particular stretch of land.

Third, consider ending on an image or with a call-back to where you began the essay. This is one of the most organic and satisfying ways to conclude any piece of writing.

Deepika’s essay, for instance, opens on a painting done by a refugee artist, and then zooms out to discuss her own life story. But she brings the personal statement full circle by returning to the inciting image:

Recalling that artist’s story both in his own words and by seeing “Resurrection,” I understood what a privilege it is to have a legal system that can uphold freedom of expression, and one that also makes way for new futures for immigrants like my parents year after year.

To that end, I want to apply my desire for more legal experience specifically to the problem of migration. In addition to the real personal transition that this artist’s work opened for me, this decision feels an important one now more than ever as the current administration angles toward, I believe, increasingly harmful and inconsistent implementations of immigration policy to the detriment of young children who could one day paint a Resurrection II.

Victor’s essay pulls off a similar circular structure. He began with a third-person portrait of himself as a young boy, dreaming voraciously of all that he wants to discover in the world. He closes with a portrait of who he is now, a polymath of sorts who has begun to make some of those discoveries but who needs the law to help him go further:

Two decades later, that little boy staring up into the darkness has become an adult, but his penchant for moonlit dreaming has never waned. In fact, those dreams are now accompanied by a set of experiences with the potential to carry such visions forward into a life of impact and service to others. After having the opportunity to explore a variety of roles, I cannot think of a better long-term career with which to realize my unique ambitions at the intersection of business, public policy, and community activism than legal practice. Whether I provide pro bono advice to city government, serve as counsel to an international company, or represent my community as a public servant, a career in the law is my chance to fly into the fray and create something once thought unthinkable for collective benefit. My thoughts may never rest long enough to ensure an immediate night’s sleep, but I might finally obtain a deeper peace through advocacy and service.  

After you’ve finished the first draft of your law school personal statement

First, congratulations! Writing the first draft of your personal statement is no small feat. But the work has just begun! Your personal statement should undergo several revisions before submitting. Some tips for revising:

Read your essay aloud. By doing so, you will notice small typos and wording issues, as well as larger issues with form, that you wouldn’t otherwise. Reading aloud shifts the way your brain consumes the work, sometimes to great effect. It also helps you get a sense for how much an essay has your voice. You should sound like yourself when you read your essay aloud.

Ask for feedback. You should have a peer, professor, or admissions advisor read your essay. The core question to ask them to evaluate is, “Do you have a good sense of who I am and why I want to attend law school after reading this?” If the answer is no, revisions are necessary.

For big changes, rewrite instead of editing. This one can be a bit of a pain after investing all the time you have, but if you decide to make a large change in form or content, start again with a blank page. It can be tempting to preserve your existing structure and just slot in the changes where they fit, but you’ll end up with a more cohesive and coherent final product if you start anew.

You needn’t trash everything you wrote, of course. Print out a hard copy of your original, keep it on the table beside you, and open a clean doc. Rewriting from scratch whatever you do keep rather than performing a simple copy-paste will ensure you end up with one essay at the end, rather than two spliced together.

Below are the law school personal statements produced by the students we’ve followed throughout this guide, all well another successful personal statement example, all based on the writing process we just walked through.

Law school personal statement example 1

Here’s Tucker’s Harvard Law School personal statement.

That student conference, as well as the handful of other opportunities I had to travel in high school, was my first inkling that, for many people, the Blue Ridge Mountains were not a known part of the very big world I grew up aching to see more of. Because even before I realized that Greensboro was no major landmark, I still wanted to explore beyond it. My mother taught French and Spanish and was always eager to ensure I realized there were places beyond my backyard. I was also exhausted by the idea of graduating college and returning home to work in Greensboro, where, at the time, jobs were not always plentiful and hobbies were few. But, for financial reasons, college was not my long-dreamt-of exodus. I went to the University of North Carolina, which, while an hour away, certainly belongs to the same chunk of Carolina as Greensboro.

In Chapel Hill, I loved long drives. My road of choice was Mount Sinai Road. It winds down the banks of Old Field Creek, bridging the gap between Durham and I-40. It's the start of the route I took back to High Point to visit my family, and it's where I rode my bike during Chapel Hill summers. It was on Mount Sinai that I first realized how attached to this region I am.

Along Mount Sinai’s twists and turns, you can get a real sense of what North Carolina is and can be. There’s a deep agrarian heritage and rolling hills that hide the sun from their most intimate holler. Along these roads live a people who do not mind being heard, as their “These are God’s roads, so don’t drive like hell” sign would have you know. Most of all, though, Mount Sinai was one of many places over the last 25 years in Appalachia that taught me how much this land means to me. I recognize the grasses and the trees and the architecture and the people in a way that I could not possibly know another place, and that knowledge has rooted me in a way that I did not expect as a child at a student conference in Rochester, New York.

As I realized how distinctly Appalachian my own personal history is, I started to see similar connections in my family. I learned of our family struggles with substance use and of my mother's father’s affinity for our Confederate heritage. I learned I'm only a few generations removed from the McCoys of Hatfield-McCoy fame. I learned that the not-so-rosy Appalachian existence was not a storybook reality but a familial one. However, I also learned of my grandfather's sense of adventure and of the unique sense of play my father was gifted with as a child by being able to spend so much time outside in the crick. I learned that my grandmother once modeled for the rail photographer O. Winston Link and that my great uncle once threw a snowball at Elvis.

In the last year, I also saw Appalachia couched in a larger national context, especially as I tried to reckon with my home place from afar while living and working abroad last summer. I intimately knew the people, “the poor, white, rural voters,” being bandied about as political caricatures on television. As the opiate crisis worsens, a national spotlight is being thrust on my neighbors in West Virginia. As commentators wonder how much historical context justifies the presence of Confederate monuments, attention turns to Charlottesville. My home place, my Appalachia, is becoming a topic of a much larger conversation about how to support the plight of the rural American while not also succumbing to the part of that population that longs for an unequal, racist past. I believe my voice adds to that conversation. So, I took to door-knocking for Representative Edward Mitchell, knowing that the first impact I might have could be a political one. I don’t want to stop there. The law can open even more doors.

What works about Tucker’s essay, among many things:

Writing. Tucker writes fluently and smoothly, especially when he’s thinking about place and the world that shaped him. The images, the roads, and local vocabulary like “the local holler,” all contribute to the strength of his writing. Even if sentences don’t come to you naturally, you can shortcut your way to a great personal statement by including vivid descriptions of your surroundings.

An authentic connection to the law. Tucker lingers in the personal for quite a long time in this essay, and he does so because he knows he can make that confident transition: “The Appalachian conversation is a necessarily legal one.” It’s so deftly argued that we don’t even realize he’s been sculpting an argument all along, using his personal experience as a case study.

Law school personal statement example 2

Another example, a Yale Law School personal statement, this time from Teresa:

November 1 is my favorite day of the year. When I was growing up, my father would call it “Design Day.” I think he liked the alliteration. He loves woodworking, and he would spend the early fall amassing natural treefall from the woods behind our house in anticipation of November 1. Every year, he’d spend the day making things, small and large, whether a bird with a bandsaw or a new coffee table. He first invited me out into the garage when I was seven. I still wonder why he felt the imperative to concentrate so much of his hobby time into that one day, but I think he understood pinning it to a date would make it somehow more special, even if it was an arbitrary one.

Over the years, in that garage, and especially as an early teen, I learned how valuable it was to create something, to make a thing you call your own. That same feeling was reborn as a senior at Purdue University. As part of my studies in mechanical engineering, my classmates and I were required to join one of myriad senior design teams. The topics ranged from designing our own delivery drones to creating various nanotechnology applications. I eventually decided to work on a project designing new flatpack shelters that could be deployed in disaster areas with improved durability and sustainability, because I was excited by the real-world applications of my studies helping others. I saw not only my own progress first-hand, but also the development of others’, and, yet again, again the intrinsic value of a made thing.

The crux of my shift from wanting to be a maker myself to instead wanting to lend my voice to their defense was seeing Dr. Everett Simpson in action. Dr. Simpson, himself a lawyer, now teaches engineering ethics but spent the spring semester consulting all of the projects with patentable work on their IP obligations and rights. The care with which he approached the issues, but especially our interactions, opened my eyes to a world in which I might leverage my technical expertise as an advocate rather than an engineer, a combination I find so appealing.

It’s thanks to those interactions with Dr. Simpson, backed by my father’s own creativity from day one, that has led me to apply to Yale Law School. Knowing that your program in IP law is a strong one and being especially excited by the research that Professor Yochai Benkler is doing on the intellectual commons, I am confident that after three years at Yale, I will be positioned well to train as an advocate for those creators near and far.

What’s great about Teresa’s essay:

Multiple life stages. Teresa, like Deepika, has been fully committed to another discipline at one point in her life. Instead of defensively explaining why she’s moving into law now, she uses her past experience as a “maker” to explain that her previous engineering life naturally and inevitably brought her to the law. She tackles this intersection from both a personal and a professional standpoint, moving from her father to Dr. Simpson with ease.

“Why us?” Teresa’s “Why us?” addendum at the end of the essay is neat but strong. She clearly knows more about the school than what a simple Google search could yield. Referencing Dr. Benkler, whose appointment is in economics, isn’t an obvious choice for a law school candidate, but indicates that she’s grasped her field from multiple disciplinary perspectives.

Law school personal statement example 3

Here’s another full-length law school personal statement example, from Deepika:

He lives in Nairobi now. He was not born there: He grew up in Sudan, along the Nile. On a few separate occasions, he was dismissed from his studies for his political involvement, a reality I can know about but find hard to internalize. After a few efforts to pursue his practice in Sudan he left Khartoum for Benghazi. I don’t know his name. What I do remember is how it felt to see his paintings for the first time.

What we can admire from Deepika’s essay:

An unlikely take on the personal. Many applicants feel that a personal story must involve them shedding blood on the page. Deepika doesn’t get enormously vulnerable here. She doesn’t talk about Big Traumas that happened to her; in fact, she feels like she’s been pretty lucky, all told. But she does talk about a personal connection to art, and that is quite a strong window into who she is.

Ending. Deepika’s return to the painting at the end of her essay makes the whole essay feel natural, and indicates an authentic relationship to questions of immigration. It also tells us that she’s thought about what her commitment to immigration policy could change in the world, that she’s got a fully formed view of society.

Law school personal statement example 4

Here’s Eric’s Columbia Law School personal statement:

After less than four minutes of waiting on the front lawn of my private property for my uncle to arrive, I was arrested and forced into a squad car without a reason for my arrest. As he tightened the cold handcuffs on my wrists, the arresting officer asked my age. Perplexed, I informed him I was eighteen-years-old. “Great,” he exclaimed, as he slammed the door in my face while he exchanged smiles with his partner. Oblivious, I waited in the back seat, as he drove down the block, anxiously awaiting an explanation for my arrest. Less than thirty seconds after forcing me in the car, the police officer jumped out of the car, pursued an unsuspecting boy riding his bike in the neighborhood, aggressively pulled him from his moving bike, and placed him in handcuffs. After throwing the boy in the back seat with me, the cop sped off—leaving the boy’s bike behind on the sidewalk to be stolen. The caravan of police proceeded to rampage the area arresting more young men walking through the neighborhood.

During this experience and others similar to it, I was most uncomfortable with the feeling of being helpless and not well-informed about my rights. I did not like that my lack of knowledge prevented me from defending my rights and the rights of others. This experience was just one of the many instances where I witnessed a person in power abuse their authority to trample the rights of people who were not knowledgeable of their rights and did not have the resources necessary to access legal advice. My ignorance of my rights during these types of experiences was frustrating and also frightening. Being at the mercy of an apparently ethically unsound figure of authority who seemed to make arbitrary and capricious decisions, that could greatly impact my life, was very unsettling.

Witnessing grave miscarriages of justice has inspired me to equip myself with the tools necessary to fight unjust situations. These experiences have definitely fostered my desire to educate and advocate for those disadvantaged individuals and communities.

My experiences in the Columbia Law School Law Clinic reaffirmed my interest in advocating for socioeconomically challenged individuals and communities. During my time in the law clinic, I have been exposed to a plethora of pro bono opportunities and organizations. Some of the causes I’ve been able to dedicate my time to include: assisting an innocent man, who was wrongfully convicted and imprisoned for eighteen years, with his exoneration; helping asylum seekers, who face the threat of being killed in their home country because of their sexuality or regional violence, through the asylum application process; assisting disabled and elderly Hurricane Sandy victims gain access to much needed food benefits; and assisting small business owners with filing their organizational documents with the state. Coming from a socioeconomically challenged background myself and being able to assist with matters that I can empathize and sympathize with has made me yearn for more knowledge that would better equip me to help indigent people in need of legal assistance.

After deeply scrutinizing legal field, working towards great causes in Columbia’s Law Clinic, and actively seeking various opinions about law school and the legal field, I believe law school is the next logical step for me to fulfill my aspirations to advocate for socioeconomically disadvantaged people on a more substantive level. I know I will be a great lawyer and be a positive agent of change. I fight tirelessly towards causes that I strongly believe in; and as a result I put forth great work that reflects the amount of effort expended.

I am sure that at the Columbia University School of Law I will be able to access a quality legal education that will challenge and prepare me for my future as an advocate for the more vulnerable members of society. I know that Columbia Law School will provide an intellectually nurturing environment that offers a bounty of experiential learning opportunities that are beneficial to my preferred learning style, and continue to surround me with individuals that will contribute to my growth and push me to strive for more. Columbia Law will also allow me to utilize my unique perspective, experiences, and skills to continue to make valuable contributions to the Columbia University community in and outside of the classroom.

What we can learn from Eric’s essay:

A clear tie between the personal and the professional. Eric chose to write about an extremely vulnerable moment in his history, one that might be an intuitive choice these days as we become more used to public conversations about the “grave miscarriages of justice” Eric writes about but which, a few years ago, might have seemed like a risky choice. By going there, and by linking it to his professional career so clearly, he gives us a memorable essay and tells us that he will be working to correct that injustice for many years to come.

Descriptions of prior professional work. Eric clearly articulates what he got out of his work at the Law Clinic, enumerating his involvements without making them seem too flat. He then draws a neat line between those experiences and what he wants out of law school at the same institution.

Law school personal statement example 5

Below is Victor’s University of Chicago Law School personal statement:

The summer before my freshman year of college, I worked for a law firm in my hometown as an assistant case manager. It was my first real job, and we were tasked with following up on the results of a settlement which promised compensation to individuals injured by cigarette use. Many of the claimants in the suit were not involved with the original case, but a wrinkle in the law meant that those who had not initially issued a claim could still stand to receive reparations. During that time, I witnessed the devastating impact of tobacco use on countless lives, and I was given an opportunity to think creatively about how to defend their claims. Whether it was by recovering medical records that could credibly tie cigarette use to the onset of disease, or looking back decades to find proof of a claim under the original settlement, we worked tirelessly to help grant our clients restitution. It was seldom a straightforward process, yet we did our best even when key details were sparse.  

Four years later, I joined a major corporation as a full-time legal analyst working directly for the management team of one of its nascent commercial arms. At first, I expected to focus on regular meetings of the Board of Directors and related tasks, such as scheduling in accordance with regulatory requirements, setting the annual agenda, and performing discrete analyses consistent with the Company’s ongoing legal needs. However, I was quickly assigned more abstract projects, rooted in questions such as “Where could the Company open a foreign branch?” and “How would proposed changes in regulation adversely impact the Company’s overall business?” When I joined the Company, I viewed the laws set by regulatory agencies as fixed mandates, but I soon learned that these laws were subject to considerable negotiation and amendment. The Company’s business model and its evolution raised legitimate questions about which functions the private sector should be allowed to perform, and my time there opened my eyes to the myriad potential organizations have to directly or indirectly shape the laws that govern their work.

“I hope you have had no issues settling into life here… Now, on to business. What’s wrong with this city?” the Mayor asked softly, rapidly twirling his pen in the process. Needless to say, I was floored; it was my third day in public service, and I could not think of a weightier question, one with tremendous implications for the large city where I’d taken a job. Although I felt under-qualified for such a task, he was confident in my ability to review the city’s finances from a completely blank slate. A week later, we ruminated over innovative approaches to topics ranging from how to name our city a “sanctuary city” to solving the region’s major infrastructure issues. While there were clear legal frameworks for operating within each of these spaces, we also had substantial freedom to propose what we wished. As we refined our proposals, I realized that laws gave us the framework necessary to think critically about what was possible, but they rarely led to a clear conclusion about how to proceed. Final decisions would come as a result of deliberations with relevant internal and external parties, discussions with our counterparts in nearby cities and regions, vetting particular approaches with members of our staff and even state Senators, and checking our conclusions against the advice offered by legal counsel. No one group could act unilaterally, and our contributions were but a small piece of a larger policymaking apparatus.

Two decades later, that little boy staring up into the darkness has become an adult, but his penchant for moonlit dreaming has never waned. In fact, those dreams are now accompanied by a set of experiences with the potential to carry such visions forward into a life of impact and service to others. After having the opportunity to explore a variety of roles, I cannot think of a better long-term career with which to realize my unique ambitions at the intersection of business, public policy and community activism than legal practice. Whether I provide pro bono advice to city government, serve as counsel to an international company, or represent my community as a public servant, a career in the law is my chance to fly into the fray and create something once thought unthinkable for collective benefit. My thoughts may never rest long enough to ensure an immediate night’s sleep, but I might finally obtain a deeper peace through advocacy and service.  

What Victor does well:

Chronology. It’s not always the right call, but sometimes the best way to tell the story of yourself is to begin at the beginning, during your dreamy childhood days, and trace it up till now. This works in part because Victor is such a passionate writer, and in part because he remains in that storytelling mode throughout. This essay would fail if it were a series of monotonous descriptions of each stage of Victor’s life. But we feel like we are sitting across from him at a coffee shop and listening in on his professional reflections.

Tackling a diverse career path. Victor makes use of the plurality of work experiences he’s had, knowing that his resumé is fuller and he is older than many of his peers. He turns that into an advantage, in the way Teresa leverages her engineering background and Deepika addresses her roots in medicine head-on.

Law school personal statement example 6

Here’s another Yale Law School personal statement, this one written by a student named Michael.

“All of you men are alike!” a woman exclaimed from the back of the nursery. “Get away from my baby girl!” Rattled, I placed the yellow crayon next to the picture of the Easter Bunny I had been helping four-year-old Gabriela color. I smiled softly, thanked Gabriela for her time, and made my way to the opposite side of the room. Her mother deserved the ease.

When I first began volunteering with the Foster Center for Domestic Violence, I was skeptical I could be effective. As a young black male in the center, I served as a reminder of the physical harm, emotional turmoil, and ongoing legal entanglements ex-partners had inflicted on victims. The women in the center had initially responded to my presence with passive animosity or fear. Nevertheless, given time, I knew I would be able to help families in the center heal; I had years of experience successfully defying stereotypes.

In my childhood and adolescence, I attended safe schools. By day, I studied in clean classrooms with devoted teachers and classmates; by night, I fell asleep to the symphony of gunshots, helicopters, and sirens. Each day after school, my backpack crammed with seminal American novels and a dense chemistry textbook, I commuted home to my East Oakland 'hood, glancing over my shoulder and quickening my pace in areas I knew to be dangerous. One afternoon, as I raced away from a group of my “brothers,” I found myself empathetic. How could I be upset at their malice? This was our norm.

Surviving as a black male in my community left little time for ambition or altruism, but this did not deter me. In my junior year of high school, I turned my attention to the societal ailments, problems seemingly devoid of practical solution, which plagued the black community. Examining my life, I recognized that I owed my commitment to success and concern for others to my family. My family had provided the structure and support that too many of my brothers had lacked. Seeking to help families in my community recover and regroup, I began volunteering at the Foster Center.

Initially, I helped conduct workshops for the victims and recreational activities for the children, but as I spent more time at the center, I became interested in addressing domestic violence on a deeper level. At Howard University, my pre-law curriculum inspired me to confront the issue’s complexity. I pioneered a college-based effort, Foster University, that enlisted my brothers in the endeavor to deter domestic violence. More than five hundred students have participated in our programs to raise awareness of domestic violence through bold discussions. Following the initiative’s success in Washington, D.C., I began helping student leaders implement the program on campuses at other institutions. At the same time, I sought to encourage my peers to engage in the active pursuit of thorough and practical solutions to all social justice issues, especially domestic violence. I developed a second initiative to introduce legal writing to my undergraduate community while simultaneously satisfying my desire to develop solutions to the problems I had encountered. My interests in law and domestic violence led me to opportunities that fueled this desire even further. My impact had become tangible, but I still wanted to do more.

In the summer before my junior year, I interned at the Domestic Violence Division at the Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office in Chicago, where I assisted prosecutors with their caseloads and interviewed victims. The experience exposed me to the legal inefficiencies that had contributed to the frustration of the women at the Foster Center. Well-intentioned but shortsighted rulings destroyed families and unenforced orders of protection proved meaningless. Further, I was dismayed by the endless accounts of repeat offenders. As is too often the case, the legal system was failing those who most needed its protection.

By attending Yale Law School, I will prepare to work to heal at-risk families and our inadequate legal system. I will learn to address the institutional failures that frustrated Gabriela’s mother and the other women at the Foster Center. Yale Law School’s Beshar/Lehner Gender Violence Clinic and Gruber Program for Global Justice and Women's Rights will help me develop a contextual understanding of the social and legal complexities necessary for the change I envision. Furthermore, the Worker and Immigrant Rights Advocacy Clinic will teach me to harness existing resources to empower victims of abuse and address a range of issues that plague marginalized populations. I no longer flee from my brothers. But my empathy is not enough. As an advocate and attorney, I will enlist the help of my brothers and sisters to reform broken institutions and enhance our community.

What we can learn from Michael’s personal statement:

A clear focus on a specific issue, and why it matters to him. Michael articulates clear reasons why working to prevent domestic violence and improving his community are important to him. He backs this up with directly relevant professional and volunteer experience, dating back even to high school.

“Why us?” Like Teresa, Michael has clearly done his homework about the law school he’s applying to. Naming specific programs and resources that he wants to be a part of demonstrates that Yale is a strong fit for the issues he wants to tackle as a lawyer.

How long should a personal statement be for law school?

Many universities won’t specify, but most others say between a page and a half and two pages double-spaced, which comes out to around 500 words.

What law school personal statement topics are off-limits?

Just about anything can make a good personal statement, as long as you adhere to the advice above.

One exception worth noting: you shouldn’t use your personal statement to talk about a low GPA or LSAT score. If you do feel you have a compelling context for one or both of those, you should submit a separate addendum focused on that, rather than waste valuable space in your personal statement.

Should I write a separate personal statement for each school?

While it’s okay to use the same narrative across applications, each essay should be tailored specifically to the school to which you’re applying. Make sure to triple-check that you didn’t refer to the wrong school at any point in your application.

About the Author

Dr. Shirag Shemmassian is the Founder of Shemmassian Academic Consulting and one of the world's foremost experts on law school admissions. For nearly 20 years, he and his team have helped thousands of students get into law school using his exclusive approach.

THERE'S NO REASON TO STRUGGLE THROUGH THE LAW SCHOOL ADMISSIONS PROCESS ALONE, ESPECIALLY WITH SO MUCH ON THE LINE. SCHEDULE YOUR COMPLIMENTARY CONSULTATION TO ENSURE YOU LEAVE NOTHING TO CHANCE.

2 Law School Personal Statements That Succeeded

These examples of law school essays were critical components of successful law school applications.

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Sincerity is an essential ingredient of a compelling law school admissions essay, one J.D. admissions expert says.

Deciding what to say in the law school personal statement is the most challenging part of the admissions process for some applicants.

"Even people who are good writers often have a hard time writing about themselves," says Jessica Pishko, a former admissions consultant and writing tutor at Accepted, a Los Angeles-based admissions consulting firm. "That is perfectly normal."

Pishko, who coached law school applicants on how to overcome writer's block, says, "If you can find the thing that you really care about, that is who you are, and talking about that is a great way to write about yourself."

Why Law Schools Ask for Personal Statements

Personal statements can offer J.D. admissions committees "a narrative" about the applicant, which is important because it is rare for law schools to conduct admissions interviews, says Christine Carr, a law school admissions consultant with Accepted who previously was an associate director of admissions at Boston University School of Law .

The statement can help explain an applicant's reasons for wanting to attend law school , Carr adds.

"It can then add 'color' to a one-dimensional process," Carr wrote in an email. "The personal statement also allows the applicant to showcase writing ability. Law school and the legal profession require a clear and concise writing style that can be displayed by the applicant in the personal statement."

Personal statements often help admissions committees make difficult decisions, Carr says. "Given a relatively robust applicant pool, institutions often have more 'numerically' qualified applicants – LSAT and GPA – than they can admit," she explains.

Qualitative admissions factors, including not only personal statements but also resumes and recommendation letters , help to humanize applicants and "allow committees to build a community of law students not solely based on the quantifiable measures of test scores and transcripts," Carr says.

"Law schools are looking to fill classrooms with engaging and qualified students. The personal statement can provide insight into an applicant's personality and potential as a member of the school's community," she says.

What a Great Personal Statement Accomplishes

Excellent law school personal statements convey the essence of who an applicant is, experts say.

"The personal statement is the quickest way to get an overview, not only of the applicant's professional life and background, but in terms of what they emphasize, a clear indication of what the applicant themself, values," Jillian Ivy, CEO and founder of IvyCollegeEssay.com, a company that provides guidance on admissions essays, wrote in an email.

The statement "also gives admissions a snapshot of how well each applicant writes, if they understand how to brand or market their best traits, and thereby demonstrate that they know where their own strengths lie," Ivy adds.

A strong personal statement will articulate an applicant's vision for his or her future, including an explanation of short-term and long-term goals, and it will delineate how a J.D. degree will help an applicant get to where he or she wants to go, Ivy says.

"The more competitive the law school, the more admissions wants to see a level of understanding, drive and ambition within the personal statement," she explains, adding that applicants should clarify why they want to attend a particular law school and how that school can assist them on their career journey. "The schools want to see that the applicant has taken the time to understand what their particular program offers, and what makes it different."

How to Structure a Law School Personal Statement

The beginning of a solid law school personal statement ought to be intriguing, experts say.

"The statement should begin with a strong intro sentence, that summarizes the applicant's goal or tone," Ivy says. "For example, 'I have always been interested in international finance.' From there, the applicant would go on to describe 'why' they are interested in this area of financial law, and what in their unique background and experience has led them to pursue this path."

A personal statement provides context for the experiences that have prepared the applicant for law school and led him or her to pursue a legal career, experts say. It's also ideal to have a thoughtful ending "that ties the statement up," Ivy says.

An important point to address in a law school personal statement is what "sparked" the applicant's interest in law, Ivy says. She adds that law school admissions readers are aware that J.D. hopefuls' career goals may change between the time they apply to law school and the day they graduate.

Nevertheless, it can still be useful for an applicant to provide an explanation of what particular area of law he or she wants to learn more about and what type of lawyer he or she would like to become, if that is something the applicant is clear about, Ivy says.

An effective personal statement will also explain an applicant's background and how it has shaped him or her, Ivy adds. "It's connecting the dots back to anything at all that can be relevant ... to your new interest and what you want to pursue professionally."

Applicants should tailor their personal statement to each law school where they submit an application, Ivy adds. " Harvard Law School is very different than Columbia Law School even though both of them are excellent schools," she explains. "So each has their own approach to learning and to learning about law in particular."

Law school admissions committees appreciate when applicants make it clear that they have done thorough research on the school and its J.D. program . This reassures admissions officers that an applicant will be a good fit and make a valuable contribution to his or her law school class, Ivy explains.

Experts advise that a law school personal statement should align with the content in the rest of the law school application . Ideally, the essay will emphasize a selling point that is conveyed elsewhere in the application, but not simply repeat information.

In order for a personal statement to be effective and stand out, experts say, it needs to be both representative of who the applicant is and distinctive from personal essays that others have written.

How to Start Writing a Law School Personal Statement

Carr notes that writing a law school personal statement can be intimidating because it isn't easy to convey the essence of decades of events "into two pages double-spaced." She says law school hopefuls are often unsure about which portions of their life would be most meaningful and interesting to an admissions committee.

"Some applicants have a tendency to throw the 'kitchen sink' at committees and write about everything," Carr explains. But that's a mistake, Carr says, adding that J.D. personal statements should be "clear and concise."

Carr suggests that J.D. applicants concentrate on answering the central question of a law school personal statement, "Why law school?" Once they have brainstormed answers to that question, they should focus on a specific aspect or theme that explains their rationale for pursuing a career as an attorney, Carr says.

Ivy suggests that law school hopefuls who are struggling to decide what to write about in their law school personal statement should make a bullet-point list of the various topics they could focus on alongside brief one-sentence descriptions of each topic. The process of recording ideas on a piece of paper can clarify which ideas are most promising, she says.

"The strong ones will rise to the surface," she says, adding that once an applicant has narrowed down his or her list of essay ideas to only a few, it can be valuable to solicit feedback from trusted individuals about which of the remaining essay concepts is the very best.

Law school admissions experts suggest that applicants recall the various pivotal moments in their lives that shaped their identity, and then consider whether there is any idea or thesis that ties these events together.

Focusing on a central concept can help ensure that a law school personal statement does not simply list accomplishments in the way that a resume or cover letter might, experts say. Plus, an idea-driven essay can give law school admissions officers insight into the way a J.D. applicant's mind works.

A personal statement should illustrate the positive attributes the applicant has that would make him or her successful as a law student and lawyer. Sometimes the best way for an applicant to show his or her character strengths is to recount a moment when he or she was challenged and overcame adversity, experts say.

Experts advise law school hopefuls to write multiple drafts of their personal statement to ensure that the final product is top-notch.

They also recommend that applicants solicit feedback from people who understand the law school admissions process well, such as law school admissions consultants, and from people who know them well, such as close friends or family members. Getting input from friends and family can help ensure that an applicant's essay authentically conveys their personality, experts say.

Once the statement is finalized, Carr advises, the applicant should thoroughly proofread it more than once.

Mistakes to Avoid in Law School Personal Statements

A scatterbrained or disorganized approach in a law school personal statement is a major no-no, experts warn.

Ivy suggests that J.D. hopefuls avoid "rambling," adding that top law schools want to identify individuals who demonstrate that they are highly focused, ambitious, driven and persistent. "If you can hit those four things in your essay, then that's going to stand out, because most people don't know how to do that," she says.

Because it's important for a law school personal statement to be coherent and streamlined – like the law school resume – it's prudent to use an outline to plan the essay, Ivy says. The most common mistake she sees in J.D. personal statements is the lack of logical flow.

"Instead of a linear line, they're cycling around, and they'll touch on something, and then they'll come back to it again three paragraphs later," she says, adding that an unstructured essay is "just messy" and will not make a positive impression during the law school admissions process.

Experts warn that law school personal statements should not be vague, melodramatic and repetitive. The essay should not merely describe a person that the applicant met or recount an event – it needs to convey the applicant's personality.

Plus, language should be specific and clear. Absolutes like "never" or "always" are typically not the best words to use, experts warn, and it's important to not overshare personal information.

In addition, J.D. hopefuls should understand that they have a lot to learn about the law since they have not gone to law school. They should recognize that the individuals reading their essays probably know a great deal about the law, so they should not write essays that lecture readers about legal issues, experts warn.

Grammatical and spelling errors can tarnish an otherwise good personal statement, so it's important to avoid those, according to experts. It's also essential to follow any formatting rules that a law school outlines for personal statements.

Additionally, though many law school hopefuls are tempted to begin their personal statement with a dramatic anecdote, they should resist because doing so will most likely make a negative impression, experts warn. An aspiring attorney does not need to have suffered a tragedy in order to write a compelling law school personal statement, and describing something bad that has happened does not automatically lead to an effective essay.

Furthermore, when a J.D. applicant submits a generic law school personal statement that could go to any school, he or she is missing an opportunity to explain why a particular school is a great fit, experts suggest. Another common mistake, they say, is when applicants use a positive adjective to describe themselves rather than sharing an anecdote that demonstrates that they have this good quality.

Additionally, when a law school hopeful includes storytelling in his or her essay, it's best to focus on a single specific anecdote, because speaking in generalities is neither interesting nor convincing, experts say.

An applicant who writes a contrived essay based purely on what he or she believes a law school wants may come across as phony, experts say. It's essential, they say, for a personal statement to articulate what special perspective a prospective student could bring to a law school class.

Law School Personal Statement Examples

Below are two law school admissions essays whose authors were accepted to their top-choice law schools. The first is written by Waukeshia Jackson, an intellectual property attorney who earned her J.D. from the Paul M. Herbert Law Center at Louisiana State University—Baton Rouge . The second essay is written by Cameron Dare Clark, a Harvard Law School graduate.

Pishko says these two personal statements demonstrate the necessity of sincerity in an admissions essay. "It has to be sincere, and it has to be you and what you want to write about and why you want to go to law school.”

Both essays are annotated with comments from the authors about how the essays were written as well as comments from Pishko about passages that resonated best and how the essays could be improved.

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Getting Into Law School

• 2 Law School Admissions Essays That Succeeded
• How to Write a Law School Resume
• A Law School Resume That Made the Cut
• Work Experience and Law School Admission
• What Is a Good LSAT Score?

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In This Section

What does a successful law school application essay look like? Look no further. Below you’ll find five real-world examples from some of the students admitted to New England Law | Boston’s fall 2019 entering class.

Though the subjects vary widely, these personal statements all work for similar reasons:

• They exemplify the passion and determination it takes to succeed in law school.
• They illustrate the reasons why a legal education is an essential next step in their careers.
• They display an understanding of the law school’s values and sincere interest in attending.
• They tell an attention-grabbing yet relevant story.

Check out the personal statement examples below to get inspired, and be sure to read our advice for writing an outstanding law school application essay of your own.

Empowering others through intellectual property law

Maria A. D. RePass Hometown: Leominster, Massachusetts Undergrad school: Worcester Polytechnic Institute Grad school : Tufts University, PhD

As my PhD training was drawing to a close, I found myself unsure of what my path forward would be.

When I started the program, my path was clear—I wanted to work in biotech and someday hopefully lead a research group helping to shape the research portfolio of the company. While I enjoyed the rigors of scientific research, I began to realize that I enjoyed the communication aspects as well. While some of my classmates dreaded their annual research presentations, I looked forward to the opportunity to present my work to others, whether it was an oral presentation before a group of my peers or in writing. At the same time, I knew I did not want to leave science behind and transition into a purely business or administrative role within a company. This, combined with my educational and professional experiences, make me eager to embrace the challenge of pursuing a legal education.

I consider myself to be a life-long learner and am the type of person who thrives when challenged, a problem solver who enjoys working through puzzles in order to arrive at the ideal solution. I knew that I needed to find a role in which I could stay up-to-date with the latest scientific discoveries, while continuing to challenge myself intellectually on a daily basis. I began to look for a way to fulfill my love of science and personal interaction in my career. After talking to several program alumni, friends, and colleagues in the scientific field, I took a leap of faith and jumped into a role as a technology specialist at an intellectual property law firm. I am so very glad that I did, as this role has provided me with the balance of science and communication that I was seeking.

Related:  View other law school application requirements

Simply reading what is presented and accepting it at face value often leads to overlooking important details and subtle nuances. I find myself applying these basic tenants of my scientific training in my role as a technology specialist. Life science research is a very competitive field, and the ability to secure a patent for a client often comes down to very small yet important details and nuances that separate their work from that of the prior art.

I know that I would thrive as a student at New England Law as part of a small community of students who are not in competition, looking to outshine their peers, but rather will look to be a team player and help one another through the rigors of law school. I have been fortunate to have attended institutions that encouraged open discourse between students and faculty, and that stressed the importance of teamwork for both my undergraduate and graduate training. I look forward to the opportunity to take the next step in my career and to study law under the direction of the school’s dedicated professors.

An unconventional career change

Nicole Davies Hometown: Manhattan, Kansas Undergrad school : Kansas State University Grad school : Southern New Hampshire University, MA

It was a hot summer afternoon and I had just finished setting up the local farmer’s market when the call came. The phone buzzed in my back pocket, like it has thousands of times before, but this was different. It was my boss, the hospital’s CEO, and what happened next changed everything for me.

In the midst of the chaos, with vendors unpacking their goods and waiting for the surge of customers in the hospital’s parking lot, my only thought was, “Oh, boy. What does he need?” He knew not to call me on market days, so this had to be urgent. All he told me was to come to his office immediately. I knew something was horribly wrong.

As I quickly moved through the blistering Kansas heat, I hustled up to his executive suite and plopped down on a cushy, leather seat. I took a deep breath, trying not to pant like a dog, and regained my composure before he told me the earth-shattering news. The hospital’s most profitable surgeon had been arrested for allegations of sexual misconduct with a male minor.

These things don’t ever happen here, not at a mid-size rural hospital like ours. I saw the look of despair of the CEO after a call with the hospital’s attorney, but as the director of public relations, I didn’t skip a beat and immediately went into triage mode.

The attorney and I assessed the situation, listed the facts we knew at the time, and formulated a solid plan to move forward. We created scripts internally for employees, press releases, and memos for the Board of Trustees and medical staff to follow in both the short and long term. It was a terrible situation, but I was able to navigate and lead smoothly through this crisis.

Throughout the last ten years, I’ve fine-tuned my talents and passions for negotiating deals, writing contracts, and advising top leaders of various organizations on critical issues. In that frantic moment of the hospital’s biggest crises ever, I was positioned as the co-pilot to our counsel, and an air of confidence blanketed my thoughts and actions. I had been called to the CEO’s office on serious matters before, but it was on this day I realized how comfortable and at home I felt in this role.

That’s when it finally clicked. Legal counsel and advocacy, particularly in health care, is my true calling.

My journey to decide to go into law was obviously an unconventional one. I do not come from a long line of college graduates in my family. In fact, I am the first in my immediate family to earn a bachelor’s and master’s degree, and now I’m looking to pursue a Juris Doctor degree. I haven’t always been a “straight-A” student, and I am not the greatest test taker, but that has never deterred me. I’m a creative problem solver, a hard worker, and I have always found a way to succeed.

Related:  Everything You Need to Consider in a Law School 

Eager for the next challenge

Dina Megretskaia Hometown: Saint Petersburg, Russia Undergrad school : Carnegie Mellon University Grad school : University of Pennsylvania, MA

In sixth grade English, alongside reading Ray Bradbury’s short stories and learning that (according to Mark Twain), “the difference between the almost right word and the right word is…the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning,” my class contemplated the notion that knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss. I knew straight away, with the invisible shiver of a lightning spike through my vertebrae, that I wanted both knowledge and power—and that my life would be a thrilling, focused journey of acquiring both.

In my current profession, financial planning, I optimize my clients’ financial lives so that their whole lives can be better. I relish building my own knowledge base as I tackle esoteric pension plan provisions and subsections of our tax code, but most of all revel in the empowerment that my work creates for my clients. I intend to bring such clarity and compassion for my clients to my studies at New England Law and eventual practice as an attorney.

This need for knowledge brought me to a sawdust-strewn shop room at a local community college on Tuesday and Wednesday nights this fall for a Basic Residential Carpentry Class. I’d return home in the first weeks with a mountain range of blisters along my index finger, the product of my carelessness in holding a hammer (and blatant disregard for basic rules of physics) multiplied by the excitement of hitting hard against wood planks to create our little house. Every week I felt uncoordinated, ungainly, and stronger than I’d been just days earlier. I was gaining knowledge and experience in a trade that was entirely foreign when I’d begun the class. We installed subfloor on our floor framing, framed exterior walls, put up and spackled drywall, installed a door and window, adorned both with trim, and finished it all off with baseboards and crown molding. I was seeking (and found) a challenge, practical carpentry skills, and the euphoria of transforming from a state of ignorance to one of engagement.

Smashing a staple gun in rapid succession along a Tyvek polyethylene house-wrap, driving nails into wooden studs that were synonymous with our house’s structure, and steadying the might of a power saw to cut planks precisely: these all felt like expressions of power. Power I hadn’t initially possessed but built up as I felt the silent sting of being graceless and slow, watched my classmates and instructor, asked questions and modeled my technique after theirs. That uncomfortable place where earnest attempts at learning meet with the inability to produce something beautiful, in the language of the new knowledge area, is where I find power.

Related:   How to Be Smart About Law School Financial Aid: 12 Tips You Need to Know

Breaking down new barriers

Rebecca Boll Hometown: Buffalo, New York Undergrad school : Boston University Grad school : University of Oklahoma, MA

The reader of my law school application will see that I am in the middle of my life. I already have a career that I am proud of. Recently, I accepted the role of Chief Technology Officer/VP of Strategy for a new company. This change happened after spending thirteen years at the General Electric Corporation, holding titles such as CTO, Managing Director, General Manager, and Commercial Leader. There are still not many women in my line of work, and that has been true for my entire journey through corporate America and, before that, my time in the military.

One of the things that encourages me to press forward in the industrial working world is that doing so enables me to mentor, sponsor, and support diversity of all kinds: for women and all others. I hire with diversity in mind, ensure that the introverted and outsiders have a voice, create informal support groups, provide insights to others regarding moving up the “ladder,” fight to see the non-traditional candidates get the promotion, and accept collateral duties leading diversity agendas within my companies.

At this point in my life, I am old enough to know that this sponsorship of diversity and deep desire to help the less advantaged are more important to me than the quarterly profits. This insight culminates from almost thirty years of personal experience, enhanced by some of the painful issues being played out in current day society. In my personal experience, I was the first woman commander of my ROTC detachment. Not everyone approved of that, including some of the notable teaching staff at Boston University. My first squadron commander on active duty told me he did not believe women should be in the military. Oddly, he and I got along just fine. It was the people that didn’t say it out loud but acted with malice that made life tricky at times. For example, they would withhold information regarding key training missions, making it difficult to accomplish them and proving their “point” that women were not fit for the combat roles. The sexual harassment in my military years was ever-present and aggressive. I have not personally experienced harassment in corporate America in that same manner, but I regularly deal with the quieter discriminations of being a woman. It is not amusing when someone at a corporate function assumes I am the event coordinator or the head of HR, rather than a key business and technology leader.

I often see an underlying set of activities that make it hard for women or other non-mainstream persons to get the same chances as the majority. For example, one year a co-manager told me that no women who went on maternity leave could get a top performance rating. I fought that battle with him (in partnership with HR), and we changed his mind. Another example was a long-used personnel rating system we consulted to choose who were top and bottom employees in the annual cycle. It clearly  favored people who spoke out a lot in meetings and other venues. There are some cultural norms and personality types that do not align with the idea of talking all the time just to be heard and seen, and that decades old system accidentally pushed them aside. A final example is the odd assumption by many people that military veterans have a limited set of skills, aligned to security or plant management.

My interest in helping women, families, and the disadvantaged has been building over some years in relation to my own interactions with family courts as well. I am a woman who is successful in business and life, yet I know how intimidating dealing with a hostile lawyer and unknown legal process can be. I have seen what the result can be when a lawyer is not working as hard as they can or perhaps is just not as good as the other lawyer. I cannot imagine being in the shoes of someone who does not have resources or is disenfranchised—an immigrant, a child, or someone who has been abused—and has to deal with the courts. I was frightened and confused inside the court room. I think they must be as well.

A big part of my interest in law school is my concern for people who don’t have advantages and need help navigating the legal systems. I can easily have another career that spans decades, carry the wisdom of my personal experiences into it, and practice law with the primary goal of helping people. It would make sense for me to consider intellectual property law, given my current and previous roles in business, but what I really want to learn about and apply is family, youth, and social justice law.

The prompts for the personal statement suggest talking about overcoming obstacles. One final thing I want to share is that I grew up on a farm in western New York. We had cows, chickens, horses, and goats. We spent the last week of every August at the county fair. I competed for and won an ROTC scholarship that paid for my undergraduate degree at Boston University. In reviewing that transcript, which is twenty-six years old at this point, I can reflect on a girl who struggled there in the very first semester. This was not because the academics were too hard but because I was so taken in by the city and the diversity of people and the cosmopolitan feel of it. I did not know how to handle being on my own and succeeding back in 1989. It makes me cringe a little seeing those first semester grades, but I can be proud of ending my undergraduate studies on the Dean’s list senior year. My course of study in applied mathematics was not an easy one, but it has served me well in my various technology leadership roles.

My master’s degree, which I achieved at the University of Oklahoma while on active duty, tells a much nicer academic tale with a 4.0 average as an outcome. I would be honored if you consider me for acceptance to New England Law | Boston and look forward to the journey of studying and applying law.

After you've read these law school personal statement examples, be sure to check out our personal statement tips for law school applicants .

4 Law School Personal Statement Examples + Analysis and How-to

Law school personal statement analysis by CEG Law School Admissions Specialist Amy Stein.

Dissecting a few law school personal statement examples is an excellent way to start off your law school essay writing process. You’ll better understand how to write a law school personal statement by reading some examples (like those below) that got their writers into their dream law schools. 

To set you up to write a strong law school essay, we’ll provide brainstorming exercises and content outlines to help you show your best side in your personal statement while directly addressing what law schools are looking for, and questions you may have such as how long a law school personal statement should be and what kind of law school personal statement structure to use. Each of the law school personal statement examples below take slightly different approaches to their structure.

Let’s dive in.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

What are law schools looking for, law school personal statement example #1, law school personal statement example #2, law school personal statement example #3, law school personal statement example #4, how to write a law school personal statement, three-step law school personal statement writing process, further tips to revising your law school personal statement.

We’ll dive into detail in our How-to section below after we analyze some law school personal statement examples, but as you read, keep in mind that in your personal statement, there are a few key qualities to make sure to demonstrate with your story and writing:

As you look through the personal statements below, notice the different ways each essay demonstrates those three qualities. Also, pay attention to how each author chose a topic/approach that allowed them to demonstrate

How their personal values/background/story/accomplishments connect to their desire to attend law school

How they’ll contribute to the diversity of a law school (note that “diversity” is used in the broad sense here—not just diversity of race, but of thought, experience, point of view, etc.)

How they’ve already developed some of the skills necessary to being a good lawyer

We’ll talk about these things more in the How-to section after the example personal statements.

Note: Below we’ll present a successful law school essay in full, and following that we’ll break the essay into sections, with in-depth analysis piece by piece so you can best understand how to craft your own essay.

Many students do not apply directly to law school after graduating from college; admissions committees are familiar with seeing essays from so-called returning students.  This essay from a student who worked for a number of years before applying to law school demonstrates effectively how her career in the medical field led her to want to become a lawyer.

Full example personal statement:

Ever since I was a little girl, I thought that I wanted to work in the medical field. To me, those who did were superheroes. As I grew older, I began to pursue my desire to be in the medical field so that I too could one day be a superhero. When I started my healthcare career a few years ago, I was eager and optimistic. Unbeknownst to me, the field would come to drastically change, and I would uncover disheartening truths about the healthcare industry that would make me question my ambitions. In 2020, the world began to battle COVID-19, and healthcare hasn’t been the same since. By personally working on the front-line during the COVID-19 pandemic, it became quite apparent to me that the healthcare system is broken. This pandemic has shed light on just how inadequate the public health industry is. The unfortunate truth was revealed that healthcare is, at its core, a business. Providers in the private sector are often faced with the dilemma of wanting to treat a patient who truly needs their help but being limited by the rules and regulations of the corporation they work for. Even the widely utilized COVID-19 test requires insurance at most private companies. If a patient does not have medical insurance, they are forced to pay exorbitant amounts for this necessary, potentially life-saving test. Despite the fact that providers and staff are empathetic to the patient’s situation, unless the patient is able to pay the business, there is not much they can do to help. Furthermore, burnout has reached new heights among healthcare professionals in the United States since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. With the high patient volume that many clinics are seeing, patients are often turned away at the door due to a lack of resources and staffing. The demand placed on medical personnel during this pandemic has surpassed the expectations placed on them in the past, causing an unfortunate decline in patient care. Medical providers are asking for help from a system that will not answer their call. The healthcare industry has not only failed its providers, but it has proven to be ineffective in its ability to give adequate care to patients with nowhere else to turn. I believe that unless action is taken toward improving such an overwhelmed industry, the patients and medical providers are going to suffer. It is this new outlook on the healthcare industry that has motivated me to pursue a career in health law. I want to work to fix this fragmented, unjust system. I want to protect the patients’ and providers’ rights. Medical providers should not be forced by their employers to turn patients away because of their socioeconomic status. And, patients should not feel as though they have nowhere to turn when they are in desperate need of help. Studying health law will give me the tools necessary to construct public policy that can address the fundamental issues that are plaguing the healthcare industry today. It will allow me to  defend policies that promote greater access to more affordable and higher quality healthcare. It will also give me the opportunity to protect providers from any legal liabilities they might be subjected to due to the regulations placed on them by their employers. I know that I have what it takes to succeed in this pursuit of an education and eventual career in health law. My background in the study of biology and my direct work with patients and providers will bring a unique perspective to my future law school community, as well as the legal profession. By pursuing an education in health law, I intend to enter a profession that aligns with the interest and knowledge I have discovered and developed through real world experience. By being involved in health law, I will be able to accomplish things in healthcare I had not even imagined when I began my journey in healthcare years ago. I believe it will give me an opportunity to ensure patients receive quality care at a level that is unencumbered by the rules and regulations of the business that is healthcare. A career in health law is the solution to ensuring that a patients’ inalienable healthcare rights are respected, and that the medical providers can administer the care they know to be medically necessary. I know that as a future proponent  of health law, I can and will become the superhero I had once hoped to be.

Paragraph-by-paragraph analysis:

Paragraph One: Introduction

Ever since I was a little girl, I thought that I wanted to work in the medical field. To me, those who did were superheroes. As I grew older, I began to pursue my desire to be in the medical field so that I too could one day be a superhero. When I started my healthcare career a few years ago, I was eager and optimistic. Unbeknownst to me, the field would come to drastically change, and I would uncover disheartening truths about the healthcare industry that would make me question my ambitions.

This is a solid setup for the essay’s narrative—the writer lets the admissions committee know from the outset that she has had a significant career before applying to law school. The reader immediately knows about the author’s background and passion for healthcare. The last sentence detailing the writer’s disillusionment with healthcare foreshadows her desire to go to law school. The superhero analogy is one that resonates, especially in a post-COVID world in which those in the medical field were frequently referred to as superheroes.

Paragraph Two: Background/Preparation

In 2020, the world began to battle COVID-19, and healthcare hasn’t been the same since. By personally working on the front-line during the COVID-19 pandemic, it became quite apparent to me that the healthcare system is broken. This pandemic has shed light on just how inadequate the public health industry is. The unfortunate truth was revealed that healthcare is, at its core, a business. Providers in the private sector are often faced with the dilemma of wanting to treat a patient who truly needs their help but being limited by the rules and regulations of the corporation they work for. Even the widely utilized COVID-19 test requires insurance at most private companies. If a patient does not have medical insurance, they are forced to pay exorbitant amounts for this necessary, potentially life-saving test. Despite the fact that providers and staff are empathetic to the patient’s situation, unless the patient is able to pay the business, there is not much they can do to help.

While it has become relatively common in recent years for students to submit essays detailing how they have personally been impacted by COVID, the broad perspective that the author provides is something that an admissions committee would find impressive. First, she worked on the front lines during the pandemic, which inherently lends credibility to her statements. She nicely highlights the inherent dichotomy between the kindness and compassion of front-line workers and the business aspects of medicine, and how the former impacts the latter. This paragraph also provides further effective background information, so the reader is starting to understand why she wants to leave the medical field and pivot to law school.

Paragraph Three: Expanded Background + Values

Furthermore, burnout has reached new heights among healthcare professionals in the United States since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. With the high patient volume that many clinics are seeing, patients are often turned away at the door due to a lack of resources and staffing. The demand placed on medical personnel during this pandemic has surpassed the expectations placed on them in the past, causing an unfortunate decline in patient care. Medical providers are asking for help from a system that will not answer their call. The healthcare industry has not only failed its providers, but it has proven to be ineffective in its ability to give adequate care to patients with nowhere else to turn.

Here, again, the dichotomy between compassionate medical care and business concerns is highlighted.  It acknowledges the almost insurmountable problems faced by providers—“Medical providers are asking for help from a system that will not answer their call.”  This is not only good writing (a foundational legal skill), but it also continues the setup of why the author wants to go to law school.

Paragraph Four: Pivot/Bridge to Law

I believe that unless action is taken toward improving such an overwhelmed industry, the patients and medical providers are going to suffer. It is this new outlook on the healthcare industry that has motivated me to pursue a career in health law. I want to work to fix this fragmented, unjust system. I want to protect the patients’ and providers’ rights. Medical providers should not be forced by their employers to turn patients away because of their socioeconomic status. And, patients should not feel as though they have nowhere to turn when they are in desperate need of help. Studying health law will give me the tools necessary to construct public policy that can address the fundamental issues that are plaguing the healthcare industry today. It will allow me to  defend policies that promote greater access to more affordable and higher quality healthcare. It will also give me the opportunity to protect providers from any legal liabilities they might be subjected to due to the regulations placed on them by their employers.

There’s a nice initial payoff and pivot here—as readers, we see the dots connecting her shift into health law, based on her experiences in the opening section. Her interest in improving conditions for both providers and patients reflects a good grasp of the field and understanding of broad policy issues. Being able to spot issues in this way demonstrates that she has the analytical skills that she will need to succeed in law school. Again, her passion for the subject comes through. She has painted a very clear picture of herself as a thinker and healthcare advocate; this leads one to believe that she can easily transfer these skills to a career as a legal advocate.

Paragraph Four: Further Pivot/Bridge to Law

I know that I have what it takes to succeed in this pursuit of an education and eventual career in health law. My background in the study of biology and my direct work with patients and providers will bring a unique perspective to my future law school community, as well as the legal profession. By pursuing an education in health law, I intend to enter a profession that aligns with the interest and knowledge I have discovered and developed through real world experience.

Effective as it is, much of this essay has discussed the policies that have made the student want to go to law school, rather than directly discussing her attributes. This is actually the most personal paragraph in the essay, and yet the reader feels that they have learned much about who the student is in the preceding paragraphs.

Paragraph Six: Conclusion

By being involved in health law, I will be able to accomplish things in healthcare I had not even imagined when I began my journey in healthcare years ago. I believe it will give me an opportunity to ensure patients receive quality care at a level that is unencumbered by the rules and regulations of the business that is healthcare. A career in health law is the solution to ensuring that a patients’ inalienable healthcare rights are respected, and that the medical providers can administer the care they know to be medically necessary. I know that as a future proponent  of health law, I can and will become the superhero I had once hoped to be.

This student wants to use her prior career to help her in her future career as a lawyer—the essay provides a clear roadmap of where she has been and where she wants to go. Her reasons for wanting to go to law school will make compelling sense to the admissions committee. She touches on her background in biology and her interest in helping both patients and providers. She ties the essay together nicely by referring back to the superhero analogy from the opening (a technique often referred to as “bookending”), and one is left with the impression that she will easily transition from being a medical superhero to a legal one.

Unlike other graduate schools which ask you to prepare a statement of purpose that focuses on your past academic experiences and what your areas of intellectual interest will be if you are accepted to the program, the law school statement of purpose is much more focused on you as an individua l—what aspect of your character or past experiences will help you become a successful law student and ultimately a successful lawyer?  

The essay does not have to be overly complicated—a simple, clear piece of writing that gives a sense of who you are, what your values are, and why you want to be a lawyer is an effective path to take. On a technical level, a grammatically correct, well-edited piece is critical since writing is an essential skill for potential lawyers. Substantively, the piece should tell a story about who you are and what matters to you—what are you passionate about? 

The essay below is a nice example of this approach.

Law school essay example:

Filotimo . This little eight-letter, four-syllable word eludes explanation. I can’t quite put my finger on an exact definition, and neither can Google Translate or any Greek-American dictionary or translator. Nevertheless, I will do my best to define it: filotimo is a Greek word that embodies the foundational Greek principles of honor, duty, dignity, hospitality, and warmth. Living through the values of filotimo means being selfless and helping others, not in expectation of reward but in the fulfillment of a sense of duty and virtue. Prior to even knowing such a word existed, these were the values I grew up with in the Greek-American community and the pillars with which I have unconsciously structured my life. The root of my passion for filotimo comes from my parents: two natives of a small island in the Cycladic cluster of the Aegean Sea, Andros. Every summer, we vacation to Greece to relax and reunite with family on our breaks off from school. Andros is my home away from home. But in the endless summers I spent soaking in the sun and strolling through the towns, I often blissfully got swept up in the winds of oblivion, ignorant to the urgent state of affairs in my little hometown, as I was clouded by my youthful naïvité. The island was in a financial slump, not only because of the notorious country-wide recession, but also because of the island’s ongoing struggle to allure a tourist crowd and make enough during the summer months to support the locals for the entire year. With every passing summer, I slowly became more aware of the unstocked shops that no longer sold my favorite Greek chocolates, and I noticed the pharmacy disappear on one corner of the agora while the butcher shop disappeared on the next. The community and the people I grew up with who gave life to the island were packing their bags and boarding up their buildings to find jobs elsewhere. What once was my hometown’s steady breath was now a vanishing gasp for air. While others gave up, my parents took this crisis as a call to action. As board members of the Andros Society of USA, a Greek-American organization devoted to forging a community of Andriotes across the United States, they kick-started fundraising efforts and charity galas to raise money and help the locals in their time of need. Through their selflessness and passion for filotimo, they inspired me to be a part of the effort towards reconstructing the island and giving back to a cause that hit close to home. I have sold numerous raffles and ads for our society’s journal, consistently promoted and raised awareness on social media platforms, and, above all else, invested countless hours towards creating a better future for my home away from home. At our last gala alone, I was a major player in the effort that raised over $30,000 to fund medical supplies for the island’s only hospital. I have devoted myself to doing everything I can to help others, both abroad, through the Andros Society’s major philanthropic efforts and locally, through my church community, to give back to soup kitchens and natural disaster relief programs. Essentially, choosing a career in law satisfies not only my passion for academia but my drive for helping others and putting the values that I was raised with into practice. Whether it’s being the person who will stand up for a small Greek community in the middle of the Aegean or the person who will stand before a court in the state of New York to defend a client or a company, filotimo is what I put into practice in everything I do. For these reasons, I am confident that my dedication to contribute towards a greater good and my passion for living by the values of filtotimo will be invaluable in my future as an attorney.

Choosing to organize the essay around a Greek word that embodies ideas and principles that are important to the author is significant on multiple levels—she lets the reader know from the outset how important her identity as a Greek-American is to her; she also highlights the personal qualities that are important to her and that she believes she embodies. This is a little different than some of the other essays we see where the reader sets up a roadmap of why they want to go to law school. This author’s approach is refreshing and makes the reader want to continue reading to find out where her filotimo journey will take us.

She continues the journey by describing how her parents are immigrants, making her a first generation American, which is of interest to admissions committees. There is a nice contrast between her idyllic summers in Andros and her growing understanding of the economic hardship the country was facing.

As is typical in most law school statements of purpose, the first couple of paragraphs are used to set up the core idea in the essay. The next two paragraphs nicely detail what she did to help others—following the example set by her parents. Although these activities are not directly related to law, they do demonstrate a desire to help others and her ability to organize and mobilize others, both of which are skills of an effective lawyer.

This essay helped the author successfully apply to law school, but there are some ways the essay could be made even stronger: While this essay gives an excellent picture of who the applicant is as a person, it could more clearly draw the parallel between the experiences described and her reasons for wanting to attend law school. For example, she mentions her passion for academia in the last paragraph but that is not tied to anything else in the essay. While she does say she will stand up for people in court the way she stands up for her town, she could have drawn a clearer parallel between her passion for helping those in her community and whom she wishes to help as a lawyer. This would further help the admissions committee to see where her interests as a lawyer lie.

This essay was also written by a student with significant work experience prior to applying to law school.  As in the other essay by a returning student (Example 1, above), it does an excellent job of explaining what the prior career entailed and how the experiences she gained in that career are what encouraged her desire to be a lawyer working in the field of family law. This is a powerful story that is well told and would clearly grab the attention of the admissions committee.

Below, we’ll offer paragraph-by-paragraph analysis again.

Paragraph One: Intro via narrative experience

In January 2021, I spent nearly six hours sitting in Bliss County Family Court with one of my clients, a single mother of a toddler, while her abusive, estranged husband sat across the room. It was the day of their custody hearing, and my client had been agonizing for weeks about whether she would be granted sole custody of her daughter. I reassured her and reminded her that she was her child’s only caregiver and provider — and with good reason, on account of her husband’s alcoholism and physical and emotional abuse.

Lawyers are storytellers—whether you are trying to convince a judge or a jury that your client should win, or trying to negotiate with an adversary to get the best deal for your client, it is often the attorney with the most convincing story who wins. Admissions officers know this, so if you can demonstrate strong storytelling skills in your essay, that will make a strong impression because the reader will believe that you will be able to transfer those skills to your law student experience. This six-line paragraph does such an excellent job of laying out the client’s difficult situation without being melodramatic. It also clearly shows the student’s role in assisting and reassuring her. It is a very effective start to the story.

Paragraph Two: Narrative continued

When my client asked me to accompany her to the courthouse, I told her I would only be able to wait with her, because as a non-lawyer I did not have any authority to speak on her behalf. She understood, and I realized she wanted me there as a moral support. She was afraid her husband would try to manipulate her into some informal custody arrangement, and she thought that as long as I was there, he would not approach her, and she would not be tempted to acquiesce to his hypothetical demands. She was right, and the outcome of the hearing was in her favor. I was happy for my client and relieved that her daughter would remain in the right hands. And although I was glad that I could be of help to my client, I felt frustrated that I could not advocate further for her that day.

This paragraph does a really nice job of developing the narrative, especially by illuminating the author’s feelings and core values driving her decision to attend law school. Again, she clearly and effectively conveys her client’s concerns and the reasons why she wanted her there. More significantly, the student also conveys her frustration at the limitations of what she could do to help the client. This is the next step in laying the foundation for why she wants to go to law school.  

On paper, my role as a case planner for a child welfare agency is about checking boxes: assessing the condition of the child’s home; checking for suspicious marks or bruises; requesting medical and educational records; and making referrals for community-based services. In reality, the job is all that plus more: waiting with parents in courthouses, welfare offices, and schools; grocery shopping with a family struggling to make ends meet; reading mail to an illiterate mother; hugging a crying toddler; discussing the importance of safe sex with a rebellious teenager; listening to the many trials and tribulations of primarily low-income people of color dealing with generational trauma; trying to support and advocate for them in any way I can; and feeling defeated when I can only do so much for them within the confines of my position.

This paragraph continues what she had done in the prior one but through a broader lens—laying out what she can do for her clients overall and again the limitation of the position because she is not a lawyer.  This development from the specific to the general continues to tell her story in a very effective way.

I value being a point of contact for the families I have served over the past two and a half years. I believe it is meaningful work to direct a person asking for help to a resource or organization that can better support them. But I dream of a future where, when a 12-year-old tells me she wants her aunt to adopt her, I can help them on that journey. Or when a mother asks me for advice on how to respond to her abusive ex’s petition for visitation with their children, I can formulate a plan with her and advocate for her in front of a judge. Or when an undocumented parent asks me for legal assistance, I can confidently provide it to them rather than give them information for Legal Aid and hope for the best. These exchanges are real, and they reaffirm my intent to practice family law every day.

This paragraph does a really nice job of recognizing and honoring her work with families; it says much about her character that she so clearly values the opportunity that she was given, which is an important characteristic for a lawyer. She also clearly demonstrates how this social work position was the first step in a journey. The examples she gives shows the admissions committee that she has thought through very carefully the reasons why she wants to become a lawyer and what she plans to do with her legal education.  This kind of reflective approach will make this essay stand out.

Paragraph Five: Conclusion

My desire to pursue family law did not begin with my work in child welfare. It first occurred to me when I was a freshman journalism student with a vague interest in law, and it was a future I could envision for myself. On the cusp of graduating, I found an opportunity to work in child welfare through the nonprofit Fostering Change for Children. I spent July 2018 with my cohort in an intensive child welfare training at Columbia University’s School of Social Work and subsequently started my role as a case planner. This work is challenging, at times grueling, and emotional; yet above all else, it is restorative and fulfilling. Nowadays, I view family law as a vehicle to be a stronger and more effective advocate for resilient children and the parents and caregivers who work within their capacities every day to keep those children safe and healthy. I believe that an education at XXX Law and an opportunity to participate in the school’s Child Welfare Clinic would build on the strengths I have developed in my current role and provide a pathway to become the advocate I strive to be.

Remember, an important part of the essay is to let the Committee know more about you. This paragraph shares more of her history and interest in the family law field. It specifically references the Child Welfare Clinic at the school to which she is applying. Referencing specific courses or clinics or academic centers that the school offers shows the reader you have done your homework and figured out why their school is a good fit for you, rather than just submitting a generic essay. 

When I first moved to the Deep South, I was applying for a visual anthropology MA program. Armed with a DSLR and VideoMic Pro, I documented the local Black Lives Matter movement in North Carolina. But social justice work quickly drew me in, and within a few weeks, I turned from an observer into a participant. Within four months, I found myself standing arm-in-arm in a crowd of activists, surrounded by riot gear police and the National Guard, demanding change during the Charlotte Uprising following the shooting of Keith Scott. I remember marching past the towering Mecklenburg County Jail to see the long rows of rectangular cell windows. Dozens of cell lights began to flicker. The inmates seemed to be saying that they knew we were out there fighting for their rights. After that moment, I decided to dedicate my life to concrete, practical approaches to criminal justice reform through law and advocacy, insteading of pursuing visual anthropology. As a documentarian and organizer in Asheville, I worked deeply within anarchist circles to execute and document acts of civil disobedience, like police station sit-ins, demonstrations outside city officials’ homes, and road blockades. I not only learned that water-based sunscreen is preferable to oil-based sunscreen (it’s easier to clean out of your eyes if you get pepper sprayed), I also learned that having radical politics can alienate a lot of people, including those you’re trying to help.  For example, it was difficult for our “affinity group” (the building block of anarchist organizations) to collaborate with moderate black organizations in order to make improvements to the police department because many anarchist organizers I worked with wouldn't compromise their radical beliefs. This was incredibly frustrating for me. I remember one morning calling my dad, who runs a nonprofit, and mentioning the difficulty I faced. With a laugh, he told me he's spent the last 30 years of his career compromising. Footnote: I grew up volunteering for my father and stepmother’s nonprofit, which serves primarily youth of color in South Florida. I first witnessed the impacts of mass incarceration on family members by working directly with these kids (many with incarcerated parents): from teaching them acting, to accompanying them when they visited their imprisoned parents, to interviewing them about their personal stories. During this phone call with my dad I realized that he and my step-mom have to compromise often in order to effectively help people. This was a turning point for me.  My affinity group couldn’t surmount challenges we faced because we refused to work within the city’s legal framework for ideological reasons. But navigating the legal system is often necessary to help those impacted by the justice system or to work to reform it. This is why I want to attend law school. As a future public defender or lawyer working on reformative policy, the lesson in compromise I learned organizing will better equip me to work with judges and prosecutors in the courtroom or to write effective policy that reconciles the goals of seemingly disparate interest groups.  Columbia Law School is the perfect place to prepare me for this challenge. Columbia’s unique social justice curriculum (classes like “Lawyering for Change,” the “Racial Justice Litigation Workshop,” and the “Law and Organizing for Social Change Externship”) will pair well with my statistical research and programming background when creating innovative, data-backed policy solutions to criminal justice problems. In fact, scholarship by Columbia’s Philip Genty into the collateral damage of the criminal justice system on families very closely relates to the kind of independent research I hope to engage in and publish in the Columbia Journal of Race and Law. Building upon my volunteer work with the Children of Inmates program in South Florida, where I interacted with children of men facing life sentences, and my work canvassing for voter rights restoration for those with felony convictions, I am eager to participate in the “Challenging the Consequences of Mass Incarceration Clinic” where I can develop my skills in and understanding of litigation-based solutions to federal prisoner confinement and innocence claims. Because, to family members of inmates, those also impacted by the criminal justice system, criminals are much more than just flickering lights. Word Count: 696

Tips + Analysis

Connect where you’ve been to where you’re going. Ideally, your personal statement helps readers 

A) to understand some core aspects of who you are and 

B) to see how part of your personal story and experiences have set you up for the next step in your path: law school. Specifically, how certain aspects of your experiences and subsequent world view connect with the type of law you hope to pursue. 

Doing this allows a reader both to feel more connected to you personally and to understand your deeper motivations—things they can’t get from your transcripts or test scores. Notice how, in the essay above, the author’s experiences in the body paragraphs directly set up the legal focus at the end of the essay, and why the author and Columbia belong together. Speaking of which…

Show why you + [X law school] belong together. It’s a great idea* to show that A) you’ve done your homework on the program and B) that you and that particular law school fit together perfectly in values and focus. Spend time researching the school, its professors, its classes, and its mission, and demonstrate why those things fit with your goals and focus. This paragraph should change for every school you are applying to. (*Unless  you’re applying to a school with a separate essay prompt directly asking why you are applying to that particular program, in which case, avoid repetition).

From the examples above, you’ve probably noticed that there’s no single way to structure and write a law school personal statement, but that they do share certain key characteristics. Writing a personal statement for law school is fairly similar to writing a personal statement for an undergraduate application, with two big distinctions:

Stylistically, you want your law school personal statement to be more direct and less poetic. UC Berkeley Law has a few savage paragraphs of advice ominously addressed “from a past admissions committee member” that nicely summarize the stylistic approach one should take in a law school personal statement (and what not to do). 

Your concluding paragraph for your law school personal statement should be like a tiny “Why This School" statement, IF the school doesn’t have a separate “Why This School” essay. There are three reasons why this is important. 

First, it allows you to end your personal narrative by directly connecting to the school. It’s like answering the “So what?” of your story and bringing it full circle. 

Second, it helps you demonstrate interest in the school. 

And third, it shows that you are prepared and have done your research.

Writing a law school personal statement can seem more difficult than it needs to: The goal of the essay may not feel super clear, or maybe you’re unsure if you’re striking the right balance between getting personal and telling the reader why you’re awesome. The guide below will help. 

Writing your law school personal essay generally follows three main steps: topic selection, structure, and revision.

So below, we’ll explore:

Finding your topic.

Structuring your content.

Revising the details. 

Step One: How To Find A Great Topic for Your Law School Personal Statement

The best topics for a law school personal statement allow you to address four different areas: 

Your personal background and outstanding accomplishments that have driven your desire to attend law school

How you’d contribute to the diversity of a law school (note that “diversity” is used in the broad sense here—not just diversity of race, but of thought, experience, point of view, etc.)

Experiences you’ve had and obstacles you’ve overcome

Why the school is particularly suited for your career goals (but again, if the school asks for a separate essay on why you want to attend that law school, don’t repeat yourself)

Important note: If you have a unique background or are from an underrepresented population, and your experiences feel central to your personal story, we’d generally recommend saving that content for your diversity statement if the law school requires one, and focusing on another central story in your personal statement, unless you can write about it in a way that doesn’t sound repetitive. 

Another important note: You don’t need to think about why that school is particularly suited for your career goals (factor #4) when picking a personal statement topic. You can write that section afterward, by researching the school and connecting details of what the school offers to your narrative/experiences/interests/passions.

Here is an example outline of a law school personal statement (example 4, above) with a topic that hits these four goals. Notice that each of these sentences can be expanded to become a paragraph of the essay:

While applying for Visual Anthropology MA programs, I documented Black Lives Matter groups and protests. 

But I was pulled into social justice work and I found myself working as a community organizer for a racial justice campaign in an anarchist community in Asheville, North Carolina [#2 diverse and unique]. 

But we had a hard time making a difference because many folks in our affinity group were alienating the people of color we were trying to serve because of their radical politics [#3 obstacles]. 

I was only able to see the solution to this obstacle by drawing on my previous experience working in nonprofits [#1 measurable impact]. 

Through this, I learned the importance of compromise when trying to affect change [#3 overcoming obstacles], and so I want to go to your law school and study Critical Race Theory and criminal justice policy reform [#4 Why Us section] so that I can better affect change by working within the system.

Step Two: How to Structure Your Law School Personal Statement

Below, we’ll discuss two structural approaches for your law school personal statement: narrative structure, and montage structure.

Which will work best for you depends on your answer to this question:

Do you feel you have faced significant challenges and obstacles in your life, and/or is your application to law school driven by specific, chronological experiences?

If “yes”, try narrative.

If “no”, try montage.

Narrative structure for a law school personal statement

Here’s a commonly used narrative structure (used in screenwriting) that you can easily adapt for your law school personal statement. You’ll find it used in the law school personal statements above. Basic narrative structure is as follows:

Status Quo: How life was before some important catalyzing event.

Inciting Incident/Status Quo Change: Something happened that changed everything.

Raise the stakes: Other things happened that made things worse or more intense!

Moment of Truth: A key event or decision that led to a resolution of the primary conflict.

Outcome/New Status Quo: Ways that life is (and you are) clearly different from the beginning.

Now look back to that example outline in the previous section. Notice how each of those five sentences hit each of these plot points, like a micro-story. Each can be expanded to build out an essay that will maintain a clear, logical flow.

Some helpful tips:

Focus on your actions in response, not the challenges/obstacles. Your reader cares about the obstacles. Kind of. But what they really care about are the actions you took in response, the things that show your values, growth, and insight. 

Here’s another, even simpler way to think of narrative structure : 

Something happened in my life

I did something about it

I learned something from the experience/s. 

To think of this in concrete terms, each of these three steps should each comprise about 1/3rd of the essay (depending on if a school has a separate section for “Why That School”, or if you need to include it in your personal statement). Many people make the mistake of only focusing on the first 1/3rd. But law schools are most interested in hearing about the second and third parts—what did you do, who have you become, and how does this drive your desire to become a lawyer?

Haven’t Experienced Any Big Challenges In Your Life? Try montage structure

If you haven’t experienced many big challenges in life, or you don’t feel that there are clear chronological experiences that drive your interests in law, there is a different structure for the law school personal statement we call montage structure that doesn’t rely on a central conflict to tell your story. It involves writing about different parts of your life in a way that uses your career goals as a focusing lens or thematic thread, tying those seemingly disparate experiences together.

To build a montage outline, pull out a piece of paper and draw three columns on it.

Step One: In the first column, write down your career focal point (for example, corporate contract law).

Step Two: In the second column, write down the top three or four values and/or skills that you think will be important for the type of law that you’d like to go into (for example, the ability to read logically complicated texts).

Step Three: In the third column, write down as many experiences you’ve had as you can that illustrate each of those values or skills (for example, taking tons of classes in philosophy, writing a mathematics thesis, or being a programmer).

Structuring this type of essay involves thinking about your essay backwards : you first get clear on your career focal point (which you’ll put toward the end of the essay), then figure out the skills and values that fit that career, then you brainstorm experiences in your life in which you’ve already exhibited those skills and values.

In your essay, you will connect these three things (your experiences, the values/skills/insights they illustrate, and how they set you up for your chosen career path) by talking about your experiences, then the values and skills you gained from them, then your career focal point where these skills will be useful. The reason you want to write it in this order is so that you surprise the reader more as you continue to answer “so what?” to the information you are giving the reader. The paragraphs can function like this:

Paragraph 1:

I had experience A.

Specific details of experience A that illustrate/taught me lessons and values.

So what? (As in, insight you gained, ideally ones that surprise the reader a bit.)

Paragraph 2:

I had experience B.

Details of experience B that illustrate/taught me lessons and values.

Probably 1-3 more paragraphs like that (depending on your word count limits).

Then, a clear transition, that says roughly:

“These lessons/values/skills/insights above will be important in my law studies.”

Then your final conclusion paragraph:  

Essentially “This is why your law school will be perfect for preparing me for my practice in this type of law.”

A note on the power of “so what?”

The idea of answering “so what?” is both to show your reader that you can reflect deeply on your life experience and to connect this life experience to your future law study.

Here are two variations on how to structure a montage approach to a law school personal statement:

Pick one skill or lesson and then illustrate 3-5 ways that you gained or learned it.

Pick 3-5 values/skills/lessons and then illustrate how you gained or learned each.

A few tips:

Make your connections unusual and your values specific. There are lots of other people who are going to be describing how their student government experience developed their value for “leadership” or how that nonprofit internship instilled in them the value of “wanting to help people.” These values are also a little bit vague, so you’d want to refine them. But showing the reader how you learned to “compromise on policy while maintaining your values” while managing a political campaign or “learning when it’s actually healthier to quit” when training for a marathon are slightly unusual connections that can not only help you stand out but will show some depth to your personality. #dontbebasic

Don’t rehash your resume. If you’re going to offer details from an experience that you listed in your resume, then make sure that they are not already listed in that resume. We’d even go one step further and argue that, if the resume already communicates, implicitly or explicitly, that you have that skill or value, then don’t use that as a paragraph in your personal statement . For example, if you won a debate competition and listed it on your resume, don’t talk in your personal statement about how it strengthened your public speaking skills—that’s already really obvious. However, if you talked about how your debate experience taught you the importance of trust, that has potential to be an interesting and unusual connection.

Law School Personal Statement Example Structures

Here is a simple outline structure for a law school personal statement example:

Paragraph 1: The experience I had -> The lesson I learned or skill I gained. -> How this connects to what I want to study.

Paragraph 2: The experience I had -> The lesson I learned or skill I gained. -> How this connects to what I want to study.

Paragraph 3: The experience I had -> The lesson I learned or skill I gained. -> How this connects to what I want to study.

Paragraph 4 ("Why This School" section): Here are the things at your school that will help me study this.

Alternatively, you could wait to connect your lessons to what you want to study for the end. This creates a kind of “surprise!” effect, where all of your experiences and values suddenly explode with deeper meaning once you reveal the type of law you want to study:

Paragraph 1: The experience I had -> The lesson I learned or skill I gained. 

Paragraph 2: The experience I had -> The lesson I learned or skill I gained. 

Paragraph 3: The experience I had -> The lesson I learned or skill I gained. 

Paragraph 4: How these three lessons/skills connect to what I want to study.

Paragraph 5 ("Why This School" section): Here are the things at your school that will help me study this.

Here is more detailed information on how to use montage structure, as well as an example essay. (Although it uses an undergraduate applicant’s essay, the structural principles are the same.)

Regardless of which structure you choose, the conclusion paragraph (the "Why This School" section) will be the same, with minor differences to fit what comes before it in the body.

Step 3: How to Revise Your Law School Personal StatemenT

For revision, work big to small:

Is this the right overall topic/approach? (Unless you have very little time before deadlines, don’t be afraid of exploring new topics/jettisoning ideas)

Is this the right structural approach?

Are these the right/strongest examples?

Are the details effective?

Last stage: grammar/mechanics/word count.

This big-to-small approach is the best way to ensure you don’t waste time tweaking language in sentences that you end up chopping completely anyway. 

Try connecting the beginning of the essay to the end of the essay in a thematic or symbolic way. This is a literary technique called “bookending” (used in some of the examples agave) that provides a sense of closure to the reader. 

An example from the personal statements above: Example essay 4 begins with a story about being at a protest and watching the lights of the local prison flicker in response to the crowd’s chanting. The middle of the essay talks about a challenge faced, a lesson the writer learned, and then why a particular law school is suited for the writer’s goals. And then the writer ends the essay by saying that the whole reason the writer wants to go to law school is to help those prisoners flickering their lights on the night of that protest. This technique brings the whole essay full circle.

Pro tip : You can experiment with bookends after you’ve already written the essay. We’ve worked with applicants who waited until the very end of the writing process to create a bookend.

Read the essay out loud to someone. This is the best way to check for sentence flow and structure.

The best people to ask for feedback on your law school personal statement:

A law school admissions consultant. Because they will have the full wraparound expertise.

Someone who has gone to law school. Because they will have a better idea of what a law school is looking for.

Someone with writing experience. Because they will be able to help you refine your content/structure/phrasing.

Someone who knows you well. Because they may be able to pinpoint details you are missing and should include.

If you’d like to contact us about support on your law school applications, you can contact us here .

Take care, and best of luck.

Amy Stein received her undergraduate degree from Tufts University and a J.D. from Fordham Law School. She also holds a Masters Degree in Higher Education Leadership Policy Studies from Hofstra University. She has a lifelong passion for teaching and has been teaching legal writing for almost 25 years. Seeing her students succeed is one of her great joys in life. Because of her many years as a legal academic, she is very familiar with the law school admissions landscape. She also has significant experience working privately with students seeking admission to top-ranked educational institutions at both the undergraduate and graduate levels.

• George Mason University
• Schar School of Policy and Government

• The Law School Personal Statement: A Collection

For further information, contact Professor Phillip Mink, J.D., at  [email protected]

Support the Schar School Pre-Law LSAT Scholarship Fund

Introduction By Phillip Mink Director of the Patriot Pre-Law Program Schar School of Policy and Government

Since 2005 I have advised a multitude of pre-law students at George Mason University and the University of Delaware. Aside from general application advice, my students hope to learn how to write a personal statement that will help them get into law school. Many are convinced they should discuss why they want to become a lawyer. Some schools may require that, I explain, so check their websites. But I also explain that students may want to follow the University of Chicago Law School’s advice: write about “something personal, relevant, and completely individual to you.” [1] Similarly, Georgetown Law School advises students to write on “any subject that will enable the Admissions Committee to get to know you.” [2]

In effect, then, a personal statement can be a two page mini-autobiography that will convince a school a student can bring something unique to the campus. Inevitably this undertaking sends students scurrying down literary pathways they hadn’t anticipated, and for which their college curricula has left them woefully unprepared. Despite the difficulty of the writing task, students are often enthralled by creating a narrative showing how their life events have shaped them into who they are. And when they grasp that the revision process can dramatically improve their work, they appreciate learning how to craft the polished prose that an effective statement requires. This is no small matter for a writing intensive profession such as the law. As Cornell Law School notes, personal statements are evaluated for “both content and construction, so write about something interesting and write about it well.” [3] To that end, my students and I often work through six or seven drafts. When the writing process ends, students can be satisfied they have conveyed exactly what they wanted to say about themselves in fluid, error-free prose.

In my fifteen years as a pre-law advisor and legal writing teacher, I have read hundreds of statements. The variety of my students’ life experiences never ceases to amaze me, and selecting 37 statements from this abundance has been a difficult but enjoyable task. In addition to personal statements, I have been privileged to read several dozen diversity statements from students who can bring a different perspective to a profession that has too often failed to reflect the experiences of all Americans. Eight of those are collected here as well. I am grateful to all of these students for allowing me to use their work as learning tools for those who will follow in their footsteps. [4]

Prof. Phillip Mink, J.D. George Mason University [email protected]

Personal Statements

This summer I helped oppressed women in the Middle East write a constitution. I was at a refugee center in a small village in Jordan, where Syrian women had fled Bashar al-Assad’s merciless regime. With the help of our professor, several other students and I developed a project allowing these women to create a constitution from scratch, expressing the values that had for so long been suppressed by Assad and by religious edict. The concept underlying our project was that we would introduce the women to ideas about democracy, and in so doing we would empower them to take an active role in politics and society. If Assad were to fall, these women might well be at the vanguard in forming a new government that arose from this devastated nation.

This workshop was held in a pale one-room building, which was filled from wall to wall with refugee women. When I entered I saw 50 veiled, wide brown eyes staring back at me. They had probably never been in the same room as a white person, yet they looked towards me without fear or hostility. Instead, as soon as we began walking them through a presentation on the basic ideas underlying any democratic society, they were mesmerized, their eyes transfixed on the screen. The eagerness in the room was palpable, and I knew they were anxious to begin voicing their own opinions, which was still foreign to them because their government had forbidden such heresy.

We separated them into groups, and each one developed an article, some of which were about women’s rights and the right to a free education and health care. They also wanted the right to express their opinions about the Assad regime and the Alawite religious sect that dominated Syrian government.

When the conversations started, we walked around the room to help if they needed it. They did not. Instead I was stunned by the women’s dedication to the principles they were developing, and their faces lit up when I told them how impressive I found their ideas. I had to transcribe what they were saying as it was translated to me, but despite the texting skills developed as a Millennial, I could barely keep up with their energetic give-and-take. One group in particular was memorable for me. Although this might have been their first political discussion, they spoke with confidence and surprising sophistication about free health care for everyone, giving priority to children and the elderly if universal health care were unattainable. From these ideas they created specific constitutional language.

After formulating their articles, a representative from each group stood at the front of the room and announced their additions to the constitution. In a world where modesty was required, the confidence they exuded as they spoke so adamantly about their amendments was anything but modest. In the end, they had written a genuine document they could take forward in their attempts to create a new Syria.

I identify with these women because I grew up in Lynchburg, Virginia, a small city controlled by the Reverend Jerry Falwell’s Southern Baptist ideals. The principal gender role behind this denomination was that women should be submissive to their husbands and caretakers to their families. During my education, I was repeatedly reminded of my place as a woman. After a TED Talk on traditional gender roles, for instance, a classmate said she would have a career only as long as it took her to find a husband and start a family. On a separate occasion, a male classmate said his mom told him a woman should never be president for fear she would begin menstruating and start a world war. This bizarre adherence to traditional gender roles was suffocating, but when I moved away from Lynchburg I left those gender roles behind. My experience with the Syrian women in Jordan strengthened my resolve to ensure that those who face seemingly impossible situations have the same freedoms I did. No society should have the power to force women, or anyone else, into submission.

“During the Argentinian Military Dictatorship,” Ms. Quinn began, “soldiers herded pregnant dissidents onto planes. If a mother were ugly, they decided her child would be as well, and they pushed the woman off the plane into the ocean.” Ms. Quinn, my sixth grade world history teacher, meant to teach us the horrors of tyrannical regimes. Instead those words spun in my brain until they produced two characters: an Argentinian mother imprisoned for her progressive beliefs and her daughter, Eva, determined to follow in her parents’ rebellious footsteps. That evening, I began drafting my first novel.

Overnight I had become “a writer.” Novel-crafting transformed from a hobby to my new passion. November – once marked by Thanksgiving – became National Novel Writing Month: Thousands of writers worldwide attempted to write 50,000 words in thirty days. When I was not crafting Eva’s story, I was scouring writing blogs for advice on foreshadowing, character development, and revision. As others read my draft, I discovered that words have power. My best friend Amanda, for instance, fell in love with Eva’s older brother Simon. When he died, she implored me in vain to change his fate. Friends stopped me in the hallway between classes, pleading for the next installment. Completing Eva’s story took me three years, two rewrites, and 168,865 words. In the summer before I started high school, I added Eva’s story to the “final drafts” folder on my computer. In that moment I committed myself to a fiction-writing career.

Two years later, when I was sixteen, I discovered a darker dimension of words’ power. Men twice my age started catcalling me from across the street with “Hey baby,” or a “How about you come home with me tonight?” A man called me “exotic” because of my Indian heritage, insisting that foreign women “bring something extra” to a relationship. My Spanish fluency combined with my dark skin tone prompted a stranger to shout, “Mexicans do not belong in this country.”

I wanted to confront my harassers, but I did not feel safe doing that in real life. So I did it in my stories. My next character became a bilingual East Asian woman who struggled to fight the “docile Asian woman” stereotype, the idea that East Asian women are submissive partners destined to become housewives. My character’s best friend was an African American man who could not shop at a clothing store without being accused of shoplifting. As a fiction writer, I aspired to foster respect for minorities so eventually no person would be persecuted for speaking a different language and no woman would be propositioned for daring to walk unescorted. While these portrayals empowered me, I felt a nagging suspicion that representation alone would not create equality for minorities. By high school graduation, I decided to give up fiction writing to find a career that promoted systemic change.

I entered college determined to learn about the political structures that perpetuated exploitation and the institutions that could help me change these inequalities. One of my political science courses introduced me to biopiracy, the process of patenting biological knowledge or practices without compensating the indigenous people who developed the craft. I studied a case in which the U.S. government allowed a Texas company, Ricetec, to patent basmati rice. The patent restricted Indian basmati rice exports to the United States and lowered basmati rice’s price in European markets, threatening the livelihoods of thousands of Indian farmers, grain refiners, and traders. As an Indian woman who had eaten basmati rice four days a week for most of my life, I was appalled at the thought of an American company gaining exclusive rights to rice strains that Indian farmers have spent centuries cross-breeding and perfecting. The Indian government shared this sentiment. By parsing international agreements and arguing for a geographical interpretation of the word “basmati,” the nation’s lawyers prevented the exploitation of indigenous Indian people and ensured that Indian families in the United States would not have to pay a premium to maintain a traditional diet.

My political science classes acquainted me with many such cases in which trade agreements, international conventions, and national legislation could either oppress people or empower them. Behind every scenario were dozens of lawyers whose words changed the lives of thousands. As I considered these cases, I recalled my first novel. A decade before, inequality and human rights violations had inspired me to write fiction. My love for writing compelled me to continue this pursuit for seven years, and at eighteen, my drive to end systemic discrimination compelled me to give it up. My undergraduate education has made me realize that I do not have to choose between my love for language and my desire to empower vulnerable peoples. I can combine both of my passions with the law.

I’m the child of Afghani immigrants, and my parents have a great story to tell. It begins with a 7-year old girl who watches in confusion as a swarm of parents rush through the classroom grabbing their children. Soon she realizes that she and one other student are the only ones left. Suddenly a soldier bursts into the classroom and grabs the other student, the grandson of the former President of Afghanistan, Daoud Khan. The teacher fights a tug-of-war to keep the child, but eventually the soldier takes him away to the family’s palace, where his entire family is massacred.

The Russians are invading Afghanistan.

On the way home, the girl hears gun shots and bombs, and she starts to fear what this invasion will mean for her and her family. Before she knows it, her mother and father are selling their belongings to make enough money to escape the war. A month later, her family boards a plane to the U.S.

On the other side of town in Kabul, a young boy awakens to his family of 10 rushing to finish packing. The communists had placed a hit on his father, brother, and sister, who are all active anti-communists. The family drives from Kabul to Jalalabad, takes a bus, hops onto the back of a pickup truck, and travels by foot until they reach a military area with tents for individuals escaping the country.

Early the next morning, the family walks with their luggage the entire day until they catch a bus to Peshawar, Pakistan, leaving behind their beloved home of Afghanistan. After living in Pakistan for 18 months, the family makes its passage to the United States.

Ten years later, the girl and boy meet at a high school in Annandale, Virginia. Discovering how much they have in common, the two high school sweethearts fall in love and marry shortly after graduation. In their early 20s, they bring three children into this world, one of them being me.

Growing up in an Afghan household in the U.S. presented its own challenges. At a young age, the way I looked and dressed – and especially my faith – were different than those of my classmates. Ignorant comments and questions were not uncommon. “Is Osama Bin Laden your uncle?” “I know your family has oil money.” “Why are you so hairy?” “You’re Muslim? I’ll pray for you.” These comments made me incredibly sad, especially when classmates I considered my friends made them.

My own family did not make assimilating any easier. My parents would only let me play with other kids in our home because they feared I would lose my Afghan identity. Sleepovers were out of the question. As my mother would occasionally rant, “Just because you were born here doesn’t mean you’re American. You are not allowed to date, wear short shorts, or go to parties.”

Despite these strict expectations, I always celebrated my background, the way I was raised, and my religious beliefs. I performed the centuries-old Afghan dance, the attan , in traditional clothing at my high school’s heritage night; joined the Afghan Student Union at George Mason University; presented my unusually large family tree in an anthropology course (I have 22 first cousins!); and met with a mullah every weekend to learn how to the read the Quran in Arabic. I am proud to be different than my peers and have my own sense of uniqueness.

However, my pride has been tempered by the realities of being a first generation college student. When my parents moved to the U.S., my father became an electrician and my mother a hairstylist. While I received immense support and love from my family for continuing my education, I had to teach myself how to apply to college, and once there I had to learn on my own what my professors expected of me. I couldn’t call my parents when I was stuck on a difficult calculus problem or cry for help when I didn’t know how to conclude my 10-page Western Civilization paper. I was on my own.

These experiences have crafted me into who I am today. Given my appreciation for diversity, as an attorney I want to help minorities who face discrimination achieve equal opportunity and success in the workplace.

My heartbeat pulsed in my ears as I climbed the steps of my school football stadium and neared the bench where my thirty-six year old math teacher and club advisor was waiting for me. My stomach knotted as he turned to me, a little too close, and said “I’m so happy you’re here.” I had agreed to meet him here like he asked, so that we could “hang out” outside of school for the first time. These “coincidental” encounters would quickly escalate to a hand brushing my back as I passed his classroom in the hallway, an uncomfortable kiss when everyone else had left the room after practice, and eventually, sexual encounters at his home before or after school. With each passing day, I felt more entangled in the web of lies I had constructed to protect my secret “relationship.” I lied to protect the studious and responsible reputation I had earned, to hide my shame and embarrassment for what I felt was my wrongdoing, and to avoid being viewed as someone who could be taken advantage of. I would endure ten agonizing months of sexual and emotional abuse at the hands of a man I trusted. He constantly reminded me that he was risking his career and reputation to be with me, which placed an enormous burden of responsibility on my shoulders and rendered me terrified to end my abuse. I began to hope for a way out.

Our frequent public outings together served as my greatest hope of salvation, when I would hope against all hope that someone would notice that we did not look like a normal couple. Eventually, somebody saw us leaving an event together one Wednesday evening and reported it to the police. Unbeknownst to me, a police officer followed me back to his apartment the next week, verifying the anonymous tip and sparking a criminal investigation. Though I did not know it yet, my life was saved by a complete stranger.

Five days later, I picked up my ringing cell phone from the table while my mom peered at the screen, looking as curious as I felt about the call from an unsaved number. My “Hello?” was met with “This is Detective Jones from the Hartford Police Department, and I need to ask you a few questions.” My heart instantly fell into my stomach, not out of fear, but because a wave of relief swept over me. Later at the police station, I would detail my ordeal to the detective, naïve of the scrutiny I would face and the judgment that would mark the expressions of friends and acquaintances. Despite the news headline “Connecticut teacher accused of sex with student” and communal knowledge of his eighteen charges of sexual assault, others rarely sympathized with my plight. Instead of succumbing to the whispers of “whore” and “teacher’s pet” in the hallway, I dedicated myself to my studies, reconnected with the family I had estranged, and became the best version of myself. I would go on to speak with other abuse victims, showing them that I had found a way back to “normal” with the help of my family and a dedicated prosecutor who helped me accept my experiences as abuse, identify as a survivor, and lend my strength to other young women beginning their own journeys to recovery. Her tireless efforts to pursue justice and a maximum sentence for my abuser and firm determination to see me through my ordeal established her as my role model.

My own recovery has left me with a desire to use the law to protect and save other victims the way my prosecutor saved me. Through this arduous experience, I have obtained an invaluable personal experience with the positive impacts law has on society and individuals. It would be a privilege to spend my life replicating this positivity as an advocate for victims of similar crimes.

When I was seven years old, I would peer over the worn and winding banister that led up our parlor stairs, just barely letting my oversize green eyes show, careful not to let my parents see me. In the front entranceway, I would watch my mother sob as cops handcuffed my older brother and pulled him away. Petrified, I would look out our second floor window and watch the blue and red lights glisten in the rain, and then fade as they turned out of our cul-de-sac with my misunderstood brother inside. Once the coast was clear, I would tiptoe back into my bedroom and tuck in my younger sister. I would whisper in her ear that everything was okay and lay next to her until her breathing thickened. Heartbroken and unable to sleep myself, I would stare at the ceiling for hours. Sometime in my night-light illuminated room, the realization sank in that fifty-four years after “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” was published, Americans still know little to nothing about mental illness.

As any child should be, I was hopeful. To me, my brother was still an all American athlete with a 4.0 GPA. He was the cool, “normal” college student I looked up to. So every birthday I would blow out my candles and wish for my brother not to be crazy anymore. At Christmas time I would write to Santa asking for a cure for schizophrenia. I would wish for my brother to stop smoking, but I did not know it made him feel calm. I would wish he would receive adequate disability money so he could have a better life.

As a second grader I could barely spell schizophrenia, let alone understand it. I could not grasp that unlike the flu it had no remedy. Since every brain is unique, some medications can help alleviate episodes for one patient, while drastically worsening them for another. For many doctors, the easiest solution is to just over-drug patients until they are a monotone, lifeless version of who they once were. Frustrated, I pretended everything was normal and pushed my brother to the back of my mind.

As a middle schooler, I was just as insecure and humiliated as every other thirteen-year-old. I was embarrassed about my tiny frame, Irish freckles, and intelligence, but mostly I was embarrassed about my brother. So much so that I never told a soul about that part of my life. When my brother took my dog Hershey to the vet to be put down because in his mind she had cancer, I told my friends she died of old age. When my friends that slept over asked why he talked to himself, I would tell them he was on the phone. I was ashamed, and I was afraid of what other people would make him out to be if they knew the truth.

It was not until the latter part of high school that I realized most of my classmates had challenging aspects in their lives too. I became confident enough in myself to stop hiding such a big part of my life. It bothered me so much that people did not know or care to know about mental illness, that they’d rather look away than wonder why the weird, homeless guy is asking for money. Maybe the rest of the world was not ready to talk about schizophrenia, but I finally realized if I ever wanted mental illness to be a topic of conversation, I had to be the first to acknowledge it.

As I’ve matured, I have realized that my brother has helped define who I am, and I will never see him as a challenge I overcame. As long as I remain compassionate, I will love him regardless of the many ups and downs my family encounters. As long as I remain confident, I can overcome the obstacles that I, as a young girl, did not understand. Although most people see the law as corrupt and a lost cause, my brother has helped me to view it as a vehicle for change. I am proud to say I no longer tiptoe and hide behind banisters, but I won’t stop there. I hope one day I can be part of political and social change surrounding mental illness so that people like John don’t have to hide in shame either.

Saying goodbye to my mother without the promise of seeing her again robbed me of my innocence. My father came first to the US in 1992. He had “papers” but could not provide them for my mother. So when I was nine, my mother said “mi amor me voy para El Norte mañana,” (my love, I’m going to the North) and she explained that she did not know whether she would make it to the U.S., but she hoped God would provide her safety.

It took her 15 days to get to the US. I remember laying on our dirt patio and making figures out of the clouds while my grandmother cooked rice and beans for me. She and I would sit in silence, worried sick while wondering where my mother was and how she was doing. My mother finally made it to the US with the help of a coyote, and a month later my grandmother and I were on our way to reunite with her and my father. This experience was the beginning of the journey that forced me to mature at a young age.

When I arrived at the U.S., I walked into a beautiful house with my father, thinking this would be our new home, but then he pointed to two rooms in the back and said “Esos son los de nosotros” (Those are ours.) The rest of the house was off limits, in other words. This was my “sueño Americano” (American dream), a family of four living in two rooms because we could not afford anything else. And when my mother had twins, we had six. My mother, grandma, and I had to walk to the nearest shopping center to eat lunch at a McDonald’s because the kitchen was off limits. I knew no English, I had no friends, and I was bullied every day in school for my hand-made clothes, my tortillas and rice and beans, and my lazy eyes. But I would not complain. My parents brought me to this country with great efforts, and I was thankful for being in the U.S., away from the poverty and gang violence that dominated life in El Salvador. Within two years, I had learned the language and became at peace with being an Hispanic in a mostly white world.

But my challenges had not ended. At the age of 15 my mom was diagnosed with severe epilepsy, and then my sister was diagnosed with alopecia – she has no hair at all. My father worked two full-time jobs, so he had no time for us, but I could not let my family fall apart. I had to assume the maternal role in my family. While a sophomore in high school, I took care of my mom and my eight-year-old twin siblings and managed our household – paid bills, cleaned, and did laundry. On my 18 th birthday, I became my 84-year-old grandmother’s caretaker, and till this day I continue to look after everyone in my family, even cooking meals for them. Nothing has come easily for me, but I have never backed down from anything.

This heavy workload prevented me from doing as well as I wanted to in high school, but I wanted to further my education at the Northern Virginia Community College. There I learned to manage school and family obligations more effectively, and after two years I transferred to George Mason University. I wanted to finish on time, but to do that I had to take four classes one summer. I was intent on not becoming the Hispanic stereotype of failing to graduate on time. My older step-brother failed out of a community college, which is typical in our community – starting something and not finishing. So that terrible summer I began my classes at 8:30 AM and finished at 7:30 PM. Courses were harder and larger, and at times I feared I would fall behind. But I overcame my fears and made A’s in very course, and ever since I have been a dean’s list student.

From my life experiences, I have learned that I can overcome any obstacle. Life can still be overwhelming at times, however. I go to bed at 3 am every day, and I wake up at 8 am. I help my siblings get ready for school, and then I administer my mom’s medications and help my grandma start her day. I go to class, and after that I hurry home to feed my family and do homework with my siblings, who are now in 6th grade. Only then can I do my own school work. I am often exhausted, but my determination to obtain my academic goals and keep my family afloat continues to overcome it.

Standing 10,000 feet above sea level, I stared in awe at my surroundings. Zugspitze, the highest mountain in Germany, lies just south of a small town called Garmisch. Gazing down at the village, I was reminded of gift shop postcards, with the beautiful green pastures covered in a light layer of snow, reflecting from a nearby lake with clear, vibrant blue water. Having hiked the Hollental route up the mountain, my parents and I were cold and exhausted, but we were also exhilarated. The faint wind carried the warmth and pleasant aromas from Sonnalpin, a restaurant at the top of Zugspitze.

Hiking and dining on the highest peak of the Wetterstein Mountains became one of my most treasured memories from living in Germany. I was only in middle school at the time, and my family and I had only been living in Germany for a year due to my father’s military assignment. Despite my familiarity with living abroad, the thought of moving to a new country with different languages and customs terrified me. As an Afro-Dominican, I looked different from my European neighbors, and I was anxious about how my classmates would greet me.

However, this fear was unwarranted. Our German neighbors immediately welcomed us, excited to practice their English on my family while peppering us with questions about the U.S. Any nervousness I felt quickly dissipated. Our neighbors loved teaching us about their culture and accompanying us on spontaneous adventures, such as hiking up Zugspitze. I soon formed a cherished friendship with Jule, a neighbor’s daughter who was about the same age as I was. The Halloween after we met, she took me to Frankenstein Castle in Darmstadt, Germany, known as the inspiration behind the famous book by Mary Shelley. It was a beautiful but ominous-looking stone castle on top of a hill, and actors were dressed up as vampires, werewolves, and – of course – Frankenstein’s monster. They chased Jule and me down the hills and later put on a show where the actors danced to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. I was glad that Jule and I could share the screams and laughter of that night. She and I still keep in touch, and she is slowly teaching me the German language through email.

Since Jule showed me a German Halloween, my parents and I decided to show our neighbors an American Thanksgiving. The smell of pumpkin pie and baked turkey filled our house as twenty Germans arrived for their first Thanksgiving Dinner. Per European dinner etiquette – they brought either a dish or a bottle of wine. Since we lived in Stetten, a southwestern town that is part of the Swabia region in Germany, almost every dish was a traditional Schwaben recipe. Around the table, our turkey and stuffing were now paired with food such as Krautschupfnudeln, which is a blend of noodles, sauerkraut, and pork. The house was filled with laughter as we all shared our favorite stories and memories, and – most importantly – what we were all thankful for. I vividly remember my mom saying how grateful she was to have made so many new friends in Germany.

And she was right. The initial warmth from our neighbors shaped my entire experience abroad, and the friendships I made and memories we created changed who I am today. Now, I love to travel and learn about other cultures and share my own. Our German friends’ hospitality and kindness showed my family that life may be a climb – a 10,000 ft. climb – but the view is worthwhile. Someday I hope to help others adjust to the United States, showing the same kindness that my neighbors did.

When I walked into my fourth-grade classroom at the American School in Beirut, I was introduced to a tall, sandy haired woman from Oklahoma who had a brilliant mind and a warm smile. I soon adored Ms. Kaylee McIndoe’s Midwest accent and her stories of how she fell asleep at night by counting sheep jumping through hula hoops. She strongly encouraged my overactive imagination and my love for writing. She inspired me to consume books at an astronomical rate. During that year, I began to write my own book, The Witch of Gibraltar , about a witch and her cat living on Gibraltar, and after reading it for me, Ms. McIndoe encouraged me to continue to write. I learned from her that I could be whomever I wanted to be as long as I was strong and curious and brave. We moved away from Beirut before I started sixth grade, and with this move I left behind memories of Bnachii Lake in the summer, reading books on trains barreling through the Lebanon countryside, and the magic that living in Beirut can give to a child. Living in suburban Philadelphia, Pennsylvania wasn’t nearly as fascinating as growing up in the heart of Beirut, but I learned to acclimate.

When I was in seventh grade, I walked into my house one evening to see my mother sobbing. She tearfully informed me that Ms. McIndoe had killed herself. I was devastated that this woman who was such a bright force in my life had lost hope in her own. A few years later, I understood fully what she had experienced when I was diagnosed with double depression. At 16, I had to learn how to find the will to live while taking 100 mg of Zoloft a day and attending weekly therapy.

Through all of this, only theatre brought me joy in my life. I was involved in almost every show my high school offered, and during my senior year, I auditioned at a theatre conservatory with the dream of becoming an actress on Broadway. The day I received my rejection letter, I completely changed my plans and submitted my deposit to The University of Washington, located in the city where I was born.

I didn’t know that living in Seattle would change my life, but it did. I began volunteering at an organization called RED, which provides housing and medication to people who test positive for HIV. Through RED, I found my love of service. I resolved to enter a career where I could effect positive differences in my communities.

This past year, I began rediscovering the child who loved books and writing. Depression has a nasty habit of cloaking all that is good, and I became more in touch with who I was and whom I wanted to become. While I still attend therapy and have dismal days, my depression improved when I learned to cope by channeling my feelings into forming more human connections and helping others transcend their circumstances.

I’ve experienced many deaths since Ms. McIndoe died, and each one has taught me what is valuable and true. I’ve learned that life is not composed of LSAT scores or wealth or looks or rankings. Life is an intricate and stunning accumulation of the beauty of humanity, and this is reflected in the ways that we impact others every day. I may never make a major impact on someone’s life, but I will die happy knowing that I tried every day of my life to help someone else. I know Ms. McIndoe would be proud of me if she were to see me today.

The right law school for me will continue to further my purpose in my life, and I hope this will cause a domino effect in the lives of others. The events that have happened to me, for better or for worse, have shaped me into the person I am today and the lawyer I wish to become. For me this profession means helping others, but it also means giving back to my community and to the people who have supported me to grow into the best possible version of myself.

Nineteen years ago, my mom was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a disease that slowly destroys the body’s connectivity to its muscles. As a former college athlete and coach now permanently confined to a wheelchair and unable to drive, her MS diagnosis was deeply personal. So, last spring when I ventured back to my hometown in South Jersey to spend a weekend with my family, my first priority was to help my mom cross errands off of her growing list, something difficult for her to do alone. Our first errand was to the post office in Cape May in search of a book of Forever Stamps.

I wheeled my mom up to the front of the brick building. The heavy, non-automatic door only opened toward us, forcing a difficult standoff to claw it open while simultaneously rolling the wheelchair forward over the lip of the threshold. Inside, an obstacle course of sorts greeted us. The writing table used to divide the lobby and guide the customers was flanked on one side with a protruding display of greeting cards and on the other with a narrow runway for customers. After a few paces, the path for the wheelchair became narrower. My mom’s arm caught the edge of a glass display case, breaking the skin, and the jet-black rubber wheels of her chair left skid marks against the front of a cabinet.

Of the four counters, only one was low enough for customers needing ADA-accessibility, but it was used as a storage spot for patrons dropping off pre-paid shipments, with packages stacked nearly to the ceiling. We approached the only open standing counter, my mom’s neck craning up at the clerk as she ordered four books of stamps. She stretched uncomfortably to punch her PIN into the debit machine. We left with our stamps, fighting the door again. No employee noticed her struggle.

When we settled back into the car, my mom broke down crying, and I cried with her. In public, she was made to feel undeserving of the ability to occupy routine space.

During the same summer as the Cape May post office visit, I was finishing a year-long strategy project at [xx] working with the State Department and the U.S. Postal Service on how best to digitize the manual passport application process. I returned to work after my weekend at home with an acute need to act. I sat down with my client, the head of the USPS passport business, and recounted my mom’s experience. When I finished, she turned to her computer, sent me the contact information for the head of USPS in South Jersey, and said, “I am confident you can fix this. Do it for your mom.”

For the rest of my summer, I collaborated with the USPS regional leadership to change the organization’s blind spots: altering the swing of the door, relocating the package placement area, and eliminating the greeting card display that obstructed wheelchair access to the counter. When I took my mom back to the post office, I asked her what she thought of the changes. She replied matter of factly, “This is the way it always should have been.” She was right. She now had equal claim to the space, something with which I never had to grapple.

I am keenly aware of the advantages that I possess, such as the ability to navigate physical space unaided and unprofiled. I am also mindful that advantage is easily transmitted intergenerationally, unless members of those privileged groups work to cede their positions, myself included. This was why I studied inequality of wealth and economic mobility at the London School of Economics. I investigated inequality through an intersectional lens and argued that social, political, and physical identities intertwine and overlap to create patent systems of exclusion. From implicit discrimination in student lunch programs for low-income kids to the regressive impact of unregulated student loan policies, my experiences have continually focused on inequality as a multidimensional issue that will require multifaceted solutions. Now in my current role on the [xx] team, I work in cities whose economies have been left behind in the wake of Silicon Valley’s boom, places like Birmingham, Boise, Chattanooga, Pittsburgh, and Tulsa. I regularly meet people with brilliant ideas in these communities that are often overlooked due to the lack of a particular platform, pedigree, or privilege.

I aspire to dedicate my legal career to solving structural problems for people who are left out of our complex economic system. My background in wealth and income inequality, public policy, and regional economic development is foundational to my desire to practice consumer financial protection, antitrust, and bankruptcy law, all areas that disproportionately impact the economic agency of low- and middle-income people. A top-tier legal education will provide me with the legal frameworks and tools to represent these values as an attorney on issues as complex as national venture capital allocation or as commonplace as accessibility in one’s hometown post office.

As the only child of two doctors, my parents expected that I would accept admittance into their highly ranked legacy schools and gently ease into one of their medical practices. However, in Spring 2013 one of my closest childhood friends was accused of sexual assault, and by the time the case was resolved, I realized I wanted to become a lawyer.

John was six years older than I, and from the time I was three years old we collected tadpoles, hunted for buried valuables in Henlopen State Park, and, when the weather was unpleasant, played board games (our favorite being Yahtzee). John’s mother was a close friend of my own mother, and she would often babysit me while my mother was running her podiatry practice. John’s mom was a warm, witty Italian matriarch who welcomed me into their family without reservation. Her family and I would convene every Thursday for “pizza night,” where we would talk about our day and discuss the latest sports events.

So understandably I was shaken when my mom called me at school during my sophomore year of high school and said, “Jane, John has been accused of sexual assault by a former neighbor when they were both 12 years old. I know it’s a lot to process, but a prosecutor will be calling you to discuss John’s character.” The neighbor claimed that ten years before, while they were watching TV in her living room, he groped her genitals. At the time of the accusation, John was 22 years old and a police officer. His supervisors immediately put him on desk duty, and the allegations created a nightmarish whispering environment.

Within a month, the prosecutor called me. “Did he ever touch you,” he said, “or act inappropriately.”

“No,” I replied. “Absolutely not. John is one of the most respectful, upstanding people I have ever known.” I told the prosecutor about our nature walks in Henlopen State Park. Had he wanted to behave inappropriately, I said, he could have done so then. He did not. “I look up to John,” I said. “I see him as a confidant, sounding board, advocate, but most importantly, a brother. He never lost his temper or behaved aggressively and was always patient with me and my stubborn personality.”

I understand that with the advent of the “Me Too” movement, attitudes toward sexual assault have changed. But as a fifteen-year-old, I did not believe my close friend could have done anything wrong. I was also distraught to see the effects the accusation had on John and his family. He always had a bubbly personality, but the accusations transformed him into a somber, dejected introvert. I hardly saw him smile, and he never wanted to talk anymore. His mother became almost lifeless, like she had detached from her body and was looking at everything from a bystander’s perspective. The only time I would see any type of emotion from her was when she learned of a new finding in the case, which caused her to become more sullen. I could tell she was angry and confused, but it was covered in a layer of sadness. John’s father never talked about the case and he buried himself in his work. I watched as the big Italian family I loved so much collapsed.

A year later the accuser dropped the charges. I was happy for John and his family, but I knew the damage was done. Our weekly “pizza nights” had been phased out months ago, and I was more disconnected from John than ever before. He had been taken off desk duty after the charges were dropped, but I suspect his co-workers looked at him differently. I did not.

I took away from this incident a compelling interest in the legal system. Now, as a senior in college, I understand how a girl could wait so long to tell someone about sexual assault, but as a naïve 16-year-old I was vexed that a person’s life could be destroyed by a single accusation, whether it be true or not. My interest in the law has never waned, and I want more than ever to understand how the legal system works.

I looked at the different sea animals at the National Aquarium in Baltimore, Maryland, admiring the fancy interior of the building and feeling a sense of accomplishment and freedom as I stood with my friends under the blue hue cast by the water. I had been prepared to sit this traditional 6th grade field trip out because of its $65 cost. My older sister and I had gotten used to forgoing school trips with a price tag; it had become routine for us to instead hear about them the day after from our friends. Despite strategically presenting my researched case to my parents about the value of attending the trip, they turned the proposal down. Determined to experience the fun I had imagined had happened at the other trips, I solved the predicament by speaking to a teacher, who ultimately informed me that the PTA could cover my cost. My seeking out of this key information is what allowed me to take the trip that my sister had to pass up on a few years earlier. During her time, neither she, nor my parents, were quite aware of the systems designed to support low-income families and students, and this lack of knowledge is a curse of the poor.

While I was excited to have ridden on a commercial bus and dine at a P.F. Chang’s that day, tears welled in my eyes throughout the trip whenever I would consider my sister. This instance was the first time that our status as immigrants and first-generation students felt so oppressive. I wanted to share my good fortune with my sister and all the other kids missing out on field trips.

Because of our situation, I needed to make sure everything I ever asked for was financially worth it, and it soon became an enjoyable pastime. I would ponder about, say, the benefits of purchasing a book instead of borrowing it from the library prior to presenting my request to my dad. My family prized my inquisitive, determined, and articulate nature. They became proud possessions and I naturally became the helper of the family. Since the third grade, I have been supporting my older sister through her learning disability in her schoolwork: breaking up her assignments, reading aloud her assigned storybooks when we could not find audio versions, and tutoring her in math. I performed these tasks in addition to my own schoolwork on the public library computers. For my parents, I have been interpreting government documents and researching job listings for them since middle school, transcribing and submitting their resumes.

While I attended university, my father would drive my sister and I to our respective schools. During my freshman year, he was in contact with his English-educated brother as they were discussing selling an old familial property. While I would transcribe his colloquial messages into formal and professional verbiage for the emails, my father would also ask me to analyze what the contracts were stating, the different options possible, and the best financial decision to make regarding selling his share. For those months, I would spend my commutes discovering and interpreting the foundations of contract and property law and doing my father justice over the email app keyboard. I fell in love with this process. It was exciting when I would open 50-page contracts on my father’s smartphone and make sure we agreed to what was stated. I also felt a duty to achieve this proficiency because I could further help my family. I knew my parents were worth so much more than what might meet the eye in a text, or in a conversation in another language, and I was proud I could be there to translate their greatness for this new country.

Further inspired by this past summer’s earnest calls for equality, I fully understand that the struggle that poor and minority families like mine experience can start to be amended with their access to key information, knowledge of various systems, and the ability to navigate them. Law school will assist me in building and acquiring the skills needed to best assist families in successfully settling and securing aspects of their lives in the USA. I know the necessities of accessible and reliable legal help for smooth immigration, as not only have I gone through the process, but many of my relatives have, as well. Being familiar with the value of well-informed decisions and communication in these instances, I am eager to have a career in legal service, and I know I will be best prepared for it at [xx] Law School. I have the necessary and spirited passion, drive, and specific enjoyment of the nitty-gritty. Let me get to a point where I can help as many people as I can.

At my high school graduation, I stood before a crowded sports arena, addressing thousands of people who were eagerly anticipating the words I was about to speak. I was the valedictorian, and my classmates and their families awaited an inspiring farewell address. Nothing in my background suggested that this should have been the climax to my high school career. Teenage moms don’t typically raise daughters that graduate at the top of their class. Most six-year old girls don’t see their mother forcing the bathroom door open to reveal her husband with his pants around his ankles, injecting heroin into his leg to avoid noticeable needle scars, prompting her to chase him out of the house for good. Eight-year old girls aren’t supposed to walk home alone from school to an apartment broken into by that same dad and find the shattered remains of their piggy bank scattered on the floor. Girls aren’t supposed to hang Christmas stockings their dad made for them while in prison.

My mom shouldn’t have been in that arena either. Society expects girls who get pregnant at seventeen to have lives so tumultuous that reality television shows can profit from following them. I remember watching Teen Mom on MTV as a kid and being entertained by the chaotic lives of the teen mothers, all the while oblivious to the dichotomy between my situation and theirs. My mom chose a different reality for herself. She chose to overcome the adversity my early entrance brought into her life. She chose to work late nights waiting tables and graduate from nursing school. My mom made education a top priority in my life, and that undoubtedly contributed to my position at the podium that night. I’m sure most parents in the audience spent many nights at kitchen tables with their kids, working on homework. In fact, most parents likely spent more time helping their kids with school than mine, as she frequently worked nights at the hospital and left me under the supervision of our twelve-year old neighbor. If she worked during the day, she dropped me off at daycare at 6:30 in the morning to wait the final 3 hours until school. She often had to pass me around to her parents, her grandparents, and her great-uncles and aunts. This happened so often, in fact, that it’s still a running joke in the family: I took turns living at everyone’s house but my own.

My mother made a subtler, more profound contribution to my life every day she walked out that apartment door and left me at daycare or in the hands of family. She taught me what success looks like. She showed me how success manifests behind the scenes by making difficult decisions that leave you no other option but to be successful. I know each hour she spent working when she would have preferred to be at home like my classmates’ parents was a sacrifice, and sacrifices form the foundation upon which all achievements are built.

Even though my mother and I weren’t supposed to be anywhere near that podium, a case study of my life would dispute that, not because people with similar backgrounds to my own often attain this level of success, but because I made the choice to be there. My mom made the choice that I would be there. And that was the message I wanted to deliver before my graduating class walked out the arena doors towards the beginning of the rest of our lives. Life is a compilation of choices we make every day. Success rarely explodes into existence in one magnificent eruption, but rather slowly accumulates from repeated discharges of concentrated effort. Success is not accidental, but deliberate, and the most important ability required for success is the ability to see how everyday decisions accumulate. So I urged my classmates to choose to build with each decision they made, to choose to recognize the opportunity for success in these decisions, and eventually to choose to be someone who creates success regardless of the adversity life has dealt them.

I have always struggled to assert my identity. My parents are immigrants to this country, which subjects me to a line of interrogation that starts with a seemingly innocuous question: “Where are you from?” I typically reply that I was born in New York and have lived there my whole life. People push back, trying to satiate their curiosity. “No, I mean, where are you really from?” I stand firm with my answer. “Where are your parents from?” they finally ask, hoping to circumvent my evasive response. Their question demands an explanation for why I appear different than they do. I finally say that my parents are from Hong Kong. “Makes sense,” they’d conclude, satisfied with the answer already confirmed in their minds: I don’t belong here.

There is an implicit assumption that because I look different, I needed to explain how I, with the oriental pigmentation of my skin, rounder facial features, and almond-shaped eyes, ended up here, in the United States. I made a concerted effort in school not to identify myself by my race; people did that to me enough on their own. I wanted to have the freedom to tell people for myself who I was before they made their assumptions, and if the cost was trading in my culture to assume the American one, then so be it. I conformed. I tried to convince my parents to buy me Smucker’s Uncrustables PB&J sandwiches, so I could have the same lunch as rest of my classmates, instead of the homemade fried rice they packed for me every day. I sat with my class instead of the “Asian table.” I choose not to join the Asian cultural clubs but instead cultivated my interest in reading and writing. From the way I dress, to my interest in music or films, I was always careful not to appear too attached to my parent’s country of origin.

I placed my identity on being intelligent, hardworking, and thoughtful – empirical traits that would prove to my peers that I was every bit as American as they were. I used the activities I was involved in to define me. I was the editor of the school newspaper, a varsity fencing athlete, Model UN board member. I assumed these titles, so that when people defined me, they would reach for these descriptors and not my ethnicity first.

But up to this point I had tried to shape my identity against people’s expectations. People presume that by knowing I am Asian, there are certain characteristics I ought to embody. Thus, by the time I was in college, the pressure to fight against these characterizations on every front became overwhelming. Seeking to remove myself from this setting, I accepted an opportunity to live in Ethiopia for two months volunteering at an English school. To no avail, I faced a chorus of locals shouting “China, China” at me every day as I walked to the school. Yet, as I developed a routine for myself practicing English with the students, buying dabo (bread) at the souk around the corner, drinking shayi (tea) with equal parts sugar and milk, I started to understand my identity in a culture that was neither Asian nor American. I was a foreigner with a language the locals wanted to speak and an appearance they relished for its novelty. Where I “come from” will always define me. And it was in Ethiopia, sitting on a worn mat eating injera with my hands, that I was able to accept that expectations will follow me wherever I go. My only choice was whether they would confine me.

Words were the new way I could construct my new identity with a preciseness of definition. I parlayed my skills in presenting other people’s ideas and gave myself a voice. I added nuances to create the distinctions between what people thought of me. I was bold in voicing my opinions in class, not content to be labeled as yet another “meek girl.” I innately could never sit back while incoherent arguments dominated the conversation just because they were presented loudly. I choose English and history as the subjects I would be devoted to, not wanting to be categorized as yet another math and science geek. But I had always valued the flexibility of words over numbers in expressing my ideas.

Identity is about definitions. In this current climate, people are being attacked because they don’t conform to a prescribed American narrative. I believed I had to choose “the American identity” to have a place in this country. Giving a voice to others through the work I have done in human trafficking, interacting with people from different backgrounds than me, with international students and Jewish cultural clubs, I have found a passion for helping people carve out their own identity. The promise that the Constitution offers me as a citizen is that my race does not preclude me from pursuing freedom. I am proud to be American, but I am also proud to be Chinese. I look to law school as a place I can be both, and educate myself on creating the space to allow people their freedom of expression, and in turn, the assurance that whatever their identities, they have do belong and have rights in equal standing before the law.

My Dad always told me we had to remember that it was “Hard to be Mom.” Whenever I was angry that she had locked herself in her bedroom for weeks at a time only to emerge in a manic episode, he would tell me to remember she was sick. Just because Mom didn’t have fever or a cold, it didn’t mean she wasn’t suffering. But I didn’t understand why she couldn’t just get over it. Even after I went to college and studied psychology, I couldn’t get past my anger. I knew there were neurotransmitter imbalances in her brain, but it didn’t make up for all the moments of my life she missed hiding in her bedroom or leaving on lavish vacations my family couldn’t afford. I resented that she refused to take her medications even as her depressive symptoms progressively worsened.

Eventually, she snapped. For thirty-two minutes, I didn’t know if my mother was dead or alive. My dad called to tell me Mom had attempted suicide and been rushed to the hospital. When I arrived at the ER, the nurses told me she had tried to swallow an entire bottle of painkillers. I tried to calm myself by remembering what I learned in psychology classes. They would pump her stomach, have her see a social worker, and put her on suicide watch. She would finally get help.

But she didn’t want help. She told them it was an accident, so the doctors couldn’t hold her more than 24 hours or force her into mental health treatment at the emergency room. She had the right to refuse. But I convinced her to go to the nearby mental hospital for a “routine evaluation.” I told the social worker and psychiatrist my mother would lie about her symptoms and her previous institutionalizations to avoid treatment. Luckily, a psychiatrist committed her against her will. As the doctors walked her away, she screamed that I betrayed her, that I was a horrible son. But for the first time in my life, everything my dad told me about Mom clicked. She tried to kill herself not because she was sad or tired, but because she believed that the world would be better off without her; that I would be better off without her. Her own mind betrayed her and convinced her that she was just a burden. It was just like an auto-immune disease: the body turns on itself. My Mom needed the same support and help I would give to her if she had cancer, or another illness.

The system worked for my mother. The institution got her on a new set of medications, referred her to a new psychiatrist, and helped her for months through an outpatient program. But for so many, the system doesn’t work. Prosecutors without personal experience with mental illness pursue petty criminal charges for people with delusional disorders. Judges sentence people with substance-abuse disorder to years in jail for minor possession, and police officers arrest people with serious mental illness rather than help them to get treatment. Some districts and precincts have tried implementing mental health training and education to some success, but these are not enough. You can try to shove abnormal psychology into every judge, prosecutor, and police officer’s head, but it is a complement, rather than a substitute, for personal experience.

I want to go to law school because I have lived with and loved a person with a serious mental illness. I understand the toll it has on families. I know what it’s like to recommend someone be committed against their will. As a prosecutor, I will use my experience and my law school education to advocate for people to be placed in treatment, rather than in jail. I will help to foster institutions such as drug and mental health courts, where people can get treatment inside the system. People with serious mental illness deserve help, understanding, and compassion. As a lawyer I won’t be able to treat them, but I can make their lives better.

In Khmer, “sai kup leht” translates to “complete woman” and is used to describe a well-mannered, physically graceful woman, who is ever conscious of how she is perceived by others. My mother introduced me to the expression after my unsuccessful wrestling match with my older, larger brother over the TV remote. Generally, she uses the expression to chide me for being impatient or rebellious, and specifically, when I cannot cut mangoes fast enough, which in her hypothetical situations invariably ends in the starvation of my children. While I roll my eyes at every invocation of the expression, I recognize its past significance in defining a Khmer woman’s social role. And then I wonder what my becoming a complete woman will look like.

My mother admits that she is no “sai kup leht” herself, and neither are her sisters, because they are feisty and consult with YouTube on too many recipes (the “complete woman” just knows them). Even my grandmother, raised most closely by the “sai kup leht” ideal, tells me stories of her pre-Khmer Rouge life when she was astute breadwinner and regularly spoke out of turn. She single-handedly raised my mother and aunts, who now balance running small businesses, maintaining finances with and separately from their husbands, and navigating America as confident, ethnic women. They have lived together, shared failures and successes, and created a net of financial security and loyalty. They are complete women, redefined.

Their powerful womanhood threads through my life: my mother, nearing my birthdate, squeezed between showcases at the jewelry store she and my aunts ran; as an elementary-aged child, I napped behind those showcases just out of customers’ lines of sight; and in high school, I worked beside my mother as my grandmother, with limited English-speaking abilities, encouraged customers to buy. I learned to view success in terms of joint efforts that impact the entire family, and what it means to hold purpose beyond myself. Outside of the business place, I have been my family’s translator, interpreting everything from emails to official documents to text emojis (What does the upside-down smiley mean, my mother inquires?); a sort of legal liaison, accompanying my uncle to traffic court when he did not feel confident enough to go alone; mediator, spokesperson, and all-around buffer for their insecurities over cultural and language barriers. This collection of experiences allowed me to hone my interpersonal skills in proximity to the immigrant experience, and prepared me well for the year I worked at an immigration firm.

I also inherited the value system that the women in my life created, one that fuses traditional Khmer values, historically restricting women to the domestic sphere, with progressive American ones of independence and individualism. My mother and aunts urge me to explore all educational opportunities, as they had limited access to them. They emphasize that business savvy combined with attainment of higher education are the surest means of achieving self-fulfillment and distinction within the larger community. Due to their instillations, I am deeply motivated to transpose the role I play in my family and become an advocate for the Khmer-American and other marginalized communities. My aims are reflected in my past decisions to study bioengineering to positively contribute to medicine, and to help international students acclimate to American university life; and in my future goals of forming a non-profit tutoring program while pursuing a career in healthcare policy. A law degree will officialize my voice and help me achieve my goals.

A lifetime of experiences acting as my family’s intermediary has shaped my mind and eyes to be compassionate instruments that aspire to serve communities resembling the ones that my family exists in. The women in my life inspire me to do as they have done, forging awesome networks and relationships, thriving in unfamiliar, multicultural environments, and becoming complete women in their own rights. My successes, academic and professional, are also theirs. They show me that complete woman-ness is a dynamic process, and that by accessing new spaces and gaining representation, we continuously reimagine it. So while I might never possess stellar mango cutting skills, I am nonetheless assured that so long as I continue to strive for my dreams, I am “sai kup leht.”

My teammate blasted a forehand to me while I was in ready position at the net. Suddenly a sharp pain reverberated across my right wrist. My tennis racket tumbled with a clang to the concrete court, and my screech echoed across the tennis complex. I felt petrified as I thought about the future of my tennis career. As a first-semester freshman for a Division 1 team, I had to prove myself to make the starting lineup. An injury meant I would be on the bench for the rest of the season, and beyond that my future would be uncertain. I thought of my Dad throwing balloons to me in our basement when I was three years old. I swatted at them with a small racket that barely fit in my hand. For most of my life tennis was my identity and my passion. In my first semester of college, I was finally living my tennis dream. Until the injury. That night, my call home to my dad was heartbreaking. Instead of telling him about hard-fought practice matches with my new teammates, I tearfully told him that my right wrist was swollen and pain was radiating from the center of my wrist.

A year and a half later, after two surgeries, I was faced with the wrenching realization that my wrist could no longer withstand the high level of performance demanded of a Division 1 tennis player. A ganglion cyst in the center of my wrist was compressing a sensitive nerve. Although the cyst and nerve were surgically removed, I lost flexibility in my wrist, so I could no longer snap it to generate my powerful serve. After 15 years of hard work, my body destroyed my dream of playing college tennis at the worst possible moment.

I was no longer was the girl with a passion for tennis. Each day, I would still call my dad. Instead of talking to him about tennis practice, however, I began telling him stories about an art history class I was taking. Professor Jones lectured in a way that I could only explain as a dance across the room, as her passion for art bounced off the walls of the cinderblock lecture room. I was engrossed as I furiously wrote each of her words into my spiral notebook. My excitement on these calls was apparent. My dad knew the void of my injury was being filled within the walls of Professor Jones’s classroom, and he was excited for me. Instead of telling me to dream of playing college tennis, he told me to dream of a career in art history.

The summer of my junior year, my passion for discussing art history with my dad culminated in the publication of “Neuroanatomical Interpretation of the Painting Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh,” as the cover essay of Neurosurgery , an international journal published by Oxford University Press. My dad and I melded our discussions into a research project that brought together art history and medicine, proposing a diagnosis of epilepsy for van Gogh. Our theory was that the luminous stars and swirling clouds correlated with a transverse section of the parahippocampal gyrus in the hippocampal formation, which are components of the brain’s temporal lobe. This specific area can be the source of hallucinations, déjà vu, delusions, and other symptoms of the madness that possessed Van Gogh, and which manifested in his art. We suggested that subconsciously the artist was, in effect, painting the location of his affliction in Starry Night .

Today, as I continue down my path as an art historian, I know the importance of protecting the creation of all art and cultural heritage. I believe we are living in an era when artists, museums, and even nation-states need lawyers to safeguard artistic achievements. For instance, Greece is fighting for the return of the Elgin Marbles from the British Museum, which has created a decades-long legal tangle. A lawyer who understands art can collaborate with all of the players in the art world to protect cultural and artistic achievements. Art history is my identity and my passion, and I aspire to bring my knowledge to a career of melding of art and law.

I was sitting on mama’s cold wooden floor by my father’s bedside. Her demeanor was uneasy as she handed me the phone. I grabbed it and excitedly screamed, “Hola papa, como estas?” Then I rushed to my next question. “Papa, cuando vienes?” I heard pain in his voice as he responded to this thirteen-year-old girl, “I am fine.” I asked again, “Dad, when are you coming back?” He replied, “Muy pronto.” I was unsatisfied with this answer so I persisted, but he would only say, “No se mijita.” Choked up by my tears, I knew this cry would echo in my mind for a lifetime. I handed the phone back to my mother and asked, “How could he not know when he was returning?” I could not understand how a man who got up for work at four in the morning and worked all day to provide for his family could have been taken away by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). This incident marked me indelibly and forever shaped the woman I am today.

The first time I entered a court room for my father’s case, I heard the prosecutor use words such as “flight risk” and “deportation order.” My father had created a stable family and a construction company, and he had many connections in our home in Prince George’s County. Nevertheless, my father was trapped in this immigration system that imposed enormous hardships on my family. Our everyday rituals had been completely altered, but we eventually adapted. Between the immigration court proceedings in Virginia, my mother would drive three hours so my two siblings and I could have a thirty-minute visitation with my father in the Hampton Roads detention center. For two years, I would walk down a line of glass windows where strangers appeared until I would see my father’s smiling face. With the phone connected to the glass, I would give him updates on my grades and what I had learned in class. After these visitations, my father sent us letters and drawings of our family. When we returned home from our visits, my mother reminded us to stay strong because this was the card we were dealt. To support us during his absence, she became a dog sitter and a babysitter, and she cleaned houses during the day and a doctor’s office at night. My siblings and I helped after school. Her strength empowered me to pursue my dreams.

When I started high school, I felt isolated because no one was talking about their father’s immigration status. At that time there was very little media coverage of this issue. My teachers and classmates did not understand how my father’s immigration status had become in many ways the center of my life. At the age of 15, I wanted to start a venture that would help individuals trapped in the injustices of the U.S. Immigration system. I reached out to my high school teachers and received county funding for an after-school tutoring program for ESOL students who wanted to enhance their education. Many of these students skipped school because they worked to support their families, and often they had to choose between school or work. The more I was consumed by their hardships and my own, the more I realized I wanted to become a lawyer so I could provide legal help to these students and their families.

By the time I graduated high school, I had learned the legal basis for my father’s detainment. He came here legally as a teenager and overstayed his visa, so he had a deportation order. Twenty years later, the order remained, and because of that, as a thirteen-year-old I saw two ICE agents handcuff him and haul him off in a van to a detention center at five in the morning. I was bewildered that the U.S. government would detain my father who had contributed so much to this country. Learning my father’s case consumed me with passion, and I wanted to do something about it. In college, I reached a turning point when I read Phyler v. Doe, a 1982 Supreme Court case addressing a Texas statue that withheld state funds for education of children not “legally admitted.” The court ruled that this statue violated the 14 th Amendment, citing Justice William Brennan’s opinion in Brown v. Board of Education : “education is perhaps the most important function of state and local governments…”

But discussing the law abstractly does not convey the damage the U.S. immigration system inflicts on families like my own. For two years as a young teenager I had to endure my father’s absence. Thankfully my father has been released, but in the current political climate I must worry that my extended family members may not be so lucky. This institutionalized injustice has to change. Obtaining a legal education would allow this twenty-one-year old woman to devote her professional life to that change.

I reach into the cab to grab my legal pad, and slam the car door shut. The warm Orlando sun immediately reminds me that I am no longer in Delaware. As my team and I walk towards the hotel ballroom, I see the hundreds of competitors sporting their university’s colors funneling into the rows of seats. “Welcome to the American Mock Trial Association’s National Championship Tournament,” says the law school dean. It’s time to introduce ourselves. The line to the stage is shorter and shorter, and I peer out into the crowd in search of a familiar face, and I see my teammates, smiling, mouthing my name, but I can’t hear a thing. It’s my turn. I step onto the stage, and the ballroom, just moments ago filled with inaudible voices, becomes silent. I lean into the microphone. “My name is John Doe, and I am the president of University of Delaware Mock Trial.”

I wanted to be just like my dad. I looked up to him – the way he talked, the way he saw the world; he was my hero. We would talk for hours after dinner about his upcoming trial, about a suppression motion he had argued that day, or about a cop he had cross-examined earlier that week. I did not understand most of what he told me; after all, I was still in elementary school. And although I could barely see over the bar the first time my dad took me to see a real trial in a real courtroom, I knew I was where I wanted to be. I wanted to be a lawyer.

My mom’s habit of scrolling through the morning announcements posted on my high school’s website and reading them aloud was a nightly routine. “The mock trial club has a meeting this Tuesday,” she shouted one night from her bedroom. Despite my desire to apply to law school, I ignored her; adjusting to a new school was challenging enough. But she was persistent. “One meeting. Give it a chance.” I agreed.

I was given a binder filled with affidavits, legal documents, and exhibits. My team was to portray attorneys and witnesses, cross-examine opposing witnesses, make objections, and argue in front of scoring judges seated in the jury box. My team would compete in these mock trials against other schools. I was immediately fixated. Before I knew it, I was a sophomore, and named captain of the team. I recruited friends to join, we won tournaments, and by my senior year we were the Philadelphia city champions, finishing second in the state of Pennsylvania, the most successful team in school history.

There was no greater feeling than standing in front of a panel of judges and delivering a closing argument, or sitting down at counsel table after an effective cross-examination. And now, instead of peering over the bar at my dad, it was my dad watching me. I would hear him whispering to my mom during trial, pleading with me to object to the other side’s question or commenting approvingly to my mom after a strong performance. He was the first person I spoke to after trial. “Did you like my opening, dad? What did you think of that judge?” Now, our conversations about trial were just that, and they were serious, detailed and argumentative. They were perfect.

While my mom was interested in the size of the dorms and prices of meal plans during college visits, I only had one question for our tour guide. “Does your school have a mock trial team?” By the end of my freshman year at the University of Delaware, I was made captain. Made up of only seven students, the team was struggling. Despite this, I was not deterred. I continued poring over the case, offering new case theories, and working to help my team become competitive. By my sophomore year, things started to change. At the end of that season, I was elected president of the entire club, which has continued into my senior year. We had evolved into an organization of over thirty members that I had recruited, with a coaching staff that I had put together and more support from the university than ever before. During my junior year, I led my team to win all four trials at the Opening Round Championship Series in Philadelphia, earning an invitation to the National Championship Tournament for the first time in school history.

My time as a mock trial competitor is quickly coming to a close. When I reflect on the person that I was before high school, I realize the impact that mock trial has had on me. It has taught me to be a more effective speaker, an engaged listener, a more approachable teammate. It has taught me that hard work is the most important predictor of success. From the time I first peeked into a courtroom as a child, to just earlier this year, energetically stepping out of that cab and into the federal courthouse in Orlando, I have watched myself evolve into the person I have always strived to emulate, my dad. And over the last eight years, the law, like him, has already left an indelible footprint on my life. I am ready now, ready to give back to the law what it has already given to me.

When I was young, I used to fall asleep to the sound of the crickets chirping. Sound nice? It wasn’t. They were spider-like cave crickets and they weren’t outside. They were living down there with me, lurking in the corners, hiding under my bed, terrorizing me.

My earliest memories take place in a rundown basement apartment, where I lived with my mom, dad and the cave crickets. It was all we could afford and I was told to be grateful for it. My parents weren’t completely at fault. They did try, but were caught in a cycle of American poverty that has been drowning the lower class for generations. My great-grandparents were teen parents. Both of my grandparents were teen parents and my parents followed suit. For as long as memory allows, I’ve known nothing but the desire to escape.

My father was born to a single mother in the 70s. His mother and the multiple men that came in and out of their lives were addicts and alcoholics. He lived mostly with his grandfather, my namesake, until he died of lung cancer when my dad was fourteen, leaving him without a home. He moved from place to place with only enough energy to continue rather than improve his situation. His troubled life became even more complicated when he too became a father at the age of eighteen. He was faced with the easy choice of leaving, like his father had done, or he could sweep up any sort of foundation that he could muster from the rubble of his past and attempt to build a life for us. I will be forever grateful he chose the latter.

This is the station I was born into, two teenage parents, no home, and no stability. With no father of his own, mine could only try to piece together what he thought a dad should be. For him, this meant providing a home, food and clothes, all of the things that had been so scarce to him. He took as many jobs as he could find; working in the freezer of a chicken factory, giving baths to the elderly at nursing homes, and doing handyman work in the fraction of free time he had left. Dad was gone to work before I woke up and didn’t get back most nights until after I was back in bed.

Starting school freed me from the run down basement, but I was different from the other kids and I knew it. I was the poor kid. Everyone else had Legos and Imaginext in their toy boxes. They went on trips over their breaks and always had stories to tell. For me, none of this was possible. None of this was affordable. And it made me awkward and nervous.

In 2002, “Star Wars Episode II” came to theaters and every boy in the class saw it except me. Star Wars backpacks, stickers, pencils, posters and snacks seemed to be forever circling around me, yet always out of my reach. When my classmates recounted the scenes, I listened closely to absorb every detail so that I could pretend I had seen it too. One day while shopping with my mom, I glanced hope. It was a plain white t-shirt with the words, “Star Wars” printed across the chest. I begged my mom to buy it for me and she caved right before checkout. I was ecstatic, believing this would be everything required to finally be like everyone else. When we got home, my dad helped unpack the groceries. He pulled the shirt out of one of the bags. “He’s already got enough clothes,” Dad grouched, “it’s going to have to be returned, we can’t afford it.” I sank down on my bed, all hopes of a brighter future seemingly crushed.

When I was finally old enough to understand the despair that had gripped my childhood, I decided I could either succumb to the vulturous cycle of poverty, or I could tear its hooks out of my skin and pursue a better life. My dad’s constant work and sacrifice built a stairway just high enough for me to see over the gates that confined me. Now, it is my quest to continue the climb and fight my way out. I have promised myself that no matter what, I will do whatever it takes to succeed so that my children will be the first in my family not born into poverty.

I am determined to work hard and take advantage of every opportunity afforded to me. I am determined to be the difference for the countless children struggling to stay afloat. I believe a career in law will give me the opportunity and strength to pull back the curtains, giving light to all those born into the shadows of poverty, so they too may see the path to a brighter future.

The gust of wind rippled across my partially zipped-up jacket, a consequence of being hurriedly slipped on. The chill was intense, but I hardly noticed; I was already numb from the heart wrenching ache that originated deep in my core. “Can I just-…” I tried to offer an apology but the door slammed in my face. I tried the handle, but it was locked. You’re just like your father . My mother’s parting words cut deeply into my psyche. I trudged down the front steps, shivering in the cold. I threw the single stuffed backpack that was slung around my shoulder into my car and drove off into darkness.

Some people might say the family experience they are most thankful for is an especially joyous holiday, birthday, or family gathering. Mine is the day my mother stopped putting up with my crap and kicked me out into the cold.

I had a very privileged childhood but not a happy one. My parents were both lawyers, and their marriage was adversarial . My father was brilliant: a mathematician turned legal professional. He had a booming personality, and his occasional guffaw would echo across the house. However, he had underlying anger issues, and alcoholism abetted his explosive temper. While equally brilliant, my mother was thoughtful and introverted. She cared immensely for my sister and me, but was forced to become the only breadwinner after my father lost his job. As home stresses worsened and my parents drifted apart, I gravitated towards marijuana abuse.

In high school I tried especially hard to defy the image of the “nerd” I had cultivated after eight years at the city’s magnet elementary and middle schools. I threw parties, ditched school early (that is, when I even bothered to show up), and continued to abuse drugs. When I was 16, my parents finally divorced. I was relieved by the cessation of hostilities, but was also enabled as my parents competed to see who could create a more permissive environment since custody would influence the division of wealth. Shortly thereafter I dropped out of high school due to excessive truancy, subsequently obtaining my GED while turning to more hardcore drugs. I worked as a dishwasher, then busboy, and eventually waited tables as the financial support of my disappointed and exasperated mother waned.

Then, after a particular nasty argument in the winter of 2014, I found the door to my mother’s house slammed in my face. With nowhere to go, I drove and drove and drove. For a while, the high of the drugs compensated for the low of disappointing the person I loved the most, but such a life was unsustainable. I slept out of my car or occasionally on a friend’s couch, and I showered at the rec center.

Six months later, I was reading Dostoyevsky, Nietzsche, and Camus, and a philosophically nihilistic disposition paired with untreated, self-medicated depression. My life felt worthless. Then something broke through the haze of drug addiction and self-loathing. On a hot day in the middle of July, I found myself again standing at the door to the security I had previously taken for granted. I knocked once. No answer. Why would there be? I was my father’s child, a man who had abused those around him. My insecurities bounced through my head as I descended the front steps for the last time. Or so I thought. The door opened, and I saw my mom. “John?” she asked. My voice broke, “I’m so sorry. I-…I don’t want to be like dad. I love you. I want to be better.” We embraced and cried in each other’s arms.

A year later I began attending community college, and the rest I’ll leave to my CV.

I’m thankful for my mother’s expulsion because it forced me to come to terms with the idea that her love is a necessary but insufficient condition for improving myself. Her decision to make me go was the day I started to arrive at a self-awareness of my underachievement, and I started to appreciate the potential that I’ve been gifted. To be frank, I’m still unsure what exactly I intend to do with a law degree. I could see myself doing guardian ad litem work, just as my mother did in her early career, advocating for children who have neither privilege nor happiness. I could see myself drafting legislation regarding alimony, which can punish spouses who bear the financial obligations in a marriage. Even more, I want success in the field, so I can help my mother live comfortably after working so hard for me and my sister for so long. I also want to be able to provide for my future family, with whom I intend to be a man that laughs loudly but doesn’t dish out the physical and emotional abuse. I hope to deliver the news of my acceptance to law school along with this statement to my mother. She will look at me and I will resemble my father, but she will know: I’m not just like my father – I will be much better .

“You keep your seat on this horse, O.K.?” The older cowboy looked up with hint of misgiving behind his eyes as the horse danced under me.

I gathered my reins in one hand and answered with calm confidence, “I can ride him.” I’m not sure if my response assured him, but my boss nodded brusquely and moved to help a guest in front of me.

Two days ago Sam had bolted with a guest, dumping him soundly, before he then bucked off the wrangler who was sent to ride him back. The emergency code – “ Estes Base, do you have a copy?” – had come buzzing over our radios, and dropping the bridle of a guest’s horse, I’d sprinted across the barnyard to head off the runaway horse.

Now Sam danced skittishly as we waited for our guest riders to fall into line along the fence rail. Wranglers on the ground explained the basics of western riding to first time trail riders: pull right to go right, left to go left, back to stop .

As we began our ride up the eastern ridge of the Colorado Rockies, Sam eyed me suspiciously. Passing the campground he quivered and spooked, but then he settled into the climb as we headed up the switchbacks. At the front, lead wrangler Jones engaged guests in friendly conversation: a German father riding with his two daughters, and some businesswomen out for adventure. The sun was warm as we climbed the two-hour trail, and I had settled in with Sam by the time we were reaching the last few miles.

Rounding the bend into a meadow, it happened. Without warning Sam lurched forward into a dead run. My seat stayed in the saddle even as my mind whiplashed to catch up. I heard Jones shouting frantically “Pull back! Pull back!” to the rest of the line as their horses took off in solidarity.

In the chaos, my mind remained clear. A bolting horse can be curbed by directing it into a large circle, cutting off a dead run into a manageable situation. With strong leg and rein, I began working him into an arc, but we were quickly heading for a steep downhill studded with jagged rocks and sporadic pines. And in that moment, Sam shifted. Suddenly we were no longer a trail horse and rider, but an animal running with wild abandon who could not care less about the person on his back. Cutting off this horse would require my full separation from the guests in mayhem behind me, and as my responsibility was to them and not this horse’s training, I kicked my feet free of the stirrups and, committed to the decision, dove off the side.

The crash landing felt like somersaulting in an ocean wave, minus the water. At the mercy of pure velocity, I catapulted headlong and desperately prayed I wouldn’t jolt onto rocks. Grabbing desperately at bushes, I finally skidded to a stop and instantly hopped up, thoughts focused on my guests.

Jones thundered by, pulling furiously at his out of control horse. Two other riders had already passed; three were charging straight towards me. Throwing my arms wide, I forced my shaky legs into confident strides towards the agitated horses. Catching the bridle of the German father’s horse, I pulled it into a controlled walk while trying to infuse calm into the panicking father whose daughter was out of sight on a bolting horse.

Stumbling downhill, dragging back on a horse trying to join his fellows, I refused the instinctual panic at what we might find at the bottom of the hill and how then to help the father if we encountered the worst. But in a moment there she was – sitting upright, shaky but seemingly okay. I gave her a first aid once over, and then as we waited for the rescue team, I told stories of my own mishap riding adventures, helping them normalize the situation. It was not until father and daughters were safely in the truck headed to the barn that I felt the stinging across my own face that would leave a good-looking cowboy scar for the rest of the summer. But I counted it a success that Sarah – I found out her name talking at the bottom of the hill –wrote on her incident report that she still loved horses.

What I told Sarah wasn’t lies. Horses aren’t ATVs. They are living breathing animals that will at times act unpredictably. A rider must know how to respond in unpredictable times. In the moment, my thinking was clear and my decisions purposeful. To remain calmly confident in an unpredictable and high-risk situation are the skills of a good rider. They are also the skills of a good lawyer. We must prepare and research, just as riders must train for years in the ring. Yet when it comes time to go into action – to ride – you have only yourself. It’s time to ride.

Stanley was four years old but looked two and a half; he had a bloated belly, no muscle tone, and a protruding collar bone. He showed no interest in anything and lacked both the curiosity and energy of a typical toddler. If you tried to talk to him, he would simply stare at you with a blank look in his eyes. I met Stanley while visiting Haiti, where he was living in a safe-house with ten other boys. His mother was suffering from severe psychological issues and his father had died in an earthquake.

On my trip to Haiti, our goal was to help teach English to the boys at this safe-house. However, Stanley was too young to participate in the lessons, so I volunteered to keep him busy while the other boys worked. I immediately established a connection with him and made it my goal to give him the attention he deserved. I wanted so badly to see this sad little boy smile.

On the last day of my trip, I finally got my wish. As a reward for working so hard throughout the week, we took the boys to the beach to celebrate our last day in Haiti. Stanley and I played in the sand for hours and eventually made our way toward the ocean. Stanley seemed scared, but he held my hand as I moved forward inch by inch. Soon we were jumping over the waves and splashing around. Before I knew it, Stanley was smiling and laughing. This was how a four year old was supposed to look: happy and innocent. Though I had finally gotten my wish to see him smile, it broke my heart to know that the next day I would be on a plane back to Delaware and Stanley would stay at the safe-house, neglected and lonely.

When I took a job as a camp counselor a few months later, I was faced with the sad reality that problems of child neglect were not isolated to third world countries. Though I worked just forty minutes from my home in Massachusetts, I had campers that came every day without lunch or water. Others wore the same outfit all week, no matter how sweaty or dirty their clothes became. Many would come in with bruises, black eyes, broken bones, and burn marks all over their bodies. These sweet little five-year-olds would tell me horror stories about how mom and dad didn’t like them and would hurt them if they were bad. While it was my responsibility to report these injuries and to make sure my campers felt safe for the few hours they were at camp, at the end of the day I had to send them home to parents that I knew would abuse and neglect them. I was powerless; there was nothing I could do beyond the confines of camp except report the problems and hope someone took care of them. On the last day of camp, when one little boy asked if he could come live with me because he was scared to go home, I broke down in tears.

These children all lived very different lives, but they had one thing in common: the adults in their lives had let them down. Stanley was severely underdeveloped because his mother had neglected him. My campers were terrified because they were abused by the very people they relied on to love and care for them.

Though I’ve never faced these hardships, I realize that there are thousands of other children who have. None of these children have a voice to speak out against the atrocities bestowed upon them; they are essentially helpless. Thankfully, I have been dealt a different hand – one that consists of an education, a conscience and the opportunity to create change. I feel a responsibility to these children; an obligation to give them the voice they’ve never had. Through law, I believe that I can carry out this obligation and fulfill the promise I made to myself when I decided that I simply could not turn my back on these children’s struggles.

“She’s missing.” These were the words my mother whispered to me, with bloodshot eyes and tears running down her face. These were the words that I repeated in my head and that echoed repeatedly for the next couple of months. Words that would later turn into “She’s dead. Sarah is gone.”

My sister went missing the weekend of Super Bowl XLIII in 2009. My mother received a call from her ex-fiancé saying she had not come home in days and he was leaving her and taking their kids to Georgia. This was a major red flag. My sister loved her kids more than anything and would never leave them. My mother began to panic. My sister was not answering her phone, and a winter storm was brewing in upstate New York. There was an unsettling feeling in the air as fear sank in. I was sent to live with my aunt as the next few months were filled with news reports, missing person flyers, search parties, prayer services at church, and many tears of anguish and grief. As spring emerged on the horizon and the snow began to melt, a confession halted everything. My sister’s ex-fiancé, the father to her three kids, admitted to murdering her in a rage. With that, my world fell apart. My sister, my hero, the person I looked up to was gone, and she was not coming back.

My sister was 16 years older than me and losing her felt like I had lost my mom. At 12 years old, I fell into a major depression, and I wanted to give up. I was no longer that carefree and bubbly girl everyone knew. I became quiet and reserved, I would not eat, and I was filled with anger. The trial of my sister’s ex-fiancé took a toll on my family. My mother cried every day. Even as she tried to shelter me from this storm. She did not want me in the courtroom, witnessing the graphic details of my sister’s death. When my sister’s murderer was sentenced to life in prison, my mother worked tirelessly to gain custody of my nieces and nephew. This agonizing situation suddenly had a little light at the end of the tunnel. As I adjusted to having my nieces and nephew living with us, I realized that I had to be strong if not for myself, then for them. I may have lost my sister, but they lost both their parents. While my mother spent hours commuting to and from work, I had to get my nieces and nephew ready for school, help them with their homework, and at times, make them dinner and put them to bed. I had to be mature and strong for them. My nieces and nephew taught me how to be resilient and how to persevere in the face of adversity. They depended on me and looked up to me. We became each other’s guiding lights.

I believed my sister was watching over us, and I would make her proud by making sure my nieces and nephew did the right things in life. I threw myself into my studies and joined many extracurricular activities in high school to ensure I had a competitive college application. I took several AP courses and maintained an A average in them all. I volunteered to be a math and Spanish tutor, became the editor of our school newspaper, and joined different sports teams. When the time came to apply for college and choose a major, I chose Psychology. I wanted to have a better understanding of why people did the things they do, and I wanted to help other families cope with the same situations I had endured. A large part of me thought by going into Psychology, I could understand why my sister was murdered. But in the end, my studies helped me realize I may never understand the emotions behind it, and I should not try to. Attempting to understand the psychological motives behind something this horrible is impossible. I was continuously reopening a wound I was so desperately trying to close.

As I have learned how to cope with my grief and deal with closure, I have come to realize that the best way for me to help other families is to fight for them. I want to help other families receive justice and closure, by being a prosecutor and fighting on their behalf.

Playing outside with her three siblings, a girl was suddenly grabbed by her older sister and plunged into the small pond near the edge of her family’s home. She gasped for breath and fought against the restraints of her sister’s arms, but she couldn’t rise to the surface. While it may have seemed like her older sibling was trying to drown her, she was in fact saving her life. Up above, Pakistani fighter jets flew by. These planes were known for picking off their enemy, regardless of age, gender, or religion.

A few miles up the way, a boy woke in the middle of the night and fled his home with his family to avoid being killed by the approaching Pakistani Army. With only the clothes on their backs, they escaped to their grandmother’s house in a nearby province to hide while the war raged on. During this period where food and medicine became scarce, the boy and his family starved and lost one of their sons to malnutrition. When the family returned, they found their house looted and partially destroyed. They had to rebuild from virtually nothing.

My parents survived the 1971 genocide of Bangladesh. Three hundred thousand to 500,000 Bengali’s were massacred, raped, and displaced during the 8 months the Pakistani army invaded the country. Our people were fighting to save our language from Pakistan’s to erase our national identity. Eventually we won the war and established the nation of Bangladesh.

In 1980s my father was granted asylum in the U.S., and that allowed my mother to come to the States. In NYC my father worked as a taxi driver, and while doing that he tried to educate himself. He had only a third-grade education in East Pakistan – public schools did not exist there, and he had to go to work as a clerk at age 8 while overcoming polio. Even so he earned his General Education Diploma in America. Soon he began working for Wachovia as a loan officer. My mom was a housewife who raised me and my brother.

My brother and I were raised to embrace my Bengali heritage. I didn’t speak English until I was in kindergarten because my parents wanted us to preserve our roots. After all, East Pakistan fought a war to preserve its language. Pakistan wanted those in what it called East Pakistan to stop speaking the language. That would erase our national identity and allow Pakistan to absorb us. But we fought back so ferociously that eventually Pakistan gave up.

My parents instilled in us a tremendous pride in what our people accomplished. We celebrated the Bengali New Year by dressing up in traditional clothing. For me that was a Sari, a long piece of red fabric that was draped around me. Music was a major part of our culture, so we listened to Bengali music played on a sitar and a harmonium. After the fasting month of Ramadan, we celebrated Eid, a three-day Muslim holiday. One of our pillars in our religion was that we should perform charitable acts, and the more successful we become, the more you can give back.

But my Muslim religion had a negative side as well, and that is the expectation that women should stay home and raise a family rather than pursue a career. This did not mean I should not have an education. It only meant that my role was pre-defined as that of wife and mother. I rebelled against that. I told my parents I would not marry at age 18 as they expected. I refused to circulate a bio data resume, which is essentially a portfolio for marriage. In fact, I was insulted by the very idea that I should be auctioned off like cattle. Even now, at 22 years of age, my parents will not allow me to date, so I have had to live a double life in my relationships with men.

Although I’m proud of my national identity, I identify as an American now. In fact, I hope to change Bengali attitudes toward child marriages – soon I will travel to my motherland to educate those who believe their girls should marry at 13. As a lawyer, I will continue trying to rectify this sort of unfairness, and I looking forward to doing that through the U.S. legal system.

On August 28 th , 2005, I had just turned twelve years old and was en route to see The Rolling Stones for my first concert. During the car ride from Wellesley Island, New York to Ottawa, Ontario, everyone was anxiously predicting what songs The Stones would play and in what order. The first thing we saw when we arrived was a one-man band playing “Honky Tonk Women” with an accordion, harmonica, and kick drum. Most people, including myself, were proudly wearing t-shirts sporting the provocative, red tongue logo. We found our seats, which were by no means close to the stage, but when the pyrotechnics began, we could feel the heat from the flames on our skin. I looked up at my mother with a huge grin. By the beaming smile on her face, I could tell she was as excited as I was to finally see her favorite band perform. From the opener “Start Me Up” to the closer “It’s Only Rock and Roll (But I Like It),” we sang along.

From an early age, music has been important to me. I was raised on my parents’ classic rock recordings of The Rolling Stones, The Doors, and what was probably a little too much Jimmy Buffett. I would spend hours poring over their collection of CD’s, cassette tapes, and vinyl records. Over time, my musical palate evolved beyond that of the typical Parrot Head (the name given to members of the Jimmy Buffett fan club) to include genres varying from country to hip-hop, just to name a few, and my method of listening evolved from CDs to iPods.

My own experience mirrors the changing music industry. Fans can watch their favorite artists perform on television or through a live stream on the internet, but these broadcasts can adversely affect ticket sales. Similarly, digital music is expanding with companies such as Apple, Pandora, and Spotify; but this leads to a decrease in physical music sales such as CD’s. Another music digitalization consequence is the quality and ease with which music can be copied, leading to greater concern over piracy and copyright infringement. The heavy metal band Metallica is known for their legal efforts to combat piracy such as when they sued file-sharing service Napster. Radiohead went in the opposite direction by offering their album In Rainbows using a “pay-what-you-want” model. Regardless of approach, I intend to use the law to assist artists and consumers in dealing with these changes.

I have already gained experience through an internship with the Alliance of Artists and Recording Companies (AARC), a non-profit organization that collects and distributes home-taping royalties to musicians and copyright owners. Through the internship, I became familiar with home-taping royalty collection worldwide. I also assisted with complex copyright lawsuits. At issue in one case was whether in-car recording device manufacturers need to pay royalties for their product production. The manufacturers believed their products deserve a royalty exemption, similar to MP3 players, while AARC disagreed. Another case involved what constitutes being a featured artist on a recording in order to receive royalty payments for that recording. My experience with AARC has reaffirmed my aspiration to practice law.

Attending [university name] will allow me to follow my desired career path. [Continue on about each university’s specific qualities that make it a good choice for what I want to study]. Obtaining a law degree will grant me opportunities to pursue what I love and I am looking forward to beginning the next process in my academic and professional careers.

It was almost midnight, and my thumb hovered over the green button on my phone. The number was already dialed. I just couldn’t decide whether to actually call it. The website said the Sexual Offense Support office was open twenty-four hours, and I didn’t have to be a victim to call. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had no right to call if I weren’t a victim. My best friend was the victim, so what authority did I have to be upset on her behalf?

I remained in shock for almost a month after I went to the local movie theater with Jane over spring break, where she told me about her sexual assault at a party. She was dancing with friends whom she trusted, so when one of them led her away from the group, she went with him. He pulled her into the bathroom and locked the door. She was too drunk to fight him when he started taking off her clothes. She only remembered fragments of what he had done after that, but she knew she had to go to the police for a rape kit, which would ultimately confirm the assault.

After talking to Jane in the theater, I distractedly stuck to my usual academic routine for the next few weeks, but almost every night I would either call Jane to check in or call my mother to cry. After the latter, I would agonize about how selfish it was to shed tears over an assault that wasn’t mine. But I didn’t know what else to do. I had never felt so helpless. I was just Jane’s friend from high school. I couldn’t say or do anything to miraculously erase her trauma. I couldn’t even help her in her quest for justice because the district attorney told her they would leave the investigation to her college. I envisioned driving up to her college to shout at the college investigators, “Jane’s my best friend and she’s telling the truth,” but I knew it wasn’t a real option. I wasn’t a witness, or even a student there. Ultimately, her college found her assailant guilty and handed down his punishment: a request that he transfer. Jane was more surprised by the verdict than the so-called punishment. Over the course of the investigation, school administrators attempted to undermine her story with questions about her clothing and her conduct at the party. She was relieved that they ultimately believed her, regardless of her assailant’s punishment.

As a last resort, I thought I could move past my frustrations and fears by venting them aloud, so I considered calling Sexual Offense Support at my university. As I struggled with the decision, I glanced back at the website open on my laptop. I noticed an “Apply” tab and clicked on it. My phone lay forgotten beside me, the call button unpressed. As I perused the instructions for applying to work as a victim advocate, I realized how I could combat my constant feelings of helplessness. I may not have been able to help Jane, but I could help others. Anger and sorrow had been draining me for weeks – but I could channel emotion into action.

I looked into the sexual assault support programs and rallies on my campus. I attended documentary screenings, student rallies, and my first Take Back the Night march. I volunteered for the campus gender equality organization. When I left campus for a semester abroad, I became a volunteer translator for Warriors Japan, an advocacy group that supports survivors in Japan. All the while, I continued to send Jane a flurry of supportive messages

Never before had I felt such urgency to act. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever I did, I couldn’t help Jane get justice. This has spurred me toward a legal career. Before Jane’s assault, I had been interested in law due to my experience with international law courses and my fascination with interpreting legal language. Now I have another reason: I want a career that would give me the power to effect change. In Jane’s case, maybe her story would have had a more satisfying ending if she could have pursued criminal charges. I don’t know why the district attorney decided not to pursue her case, but it seems worth it to at least attempt to bring charges for such a heinous crime. And if it were me, I know I would.

The priority red line flashed across the laptop screen at 11:45 pm. “Shots fired,” sounded on the radio. The car lurched forward as it accelerated to 90 miles per hour down the long, dark, narrow street. My heartbeat accelerated and my seat belt pressed tightly to my chest, suppressing my rapidly beating heart. If perpetrators are visualized, shots will be fired and I will be banished into the floor of the police cruiser, tucked in the fetal position.

Yellow caution tape defined the perimeter. Emergency vehicles parked at staggered angles. Red lights flashing. Sirens droning. A plethora of officials were tending to their respective responsibilities. After the scene was declared inactive, we approached the victim lying face down in the street, bleeding from three bullet wounds: one in his right arm, one in his left arm, and one in his lower back. After assuring him the ambulance would arrive momentarily, the lieutenant briefed us as we surveyed the chalked off areas. Next, we documented the bullet fragments and shell casings, counting forty. This shooting was another turf war between rival gangs over drugs, one of many in this crime-ridden part of town. I looked around and noticed faces in windows and on every porch. They seemed interested, but not alarmed. This was their reality. My adrenaline level was elevated to match my heart rate. Seven hours had elapsed in what felt like one.

As I recounted my ride along with the Wilmington Police in my oral presentation to Professor Jones’s class, I could feel the resurgence of my emotions mixed with the realization that a passion had been ignited. I flashed back to the beginning of the semester. Professor Jones had seventy-five sleep deprived, unemotional faces staring back at him until he waved a crisp ten-dollar bill. With our curiosity piqued, he promised ten dollars for every perfect exam score.

Upon completion of my oral presentation, Professor Jones motioned me to approach his desk. He recognized me as the only student to achieve an overall perfect score in his course and to empty his wallet simultaneously. He inquired about my plans for graduate or law school and was shocked I had not yet chosen an undergraduate major. Because of my demonstrated potential, he encouraged me to further pursue a major in Criminal Justice, which would place me on a trajectory to attend graduate or law school.

The three crisp ten-dollar bills I received from Professor Jones were spent on coffee and bagels; however, they represented so much more than perfect scores and pocket money. An increased confidence, sense of direction, and subsequent conversations with Professor Jones, solidified my educational direction in Criminal Justice and the foundation for my post-graduate plans.

To further my interest in the field, I accepted an internship with the Rockland County District Attorney’s Office. Instead of the stereotypical intern fetching coffee, I attended weekly misdemeanor court, learned to write 710.30 notices, helped prepare warrants, and determined if files were sufficient. Three weeks into my internship, I even witnessed the prosecution of a Class A felony, a woman on trial for the murder of her mother-in-law.

On the day of the trial, I approached the courthouse where several media trucks and crews were lined up jockeying to get the best vantage point and latest statement. This case encompassed pre-meditation, co-conspirators spanning several states and countries, a 4 million dollar motive, and a plot conceived by the murdered woman’s family. I hesitantly entered the courtroom and the judge instructed my fellow interns and me to take seats in the jury box. The tension in the courtroom was palpable. The daughter of the decedent excused herself, unable to hear the details of her mother’s murder. The son-in-law, leaning over the bar, shouted so violently at the co-conspirator that the court officers had to restrain him. This was a real life drama unfolding before my eyes. Hearing a human being plead “guilty” and say “I choked her with the pocketbook strap” to describe how she assisted in the taking another human being’s life will forever be ingrained in my mind.

The culmination of these experiences, the coursework, and my instructors along the way has left me with a unique sense of the law. When I reflect on the person I was my freshmen year of college, I realize I had no educational direction and no real sense of who I was as a person. Subconsciously I was searching for a focus that aligned with my values of respect, empathy, commitment, and justice. Through the combination of knowledge and experience, I realize these values are all personified in a lawyer.

After years of disappointment, my aunt carried a child to full term. I was excited when she went into labor because I would have another cousin to play with. But I wasn’t allowed to see him when he was born. No one was. He was airlifted to another hospital before my aunt could even hold him.

At first my family and I believed John’s brain damage was an accident. No one could have prevented it. But, this was far from the truth. When my aunt went into labor, her regular doctor was on vacation, which left her at the mercy of an on-call doctor. She was cared for by a surgical resident who was not trained in the United States. This meant she could not communicate with my aunt. The on-call doctor showed no concern when the resident informed him of the baby’s irregular heart-beat. When my aunt voiced her concerns, the on-call doctor insisted that she wait to deliver until he arrived at the hospital and assured her that he was on his way. By the time he arrived, the baby’s heartbeat bottomed out and he had to perform an emergency C-section without sedation outside of an operating room, which put mother and child at even more of a risk. When John was born, he didn’t cry and he was blue. Neonatologists worked on his limp body for 9 minutes, until a needle of epinephrine injected into his chest revived him. But it was too late. The lack of oxygen to the neural tissue caused swelling that impeded on his underdeveloped skull, causing him to hemorrhage and suffer massive brain damage.

After a month in the Intensive Care Unit at Jefferson Hospital in Philadelphia, John was released with little hope for the future. Neurologists were not sure how his frontal lobe and motor cortex damage would manifest as he developed. It didn’t take more than a few months to notice the deficits. He couldn’t do simple tasks on his own, like sit up, crawl or feed himself. He didn’t show signs that he would walk. He needed special attention, including physical and speech therapy. He needed to see specialists that insurance wouldn’t cover. These were expenses that my aunt and her husband could not afford. They decided to sue the hospital and the doctor. I was only in grade school, so I had little knowledge of what this meant. All I knew was my cousin was brain damaged and it was a doctor’s fault.

When I met the lawyer representing my cousin and aunt, I sat in a large leather chair at the opposite end of the adults at a board-room style table with a coloring book. My parents thought that would distract me from why we were there. They thought I wasn’t listening, but I was. I listened to the jargon about how the deposition would go for my mom, the compensatory damages my aunt sought for the pain and suffering she endured, and the amount for which they would settle that would allow John the medical attention he needed. I pretended to color while I learned the on-call doctor was out to dinner with his family when he got the call that John was in distress. He claimed he was stuck in traffic, which would excuse his lateness. However, traffic cameras revealed that he was lying. He also lied when he said he was not aware that the surgical resident was not qualified to deliver a baby. The lawyer was confident that he could prove, by a preponderance of the evidence, the doctor was negligent and because of that, John was gravely injured. Before I left the office, the lawyer said words that I will not forget: “No amount of money will ever be enough for what happened, but it can lessen the burden.”

The lawyer did lessen the financial strain on my aunt and uncle with the compensation he received on behalf of my aunt and cousin. The compensation produced over 17 million dollars over John’s lifetime. I admired what the lawyer did for our family. He used his knowledge of the law to reach a settlement that allowed his clients to get what they needed, without fear of therapy and medical costs. Watching him be the voice for my cousin and aunt, inspired me to go to law school. I will advocate for those who are at the mercy of someone who holds a position of trust, just as that lawyer did for my family members.

One October morning in my freshman year, I woke up with blood in my mouth and purple spots starting at my neck, spreading down my shoulders. I had already seen a doctor at my university’s health center four times in the past week with complaints about the antibiotic he had prescribed me for a minor staph infection. However, each time I saw the physician he neither ran blood tests nor stopped the antibiotic that was causing these problems. By the time I made it to the health center that afternoon, the petechiae – reddish or purplish spots containing blood that appear in skin as a result of localized hemorrhages – had spread over my face and entire body and the sores in my mouth had worsened. Instead of being alarmed at my appearance, the doctor once again sent me home with the instructions to rest and take a Zyrtec. Despite the lack of concern expressed by the health center, my mother was convinced something more serious was going on and drove 2 hours to come to my dorm and take me to the nearest emergency room. I remember complaining on the car ride to the hospital that I would get behind in school and that this was a waste of time because the doctor at the health center said I was fine.

After a few rudimentary blood tests, the hospital discovered that my platelet count was 2,000 – dangerously below the normal range of 150,000-400,000 – and my white blood cell count was also extremely low. After many days of the doctors playing “House” trying to figure out what was causing my body to attack itself, they eventually diagnosed me with idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura, an autoimmune disorder that causes excessive bleeding. It was a rare allergic reaction to the antibiotic I was on and if my mother had not taken me to the emergency room that night, I would have died. As I improved over the next two weeks, my family, friends, and professors still expected that I would take the rest of the semester off. Despite my near-death experience due to the my university’s medical neglect, I decided I would finish the semester. I had to have my health monitored and work hard to catch up in my classes, but I pushed through and made Dean’s List.

This experience is a prime example of my determination and ambition in my academic and personal life. My university acknowledged the medical malpractice on their part and fired the physician who was in charge of my case, but did not offer any type of monetary reparation.  My parents did not want to sue my school and I was left powerless to deal with the aftermath of this situation which only fueled my desire to practice law one day. Even after my financial situation threatened to force me out of the University of Delaware, I persevered and forged my own path. I devised a plan to save money by taking some credits at an in-state school which would also put me on track to graduate a year early. I figured out what I needed to do in order to succeed and I did everything in my power to make those dreams my reality.

As I’m sure you’ve read from many qualified applicants, becoming an attorney has been my dream for as long as I can remember. However, the obstacles I have overcome and the strides I’ve taken to make this happen for me are far from ordinary and speak to the dedication, passion, and diligence I would have in law school.

Legally, I’m brunette. That’s what it says on my driver’s license, that’s been my hair color in every school picture, and that’s the color my mother wishes it would remain. The fact is, though, my hair has seen almost every color under the sun – red, black, maroon, and even blue streaks on a dare. And while I’ve come back to my senses and reclaimed my natural color, I can say with confidence that I have never, ever been legally blonde.

When I was thirteen, I stood up at the dinner table and proclaimed that I wanted to be a lawyer. My family applauded my decision, and since then, I’ve listened to the same Elle Woods comparisons that countless other girls have been subjected to since the film Legally Blonde first hit cinemas. I initially resented these intimations – I had no desire to be compared to the movie’s heroine, and I had difficulty seeing past her character’s many flaws. However, once I entered college and began to look away from the film’s superficial aspects, I took a liking to Ms. Woods. She sought out opportunities that were seemingly out of her grasp; she was intelligent and determined while maintaining her poise under pressure. I began to realize that when my life was compared to Legally Blonde , it was more than just a contrast of pre-law sorority girls: it was a positive reflection of my personality and drive.

I’ve always viewed myself as a headstrong, confident woman, and I haven’t let a lack of support or inexperience hinder my ambition. In spite of challenges that have stood in my path, I’ve never taken the easy way out, and I apply my perseverance to all aspects of my life. While three generations of my family urged me to follow tradition and attend Lafayette, I chose to attend the Honors program at the University of Delaware. My academic achievements, including the Honors and Woman of Promise awards, have proven that UD was the right decision. After arriving at UD, I was the only one of my friends who wanted to join a sorority – and, without an ounce of apprehension, I walked into the recruitment process alone and smiling. Three years later, I’ve planned complex events and welcomed dozens of girls into our “family.” Finally, I worked through scheduling obstacles and complex course requirements to study abroad in London during my junior year. This proved to be the opening chapter of a new volume in my life.

The experiences from my London semester have inspired me and altered the way I view everyday life, and I now see the world with a broader perspective. Whether it was an inside tour of the Bank of England or a lecture comparing political structures of European nations, immersing myself in international cultures has only reinforced the need for greater awareness of events and cooperation on a global and national scale. Furthermore, spending time away from the US has enabled me to take a more diplomatic view of current affairs and has heightened my desire for political involvement. Since my return to UD, I’ve joined public policy groups such as the Roosevelt Institute – and am thoroughly enjoying the challenges and triumphs of political discourse.

My past has proven that I’ve made a conscientious choice to remain honest and original, and while this choice is not always easy, it is this resilience and confidence that drives me to pursue my goals. Maintaining this passion and inspiration, and sharing it with others, is one of the greatest facilitators of change, and precisely why I want to study law. My experiences have shown me that enthusiasm is contagious, and I’m sincerely excited to bring my fervor for learning to <LAW SCHOOL>.

The precocious girl who declared her legal ambitions over a plate of lasagna still remains to this day, and with that forward-thinking attitude, she’s cultivated a dream and is willing to work beyond her barriers to achieve it. Although my history and choices are a far cry from those of our aforementioned golden-haired protagonist, they have one thing in common: an unabashed desire to stick to one’s integrity, individuality, and aspirations.

Atlantic City, New Jersey: the large metal doors slowly closed in front of me. I shut my eyes, clenched my fists and began to breathe heavily. My mom always told me to count down from five, so I started. 5… 4… 3… 2… Ding. We were there, the eighth floor of the Hilton Hotel. I had just survived another bout with the elevator.

Fairfield, Connecticut: huge raindrops fell from the dark sky. I pressed my nose against the window of my dad’s Chevy, feeling my chest tighten as I stared at the accumulating rainfall. The loud smacking sound of the rain against the side of the car made my heart pound as I prayed our car would not float away. Knowing that I was stuck there in traffic, I blasted my CD Walkman as loud as I could, to try to drown out the storm.

Liberty, New York: it was our first Fourth of July at our new vacation home. I heard a whistling sound as the first firework took off. I looked up at the sky with a smile, only to then hear a loud crack. Wincing, I looked back up at the sky. This time six or seven fireworks were shot off in quick succession, erupting in a huge boom. My mom saw me tightly pressing my hands against my ears and as I returned her gaze. I could see the look of disappointment in her eyes. I think she was really hoping that I could actually enjoy this.

Elevators, rain, fireworks, just some of the many childhood fears I lived with. I was afraid of nearly everything. Everyone told me my fears were just a phase that I would grow out of, but, by the time I was a teenager, they had become almost crippling. I became adept at keeping my fears hidden. That was, until high school, when I heard my class was going on an overnight trip to Howe Caverns. They were excited and so was I, until I found out that I would have to take a small, creaky elevator 156 feet below ground. I could barely handle the million dollar elevators in Atlantic City, let alone a rickety, old one in Howe Caverns. Without any explanation, I simply told my friends that I could not go. I sat home alone, thinking about how my fears were affecting my life, controlling everything I did. I realized that I had a decision to make. I could either continue to be a victim of my fears, or find the power within myself to conquer them.

I am now in college and am proud to say that I no longer have an issue with fears. Now a senior, for the past year and a half I have been serving as the Vice President of the Planning to Achieve Collegiate Excellence program for the National Society of Collegiate Scholars. The P.A.C.E. program mentors and guides underprivileged children who are struggling in High School, with the hope that they will continue on to college. More importantly, for the past year and a half I have been a mentor to Mikey. When we met, Mikey held a 1.8 GPA. He told me that he loved lacrosse and wanted to play for the University of Delaware someday. We talked about the importance of school and how he would need to improve his grades. Mikey then confided in me that he knew he was not stupid, but was just afraid of trying his best, yet still failing. When Mikey revealed this to me, it really hit close to home and compelled me to tell him about how I faced my own fears. I explained to Mikey that realizing your fears are holding you back is the starting point to overcoming them. Because I understood the position he was in, I told Mikey that he had to work through his fears and make progress within himself. I was able to connect with Mikey enough to motivate him to face his fears and get his grades up.

I continue to work with Mikey and am pleased that his GPA has improved to a 2.6. As for me, I am just proud that Mikey has benefited from my advice. While I do not know exactly what I will be doing after law school, I do know that I will meet any challenges that I face, head on and without fear. And who knows, maybe someday, Mikey himself will apply to law school as well.

I stood in the dark at the very back corner of the stage. I could see the outline of Rosa’s pink and purple hair that framed her face as she stood over the microphone, and Evan’s long, lanky figure slouched over his electric guitar. His hair, longer than mine, hung down like a sheet. They looked like rockers, poised to perform. My plain haircut, jeans lacking rips, and stiff stance gave me the appearance of an audience member who had accidentally wandered onto the stage. I placed my shaking hands on the keys. The lights snapped on. I was blinded, but it was time. I fumbled around on my keyboard and tried to move with the music. The moment I had so dreaded came closer with each note. I felt as if I was climbing to the top of a roller coaster. Suddenly, every instrument on the stage faded into the background, and the beginning of a terrifying descent commenced. I felt out a rhythm and started to tentatively run my fingers up and down the keyboard. Gaining confidence, I jumped in with a few experimental riffs on the high notes and played my way down to the soulful, lower keys, becoming increasingly oblivious to the audience. I was a classically trained pianist who had been thrust unnaturally into the world of improvisation, and I knew at that moment that I would never be able to separate my two musical worlds.

My turn to continue the family tradition of music arrived when I was seven years old. At my first classical piano lesson, my teacher placed her pet hamster under my hands to force me to arch them correctly and yelled at me through seemingly endless sloppy scales. She sent me home with a Hanon book of finger exercises and told me to practice. Over the next ten years, I labored over the Baby Grand my father had rescued from a cobwebbed corner of the basement at his office. I fell in love with the striking, robust sounds of Chopin and the beautiful intertwining melodies of Bach. I competed and won in endless competitions. I lived for the instrument and I loved to compete, but at some point, my passion turned stale. I feared that if I kept pushing myself further into the world of dry judges and uptight scoring rubrics, I would lose my joy of playing the piano. My furious piano teacher and perplexed parents wondered if I was experiencing an early quarter-life crisis as I quit my lessons to enroll in a small, dingy building tucked in an alleyway an hour away called, “School of Rock.” They advertised the opportunity to join a band of equally skilled musicians for six hours a week, plus two hours a week of private improvisation lessons.

I glided into a practice room on my first day, prepared to transition effortlessly into a new style of playing and show everyone how naturally music came to me. My beret-sporting instructor enthusiastically assigned me a minute-long keyboard improv solo in the song “Chameleon” by Herbie Hancock, the great Miles Davis pianist, for the upcoming funk show that my band was to perform at the World Café Live. I snapped into my classical competition mindset, and began to spend every moment of my spare time familiarizing myself with the challenging theory and rules behind improvisation. I excelled with the technical work and the specified rules that shared a surprising resemblance to my classical training, but in all of my determination to be the best, everything I tried to play came out forced, stiff, and always lacking in some element. Discouraged, I sat on the dusty floor one evening watching Rosa, our lead vocalist, spin around on stage and burst into laughter at the end of “Mothership Connection” by Parliament. Sitting there, I suddenly understood why my quality of playing had suffered so deeply. I left classical piano because I had let the pressure to succeed overcrowd my passion for the instrument, and I was experiencing the same issues here. I started listening to funk album after album for inspiration while I danced around my kitchen channeling the music. Two weeks before the performance, I made a beeline for my keyboard, turned on “Chameleon,” and started to jam, achieving an understanding of the music that had left me for quite some time and adding my own sound within the structure of the song. When it came time to play the show, I fell into a trance of euphoria and heightened focus, moving with the music I created.

My music has shaped me. From my classical training, I carry an unshakable discipline and the ability to analyze a single piece for weeks to uncover every detail and achieve perfection. My transition into improvisation made me flexible and open to new ideas. With this in mind, I hope to approach my legal education with the same experimental attitude that led me to a certain small dingy building, and the single minute on stage that altered me so profoundly.

The official sounded her whistle, the roaring crowd turned silent, and it was time to compete. I toed the starting line alongside my competitors and told myself, “you can do this.”

The September of my senior year of high school, I wrote down my goal for the upcoming track and field season. I wanted to be a sectional champion in the 400-meter dash. This goal was somewhat unrealistic for me. Sectionals was a competitive meet that took place in May, and although I had ample time to train, I needed to shave roughly a second off of my current time just to enter the race (let alone win it). In track and field, one second is an eternity.

While I wasn’t the most athletically gifted, I would work the hardest. My coach understood my work ethic better than anyone. Over the past three years, she witnessed my drive take me from a mediocre runner who didn’t make varsity freshman year to one of the biggest contributors on the team. She believed that with my dedication to training, winning sectionals was within reach.

I went to practice every day, hit the weight room three times a week, and did extra sets of crunches. I ran on the weekends when my coach wasn’t there to hold me accountable. I was on the track working out when it was a blistering 95 degrees and humid and when it was a frigid 10 degrees and windy. I consistently kept a training log to track my progress. September to May is a long time, and it was challenging to stay driven when I knew I wouldn’t see results for months, if at all.

My efforts finally paid off in March, two months before sectionals. My 400 time dropped over half a second. And then by May, eight months after writing down my goal, I was running fast enough to qualify for the race. Another step closer.

The 400-meter race at sectionals was a competitive field. Based on my best time, I was predicted to come in fourth. As I began a warmup jog on the day of the race, the nerves hit. Three of my competitors had run faster than me. These girls were experienced and decorated athletes who were expected to be in the race. Meanwhile, I was new to competing at this level and a couple of months ago I wasn’t even running fast enough to qualify. It suddenly became easy to doubt myself. But then my coach approached me to give a quick pep talk. She reminded me of the sacrifices I made and the countless hours of work I put in to get myself to this meet. “There is no reason you can’t win this”, she insisted. For the remaining twenty minutes before the race, I told myself over and over “you are ready and you can do this” until I believed it.

I got down into the starting position as the official said, “runners take your mark… get set…” and then the gun went off, signaling “go.” I flew the first 100 meters, determined to get myself into a good position from the start. By 200 meters, the halfway point, I was in third and feeling strong. But at 300 meters is where the race gets grueling. My quads and hamstrings were on fire and I could feel my entire body tensing. All I could think about was how badly I wanted this win. I sprinted as hard as I could the last 100 meters, refusing to give into my burning muscles, and threw my body across the finish line first.

Even though I’ve left competitive running behind, the discipline, work ethic and self-trust that I’ve learned from the sport has stayed with me. When faced with a challenge or a seemingly out-of-reach goal, I take action to improve rather than accepting where I am. When I took chemistry my freshman year of college, a subject I struggle with, my advisor recommended I drop the course because it was “too difficult for me.” Instead, I set aside time each day to review the material and took advantage of office hours. Getting a B in that course was my small victory. When I first joined Triathlon club, I barely knew how to swim and was incredibly uncomfortable in the water. I went to open swim hours for extra practice and can now confidently swim laps in the pool. I know that law school will present me with new challenges and goals, but I am prepared to take them on with the same determined mindset.

It was not merely my grandfather’s death that left the deepest impact on me, but the medical malpractice that caused it. When stomach complications developed after a minor heart procedure, the physicians maintained that all was fine. Meanwhile, an easily detected infection known as C. Diff developed and destroyed my grandfather’s body. When he suddenly died two weeks later, my family turned to the law. Although my grandfather’s loss will never be fully recovered, the ensuing legal process helped my family regain normalcy. Seeing the law at work has shaped me greatly and ultimately prompted me to pursue a career in law.

With my grandfather in mind, I explored law courses as an undergraduate at the University of Delaware. At first, absorbing the assigned cases did not come easily. I would read, then reflect, and sometimes read again. Determined, I practiced until I could decode key points in the language and separate dicta from decision. While reading the famous case of Palsgraf v. Long Island Railroad Company and discussing concepts like proximate cause and the “But for” or “sine qua non” test, which states that if not for the defendant’s negligent act, the injury would not have occurred, I recall making some revealing connections. As I connected these concepts from class with how truly foreseeable my grandfather’s symptoms were, the more I questioned his death. It was then that I knew I wanted to join the field.

To further explore my interest, I interned with a judge on Delaware’s New Castle County Superior Court, completing a project preparing briefs on hundreds of criminal offenders. While working on the project, I came across a copy of the North Dakota Law Review that reminded me of my grandfather. It read, “The law acts as a therapeutic agent. Procedures, rules, and the legal roles that lawyers and judges play during the process of adjudication are all social forces that create consequences.” Each brief from the project revealed people who relied on the positive, or negative, consequences of law to heal them. To this, I could personally relate. The hard work of my family’s legal team produced a “consequence” of sorts that made my family whole. Seeing the legal process both personally and also as an employee of the court has motivated me to become a prosecutor, as this role will allow me to facilitate the healing process. When using discretion to determine what to charge and to what degree, prosecutors speak for those who would have otherwise remained voiceless, just like my grandfather. Here, I can help others see, just as I have seen, how much the law can matter.

The exposure I have gained, both personally and professionally, has prepared me to invest in a legal education. But most importantly, these experiences will serve as motivators while studying law. If admitted to_________, I will commit myself to learning skills that intersect the needs of my community and use them to serve those like my grandfather who will come to need the law.

“Action!” Instantly I was swept up by the crowd on Canal street. Suffering from minor claustrophobia, I glanced nervously at my mother. Her gaze was locked forward, eyes full of ambition, fully immersed in the role. Not nearly as focused, I found my thoughts flashing between “Is Matt Damon looking at me?” to “MATT DAMON IS LOOKING AT ME.”

“Cut!” yelled the exasperated director, a crumpled script facing the wrath of his grip. Matt Damon peered across the street wearily at us, the vast sea of movie extras. The last thing I, the starstruck 15-year-old, wanted to do is disappoint Matt Damon. We filmed the scene at least five more times. We walked past a bus. A frantic Emily Blunt got on the bus. Scene.

“Starring” as an extra in the 2011 film, The Adjustment Bureau, is not necessarily something I brag about on my résumé. I am not listed as “Hormonal Teenager #56” in the credits. I did not get my big break. About a year later, I went to the movies to experience my two seconds of fame. There I was in all of my Ugg boot, fake-Burberry scarf glory. And then I was gone. An extra among extras.

Until college, I had cast myself as an anxious, apathetic extra in my own life. The extra friend/ “yes (wo)man” that was often taken advantage of. The extra clause in my parents’ divorce. The extra student in class, transfixed by a never-ending daydream as my fellow classmates raised their hands. Day after day, various authority figures told me “I had potential.” I didn’t care. I didn’t WANT to care. The apathy turned me numb. Numb to my dad’s suicide attempt. Numb to my grandfather’s death. Numb to my mom coming out to my family. I was just as passive as I had been in that herd of people on Canal Street, going through the motions.

I created The Numbness , a horror movie so disturbing it’d make Stephen King shake. I’d cast myself as the lead, but still felt like an extra. I’d lay awake for days on my lumpy mattress in a zombie-like state, eyes glued to the ceiling. That’s when it started to hurt. When the lump in my throat obstructed my ability to breathe. When my eyes welled up with tears I’d kept hidden for years. When I realized the façade of numbness I’d worn like a badge of honor is the very thing that drove those I love away from me. Then I realized… I had the power to yell “cut!” this time.

No longer a washed up child star, I now choose not to fall prey to the raging sea of apathy that can sometimes crash over the campus. I attend rallies on campus and encourage others to join me. I try to attend every guest speaker lecture I possibly can, regardless of whether or not the speakers’ beliefs coincide with mine. I no longer hide behind the shroud of my confirmation biases; I welcome information that may bring about cognitive dissonance.

Even some of the best actors and actresses in Hollywood take on bad roles. If Ben Affleck can be forgiven for Gigli , I can put The Numbness behind me. As I prepare for this exciting new chapter in my life, I will not succumb to the same apathetic whirlwind as I had in the past. So now, the stage is set. The lights are beaming.

Matt Damon may or may not have a cameo.

I was sitting in my 3 rd period French class in 2008 at Cedar Bluff High School when there was an announcement.

“Allison Rugby, please report to the first floor office.”

The summons was from the Athletic Director, John Harrison, a lumbering man with a high-pitched Southern accent. For no good reason, we were all terrified of him. He stared me up and down with deep brown eyes. He took off his glasses, and pulled out several pieces of paper from his desk drawer. He seemed to be more nervous than I was. I don’t remember the exact words, but they went something like this: “I, uh, see you have signed up to try out for the ice hockey team.” More shuffling of papers. “You are the only girl trying out for the team, so we’re going to need to get permission from the school and from your doctor.”

I was 15 years old. I was just shy of five feet tall and weighed 90 pounds. The boys trying out were, on average 60 pounds heavier and towered at least six inches over me. I looked more like a ballerina than a hockey player. John wasn’t a male chauvinist; he didn’t want me to get hurt. But this is something I wanted. I played girls ice hockey growing up, and I was good at it, and I loved to play. Now I wanted to play with the boys.

My mother was furious – the boys didn’t have to get special permission from the school to try out for a sports team – but I jumped through all John’s hoops. During tryouts, I more than held my own, but on the last day, the head coach pulled me aside.

“Allison, I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re too small to compete with these boys.”

I was glad I had my helmet on, so he wouldn’t see my tears. At first I flirted with quitting. I stopped practicing with my girl’s travel team. If I couldn’t make the Varsity team, I didn’t want to play. But once the initial hurt was gone, I got angry. I wasn’t going to let one coach ruin my hockey career. I told myself I had a year. A year to get better and stronger. For the next 12 months I was on the ice at least 5 days a week. I had my own skating coach, and I was either running or at the gym every day.

At the end of the last day of tryouts the following year, the new head coach pulled me aside as I was skating off the ice. I thought to myself, not again . He put his right hand on my shoulder and smiled, something he didn’t do often.

He said, “So how about number 26 for you?”

The first person I called was my mom. I could hardly make out the words. “I made the team,” I said. She was excited for me, but not surprised.

It never got easy. When I was featured on the local news website, one reader posted a comment: “Girls like Allison ruin the sport of ice hockey.” I was a team member but I was never really on the team. When we traveled the boys shared rooms, I stayed by myself. I had to get dressed alone in a women’s lavatory stall while the boys shared a locker room. I was never made to feel part of the team. I was passionate about the sport, but could never figure out how to bridge that gap of belonging.

Playing with the boys had its rewards, however. After my high school career ended, I was given the opportunity to play on the women’s team at the University of South Dakota, where I became one of the team captains and led my team to the national tournament four years in a row. There was never any question about my belonging. In my first game as a freshman, I scored the game-winning goal. The senior captain handed me the puck and said, “Welcome to the squad, Allison.”

I was surrounded by the mixture of the Harry Potter theme song playing on my basement’s television and the winds that were blowing away people’s homes. Our plan was distraction through family movies until the crunching sound of our caving roof rudely shifted our attention. In one instant, Hurricane Sandy took control. I followed the faint screams of my parents through the smoke. Outside, my mother had called 911. “Ma’am, there are other homes far worse than yours right now. I am sorry, we are saving our evacuation vehicles for higher affected areas.” Behind her, I wondered how there were places possibly worse than the sight of the walls of our house collapsing.

The usually pristine streets of Westchester, New York, were barren except for tree trunks lying under fallen traffic lights. We pulled into the local Westchester Hyatt, which suddenly seemed less extravagant. We had no bags to empty, so were lead to our room with a pitiful look from the concierge. Room 201 had two beds, one bathroom, and a mini fridge. It smelled of those who stayed before us mixed with hotel laundry detergent.

Two years later, I was returning home for Thanksgiving break. The autumn leaves had changed color and the smell of winter was slowly approaching. The Westchester streets had returned to their polished state, cars were honking, and families were arriving. If I closed my eyes for one moment, it almost felt normal. I opened the glass doors to the hotel, went up the elevator, into Room 201. I was home. The small room held my mother, aged with anxiety, sheltering tears from my angry father. Their sadness and frustration with the seemingly permanent situation drowned their true personalities. My brother had become silent with his dreams once he realized that without a foundation at home, he didn’t want to go away to begin his collegiate journey. My family became as unrecognizable as the room that housed them.

I made it my mission to find those homes in higher affected areas that the 911 man spoke of. I volunteered with Habitat for Humanity at a site in Brigantine, New Jersey. The woman there, with eyes as tired as my mothers, smiled with joy as we removed the foundation of where her home used to exist. “Before Sandy, I had it made. And now I just want to be home.” She had so much hope in her eyes, yet with so little to hope for. She approached me in a whisper, acknowledging that she could tell I’d seen a scene like this before. I had never been so thankful for my hotel room as I did in that moment.

Losing control causes stress on relationships, society, and life. I personally saw my family deteriorate as they waited three years to be fully compensated for their losses by our insurance company. With strong backbones, I watched women who lost their homes and were losing control of their families power through without any promise of normalcy in the near future. I want to practice law to instill control in the lives of those who feel out of order.

DIVERSITY STATEMENTS

Moving from New York City to a small Southern town of 7,000, I realized I was different. Although New York was incredibly diverse, I did not understand the true meaning of diversity until I experienced the lack of it in Swainsboro, Georgia. I remember Mrs. Zan, my third grade teacher, defining it: “Different, but good.” She then singled me out: “See, Amal’s diverse because she prays to a different God than the rest of us.” Religion was so deeply ingrained into the culture there that my God became more important than any other identifier. At eight years old teachers were asking why I didn’t go to church and my peers were convinced I was going to Hell. It was as if I was speaking my native Urdu when I explained countless times that I pray to the same God and Muslims believe in Jesus as well. I struggled to defend my culture and religion while simultaneously learning it for the first time.

At home, I fell in love with the beautiful stories of how the prophet Muhammad (pbuh) would treat everyone with dignity and respect, even those who doubted him and scorned his faith. The struggles of acceptance in my young life mirrored his journey as we were both living in a society where our faiths were rejected. I could only try to follow his example: stay true to what I believe in and everything would fall into place. Unfortunately, at the time I did not have the emotional strength to combat what felt like the whole town shunning me. It seemed as if “outsider” was written on my forehead next to the chicken-pox scar resembling the traditional Indian bindi . My childhood quickly became consumed with anger and confusion. I was angry that my father brought me to a place where no one could understand me, and I couldn’t fathom why my parents would work so hard to come to America and then move to this low-income rural town.

It has taken me ten years to understand why I spent my childhood in Swainsboro, and I realize that what most shaped me was not what happened in that little town, but why. Completing his medical residency in New York gave my father many opportunities, yet he chose to work at a federal health center to provide care for low-income populations. He saw a path that would make a real difference and nothing else mattered, not the size of his paycheck or where he would raise his family. His care extended beyond physical healing; I would go to his clinic after school and watch him not only work to mend his patient’s physical pains but also do his best to relieve some of their circumstances. With his help, my sister and I created a free pantry in the waiting room and over the weekends he would send us to help his older patients clean their clients’ homes. Growing up, these were not acts of service, rather, our father ingrained this into our way of life.

Although I was challenged growing up, I will forever be indebted to my father for showing me how beautiful it is to choose a life where I put others before myself. My experiences in Georgia have never left me; they’ve given me a perspective of my place in the world by giving me the opportunity to make a real difference in my community. As I’ve grown, I’ve dedicated my undergraduate years to learning about the barriers to social justice and legal care that are just as strong as the medical barriers I witnessed so many years ago. I’ve realized just how comprehensive these issues are; they cannot only be fixed by a good bill of health. Through a legal education, I hope to obtain a holistic understanding of deep real-world issues that will equip me with the tools and experiences necessary to break down these barriers and be a part of the solution.

In Swainsboro my father not only saved lives but he taught me the importance of using my education and career for a purpose greater than myself. I can only dream to make a fraction of the impact he has made as I pursue a career that will enable me to provide protections to the same low-income communities and marginalized populations I was raised with.

Once my father made us a dinner so unappetizing that my mother asked, “Is this Pol Pot, again?” It seems morbid to joke about the genocidal regime leader whose social engineering efforts resulted in the deaths of two million Cambodians, but it was my mother’s way of minimizing the trauma she carries. The grief that she and the other women in my life shoulder manifests itself in various ways: my mother copes with her insomnia by scrubbing every inch of our home, usually multiple times over; my grandmother mistrusts everyone outside of our family; and my aunts hoard as if shortages are perpetually looming. Most recently, they all stocked for the coronavirus pandemic with eerie calmness.

Witnessing the effects of my family’s undiscussed and undiagnosed mental health disorders, I continually attempt to make sense of my feelings of empathy and guilt. Family vacations, during which my parents shared most of their painful memories, were filled with equal parts excitement and mourning. It was difficult to enjoy Disney World knowing that my mother was not much older than I was when she was starved, overworked, and lost her father and two siblings. When I eventually learned about survivor’s guilt, I wondered if it could span generations. Just as my parents’ strength could be inherited, so too could their trauma and suffering. There are two sides to survivorship, but one of them is only shown in private.

Also passed down is the burden of injustice. To date, only three Khmer Rouge officials have been convicted in trials marked by corruption and delay, and countless lower-ranking ex-cadres will never face repercussions. Legacy projects – archives centers and memorials – have not been realized, and victims have not seen appropriate redress. As my grandmother’s bouts of amnesia become more frequent, I feel agitated for her and other aging Khmer Rouge victims, most of whom are not functionally literate and unable to record their stories. Without their accounts, education and memorialization are impossible, and intergenerational dialogue between survivors and second generation individuals like myself will continue to be stifled.

As a daughter of genocide survivors, I am sensitive to those who struggle to adjust mentally and culturally. My determination to serve people with experiences similar to my family’s, and to help the world understand what they endured, has shaped my education and career goals. With a law degree, I will be better equipped to create a platform of diverse perspectives, aimed at providing minority groups with social services and spaces where they can heal, gain confidence to tell their stories, and move forward.

In the beautiful Dominican Republic, smelling the sweet maduros cooking on the stove or watching people dance bachata in the street, I felt 100% Latina. Having traits such as darker skin and curly hair never dawned on me as something different, because I was surrounded by people who looked like me. Over 70% of the Dominican population identifies as Afro-Latin, and with a Dominican mom and an African-American father, I proudly consider myself Afro-Dominican, a term which acknowledges both my European and African ancestry.

However, when I would return to my hometown of Fayetteville, North Carolina after visiting the Dominican Republic, I am greeted with the same statement: “You don’t look Latina”. After hearing this several times, I began to feel alienated from my Latin culture. I grew up watching my telenovelas, which are popular soap operas primarily filmed in Latin America, often depicting main characters with fair skin and long wavy hair. I started questioning whether I could claim my culture because I didn’t look like the gorgeous Latinas in these shows. At one point, I refused to speak Spanish in public, and I straightened my natural hair so my appearance would align more with what the majority Latino community looked like.

After living in Northern Virginia’s diverse and inclusive environment during college, I now know I don’t have to identify with only one culture or one race. I am not Latina or African-American — I am both, and I am honored to claim two cultures as my own. Through my experiences as an Afro-Dominican woman, I realized that it’s okay not to fit a particular category. My culture isn’t shown in my appearance—it’s illustrated in the merengue music I listen to, the Latin dishes I eat such as La Bandera , and through the Spanish language. I hope I can help other minorities to not only embrace but to love their cultures, as I have mine.

A loud grunt fills the barbell section of the gym as I lock out 285 pounds on the deadlift platform. The room overflows with roars as my powerlifting friends shout, “COME ON, UP UP UP!” At this moment the gym becomes my second home and I am completely immersed. As I drop the bar on the platform it explodes like two magnetic forces that cannot be separated. I love the way the hand chalk dissipates in the air like magic, and the facial expressions are always at an overload from the strain of lifting several hundred pounds. Powerlifting is frustrating, terrifying, focus driven, and passion centered. For me it has created a platform where I am empowered to be a strong woman. But this journey has been anything but easy.

The first hurdle was my parents’ disapproval. My mother and father come from a traditional Salvadorian background where women do not lift weights. In their world, women do not even go to the gym regularly. Coming home from my first lifting session with my brother, I told my mom, “I did something at the gym today but don’t get mad.” She replied, “What happened? Are you okay?” I explained that I had decided to lift heavy weights with Jr., my brother. At first, she was puzzled, and she was concerned about my ankle surgery that I had the year before. One that had required multiple surgeries and steel plates. She was also concerned that I would not become a traditional Salvadorian woman. She recruited my sister, who said, “Won’t you look like a man if you lift weights?” Cue the concern for my slim physique turning into a massive hulk. It was very important to them that I looked traditionally feminine. Otherwise I would not get married, have babies, and create a household in the future.

A month later I made a video of my deadlift personal record of 225 pounds. My parents could see that my technique was proper and safe, and that my physique did not balloon into something that would infringe our Salvadorian customs.

My family’s concerns are allayed, but powerlifting continues to be the gift that keeps on giving and there are more hurdles, awaiting me like landmines. Men at the gym feel compelled to say, “Why is your stance so wide? You are going to injury yourself!” They cannot imagine that a woman could know anything about the powerlifting sport. They are speaking out of some misguided notions of what a woman can do, and I have learned to educate them. My intersectionality in being a woman, an abled-bodied powerlifter, and a Salvadorian have allowed me to continue to defy societal standards.

Storytelling is my ideal form of expression. My favorite medium is a bright red bus. At Revolution, I design and execute Rise of the Rest bus tours across the country, visiting five cities in five days, with the mandate to invest capital in and shine a spotlight on underrepresented people and places. In Memphis, I worked with a first-time founder using blockchain technology to properly credit minority sound engineers on hit records. In San Juan, I advised an urban farmer who was scaling her micro-cultivation techniques to reverse the rising trend of imported food to Puerto Rico. My position allows me to build platforms underneath of a diverse array of entrepreneurs in unexpected places. However, these entrepreneurs are not on a level playing field because venture investment disproportionately flows to founders who are white, male, and living on the coasts.

I also happen to possess all three of those privileged identities. And while privilege is not bad in and of itself, I do believe that I have a responsibility to change the standards by which society unfairly values aspects of my identity over others. That is a commitment I make to my future classmates at LAW SCHOOL NAME and to the broader CITY community. It is also a standard to which I have held myself to on my path to law school.

My personal viewpoint is straightforward – I see opportunity through the lens of geography, a perspective that has been influenced by Professor Raj Chetty’s research on intergenerational economic mobility. As a Plastino Scholar, I conducted policy research for under-resourced public-school leaders in rural communities in West Virginia and Illinois on how to leverage federal funding to provide free breakfast and lunch for all students regardless of parental income, replacing the harmful full- or reduced-price bifurcation. My graduate school dissertation showed how the circumnavigation of school district boundaries by upper-middle class parents is a factor in the rapid gentrification of one of DC’s poorest neighborhoods. And as a consultant, I bypassed opportunities to work with traditional clients to instead join a social enterprise in crafting culturally-relevant programs to increase safe sanitation practices in dense urban areas of Pune, India. In each of these place-based experiences, I have tried to acknowledge the privilege with which I come to the table and recognize how complicated geographic dynamics change the calculus when building equitable solutions.

I believe LAW SCHOOL has differentiated itself in making diversity a shared cultural value through what is said, written, and rewarded. The rich experiences of the students and faculty provide the ideal environment for collisions that result in new ways of solving complex problems. I hope to engage in that process because the value I have gained from a more contextualized understanding of the role of place in determining outcomes is ultimately a waste if just for me.

My elementary school classmates often asked me, “What’s wrong with your eyes?” I would respond with a shoulder shrug because I didn’t speak English well enough at the age of nine to explain. In middle and high school, however, I could explain, “I was diagnosed with Myasthenia gravis, or lazy eye, a neuromuscular disease that causes weakness to my eye muscles.” Myasthenia gravis is an incurable disease. The most obvious sign of this illness is having lazy eyes: my eyes wandered all over the place in their sockets.

I was 12 years old when my Argentinean eye doctor explained that he could correct my affliction with cosmetic surgery. He told my parents, “Yo lo puede arreglar con sirugia” (I can help her.) I jumped out of the chair in excitement and said “When can you do it.” After being mocked for so long, at last I had hope. What followed shattered me. My mother’s said, “No ella esta bien como dios la mando all mundo, vinimos aqui para ver lentes de vista.”(No, she’s fine how God sent her. We just came here for glasses.) I looked at the floor in silence the rest of the appointment. I was furious with my mother for denying me a chance to be normal, even though I knew that devout Catholics like her believe that fixing your appearance with surgery is a sign of having weak faith in God.

My mother brought her Catholicism from El Salvador when we moved to the U.S. Living under her strict regimen meant no sleepovers, no play dates, and no birthday parties. In those three years I changed. I became more hostile, sad, and lonely. My father noticed this and asked me, “Es por los ojos vea,” and I said yes, it’s because of my eyes. About four months after that conversation, and three years after my mother denied me cosmetic surgery, my dad said, “You’re coming to work with me, so be ready tomorrow morning.” When we got into the car, he said, “We are getting your eyes fixed.” I couldn’t remember the last time I felt that excited about anything. My life was finally starting!

When my mom found out what we had done, she was angry at my dad for going against our faith. She also said that if the surgery failed, I would be completely blind, and my vanity would be the cause. My dad and I ignored her. On surgery day it was only the two of us. After surgery I opened my eyes, and the doctor said, “I’m sorry, Melina, but the surgery was not successful. We have to wait for the swelling to go down and see why we couldn’t fix it.”

The pain of an eye surgery is horrific. When I would cry my eye bled, and it would hurt even more to know all that pain amounted to nothing. But I knew I had to continue fighting. After three weeks my dad asked, “Are you willing to put yourself through this again” and I said, “Absolutely, I’m not stopping.” The second surgery to fix my lazy eyes worked. And to my surprise, when I came out of surgery my mom was waiting for me. “You are the most resilient person I have ever known,” she said.

Last year I realized that I no longer had Myasthenia gravis. My doctor could not explain how this could have happened. In fact it was theoretically impossible. My mom was in the physician’s office with me at the time, and we exchanged glances. We knew exactly what had happened.

My father enlisted in the U.S. Army to escape life in Isabela, Puerto Rico. He met his future wife while stationed in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. My mother would climb a mango tree outside the Army base and watch the soldiers play volleyball. My father noticed her, and after dating for 6 months they married. My mother would find the opportunity of a lifetime when she moved to the United States with my father. She hoped her family could visit her here, but under U.S. immigration law they did not have sufficient ties to Honduras to ensure that they would not overstay their visas. She is still trying to bring them here, but in the current political climate, we doubt that will ever happen.

My Honduran family lives in poverty, so we regularly send them money. Also, I send sneakers to my little cousins because my aunts and uncles cannot afford them. Occasionally, I talk to my relatives on the phone and see photos of my cousins, but my father won’t allow me to travel there because Honduras is one of the most dangerous countries in the world. Gangs such as MS-13 and Barrio 18 have virtually free rein because the drug trade has given them so much power. As long as these gangs are in charge, I will never meet my Honduran family, and that is a tragedy for me and my family.

I visit my father’s Puerto Rican family every four years. In fact, I celebrated my 20th birthday with them. However, my Puerto Rican relatives still live at an economic level far below my own, so we regularly send them money as well. When visiting, we have to adjust to unexpected power and water outages and the absence of air-conditioning. Although Hurricane Maria struck in 2017, the damage to roads, buildings, and power lines is still widespread.

Experiencing what it’s like to live in these conditions has helped me realize how much I take my life for granted. At times I feel guilty because I know I have had opportunities that are denied to my cousins. After we settled in suburban San Antonio, Texas, where many white and Mexican families are very well off, I attended excellent schools from an early age, took dance and piano lessons, and went on family vacations to Italy, Hawaii, Jamaica, the Caymans, Disney World, and many other places. I understand that these experiences have been possible because of my parents’ sacrifices and hard work, which gave their children better lives than they experienced.

I understand that Hispanic women in the U.S. face difficulties. We are stereotyped as stay-at-home mothers, janitors, maids, or agricultural laborers, not as aspiring lawyers. Even my relatives are surprised that I plan on attending law school. Another issue for me is that discussions about the U.S.-Mexico border in my homeland security courses have been a sensitive topic. Most of my classmates support harsher immigration laws, as if they aren’t strict enough already. In one classroom discussion, only an African American girl and I opposed our predominately white classmates’ support for Trump’s border wall. These discussions are extremely uncomfortable since these laws have prevented me from meeting my Honduran family. In fact, most Hispanics are outraged by the way President Trump has demonized us, as if we are all “criminals, drug dealers, [and] rapists.” Hispanics can also relate to the pain caused by family separation. I am experiencing that right now.

Despite these concerns, I am lucky to be an Hispanic in America rather than an Hispanic in my parents’ home countries. However people label me, I am fortunate to have had my life, and I want to make my parents proud because of their unflinching support for my hopes of becoming a lawyer. I also want to challenge stereotypes about Hispanic women by earning a law degree, so I have always taken my academics seriously. In law school I hope to focus on national security law. My father was involved in security efforts with the military during the Cold War, and my brother now works for the National Security Agency. They have inspired me to pursue a similar career. I hope to begin that journey at the [X] Law School

I am a Female Muslim Lebanese Palestinian American. My mother’s family is Lebanese, and my father’s family is Palestinian. My paternal grandfather, Ahmed, grew up in Palestine. In 1948, Israel took over Palestine and forced my grandfather’s family to move to Lebanon and become refugees. Ahmed did not accept the lifestyle of a refugee, so he started working in hopes of moving his family out of the refugee camps. Ahmed began work as a delivery man for an appliance store but was not able to advance because he was not a Lebanese citizen. Eventually, Ahmed met my mother’s grandfather, who brought him into the family and gave him citizenship, so he could start working in Lebanon. My grandfather was then able to start a business buying appliances from manufacturers and selling them to customers.

As much as my grandfather suffered, he was one of the lucky ones that were able to get papers to work in Lebanon which allowed him to get his family out in time before the refugee camp massacre. The refugees who could not leave were killed in the Sabra and Chatila Massacre during September 16-18 in 1982. My father’s cousins were killed during this raid, but his aunts lived because the women and children were deeper in the camps. The militia was killing the refugees with knives and axes instead of guns to keep the slaughtering quiet. On the third day of the massacre, the militia gave up and started shooting. After the massacre, the camp was bulldozed, destroying any evidence of the killings.

My Palestinian relatives are still living in Lebanon as refugees because they were never able to get papers. The seaport explosion that occurred in Lebanon on August 4, 2020, left many of my family and relatives on my mother’s and father’s side displaced and living in the streets. I was lucky enough to get in contact with my aunt on my mother’s side to see if they were still alive because they live only a few blocks from the bomb site. I have a cousin around my age that should be getting prepared for his final year at college but is instead helping clean up the streets of Lebanon from the explosion.

After all that happened to my grandfather, he decided to move his family to Miami, Florida in the late ’70s in hopes of a better future and education that he never received. My father and his siblings all completed their bachelor’s, and my father completed a Master’s in Business. He worked as a food and beverage director for the Ritz in Miami. A few months after I was born, my father received an offer for a position in D.C. Months later September 11 happened and my dad lost his contract ending his hotel managing career. My dad, like his father, had responsibilities and mouths to feed, so he worked as a substitute teacher, a construction worker, a Sears employee, etc. to make ends meet. After six years of unsteady income and odd jobs, he was able to secure his current position in the Saudi Arabia Embassy as a consultant.

The biggest reason I can pursue law is because of my grandfather’s sacrifices. While I am grateful to an American citizen, I am proud of my diverse Arab heritage.

[1] See this link . More information is available at the Patriot Pre-Law Program website .

[2] See this link .

[3] See this link .

[4] The students whose work is represented here have given me permission to use their statements anonymously. To that end, I have removed any personally identifiable information in accordance with the Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act . While this has required changes in names, places, and certain details, the story elements and prose belongs solely to the students.

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The Law School Personal Statement: Tips and Templates

Photo by Alejandro Escamilla on Unsplash

Published February 28, 2024

Editor's Note: This post was originally published in July 2019 and has been updated for accuracy and comprehensiveness.

The stress of cramming for the LSAT (or GRE) is behind you, and you survived the intolerably long wait for your score. You have researched schools, requested transcripts, secured recommendation letters, and updated your resume. Now only the dreadful personal statement is preventing you from hitting the submit button.

So, you might ask:  Does anyone even read the personal statement?  Yes .  Could it be a make or break deciding factor?   Definitely . 

While your standardized test score(s) and GPA are good law school success predictors, non-numerical factors such as your resume, recommendation letters and the personal statement give the Admissions Committee an idea of your individuality and how you might uniquely contribute to the law school. Most importantly, your personal statement is a sample of your writing, and strong writing skills are critically important to success throughout law school and in legal practice. 

If the thought of writing about yourself makes you cringe, adhere to these 5 tips to avoid disaster. 

BONUS :  Scroll down to review 5 law school personal statement samples. 

1. Make it personal

The Admissions Committee will have access to your transcripts and recommendation letters, and your resume will provide insight into your outside-the-classroom experiences, past and current job responsibilities, and other various accomplishments. So, the personal statement is your best opportunity to share something personal they don’t already know. Be sure to provide insight into who you are, your background and how it’s shaped the person you are today, and finally, who you hope to be in the future.

2. Be genuine

If you haven’t faced adversity or overcome major life obstacles, it’s okay. Write honestly about your experiences and interests. And whatever you do, don’t fabricate, or exaggerate—the reader can often see through this. Find your unique angle and remember that a truthful and authentic essay is always your best approach.

Tip: Don’t use big words you don’t understand. This will certainly do more harm than good.

3. Tackle the “Why?”

Get creative but remember to home in on the why . Unless the personal statement prompt has specific requirements, it is recommended you include what influenced you to pursue a legal education. Consider including what impact you hope to make in the world post-graduation.

4. Keep it interesting & professional

The last thing you want to do is bore the reader, so keep it interesting, personable, and engaging. A touch of humor is okay, but keep in mind that wit and sarcasm can be easily misinterpreted. Demonstrate maturity, good judgment and tact and you won’t end up offending the reader.

5. Edit & proofread

The importance of enrolling and graduating strong writers cannot be stressed enough, so don’t forget the basics! Include an introduction, supporting paragraphs and a closing. Write clearly, concisely, and persuasively. Take time to edit, proofread--walk away from it--then edit and proofread again before submitting. 

Tip :   Consider consulting a Pre-Law Advisor or mentor to help you proofread and edit. Sound easy enough? It is if you take it seriously. Don’t think you have to craft the “best” or most competitive personal statement, just the most “genuine” personal statement. Remember, there is nobody with your exact set of life experiences, background, or point of view. Just do you.

Guest blogger  Lindsay Gladney  is the Vice Dean for Admissions at UB School of Law. 

Office of Admissions University at Buffalo School of Law 408 O'Brian Hall, Buffalo, NY 14260 716-645-2907 [email protected]

Learn more about the law school admissions process and School of Law community through an individual meeting with one of our staff members.

[Learn More]

Submit this form to receive an application fee waiver.

Additional Resources:   

• Law School Application Checklist: Everything You Need To Know
• Law School Application Advice to Ignore
• When Should I Submit My Law School Application: Timeline & Tips
• 5 Benefits of Attending a State Law School

Bonus: 5 Law School Personal Statement Samples

1. this applicant writes about their experience hiking a mountain peak, what it taught them, and how it reaffirmed their affinity for the natural environment..

As I trudged my way up the path, only about a mile from the peak, I could not escape the creeping sense of self-doubt entering my mind. That day I had willingly accompanied my best friend on a hike up a “fourteener” (a mountain peak in Colorado with at least 14,000 feet of elevation). With a false sense of bravado, I jumped at the idea because I considered myself to be an avid hiker and in decent physical condition despite my inexperience at that altitude. Nearingthe top, with my head pounding and my knees weakening, my confidence had been shaken by the altitude sickness that started to take hold of me. I began asking myself questions like, “Will I finish?”, “Why did I even agree to this?”, and “Is this even worth it?”. However, as I took a sip of my water to rest and collect myself, it registered that the opportunity to encounter such natural wonder might not strike again. I knew that if I turned back, I would regret it and possibly never have the chance again. Accordingly, I decided to do my best to finish the trek.

Even though I was still in considerable discomfort, that sensation seemed to fade away when I finally reached the peak. I became enamored with the magnificence of the surrounding mountain range and the epic view it had to offer. The peaks extended out forever, some stretching high enough to look as though one could reach up and touch the clouds themselves. Crisp green alpine forests totally engulfed the surrounding valleys and eventually led down into the crystal blue water of the lakes and rivers below. Cliché though it may be words truly cannot do justice to such a surreal experience.

As I reflect on the experience, I am proud to have accomplished such a physically challenging adventure, but perhaps more grateful for what the hike taught me about myself. First, I gained a sense of confidence in my ability to persevere despite difficult circumstances and especially when faced with self-doubt. Indeed, I have drawn from the experience on numerous occasions to remind myself that I am capable of enduring whatever challenges life may throw at me. Secondly, I believe this hike to have been a defining moment that reaffirmed and strengthened my affinity for the natural environment. I developed this fondness from an early age where much of my childhood was spent outdoors, whether it was fishing and camping with my father or hiking and playing sports with my friends. However, the wonder I felt on that peak in the Rockies was something I seldom experienced growing up in Buffalo, New York. It is a feeling that I hope all can feel at some point in their lives and partly why I believe it to be so important that we do all we can to protect and preserve the environment. The importance of conservation is greater now than ever amid the challenges posed by issues such as pollution and global climate change.

During my undergraduate coursework, I was able to take a class in Environmental Law, where I learned about state and federal statutes that regulate water, soil, air pollution, resource conservation and recovery, and actions of the Environmental Protection Agency. For example, we studied the Clean Air Act and how it is applied during legal disputes to enforce national air quality standards. Participating in this course showed me that there is an opportunity to apply my enthusiasm for the environment into the legal profession as it is my eventual goal to represent those damaged by pollution. I believe studying at the University of Buffalo School of Law will allow me to pursue my goals and make a positive contribution towards environmental problems by serving those who have been affected in the local and global community. Although the experience will be challenging, I am excited for the opportunity, motivated by a passion for the environment and knowing that I possess the ability to persevere in the face of doubt.

2. How one applicant’s experience interviewing incarcerated individuals shaped their understanding of our justice system and influenced them to pursue policy work.

Above me, in a giant watchtower, stood a large man holding a semi-automatic rifle while staring down at me. I heard the echoing clink of a prison lock, allowing me to pass through a massive barbed-wire fence. Although I begged and pleaded for the opportunity to interview an inmate at a maximum-security prison, I have never felt more intimidated than I did in this moment. I was only seventeen years old, sitting in a visitation room filled with orange-suited men. An overwhelming sense of fear crowded my thoughts. In fact, I was nearly paralyzed by the environment I had found myself in. I could hardly conduct an interview, but thankfully, my interviewee, Mr. Thomas Gant, had about twenty years of stories to tell. He ambitiously shared

first-hand accounts of prison fights, housing raids, gang activity, and injustices that he has endured during his sentence of twenty-five years to life. His stories were captivating and filled with raw emotion. It was evident that he too, felt a similar sense of fear each and every day.

Fast forward to my last semester of undergrad, where I spent four months at the Ingham County Jail working with incarcerated men and women to prepare them to transition into our communities. I interviewed dozens of orange-suited men each week and loved every second of it.

I was eager to contribute to a program that helped break the vicious cycle of incarceration and confront the plethora of barriers to reentry. I often think about Mr. Gant and how his stories ignited a passion within me that still drives my ambition to this day. If I had the chance, I would thank him for inspiring me to pursue every opportunity to help incarcerated men and women, such as those at the Ingham County Jail. I would share with him the knowledge from my academic and professional experiences, in hopes of keeping his life on track upon release, and most of all, in hopes of protecting him from the fear we shared on the day I met him.

My variety of field experiences and my success with academic rigor has surely prepared me for law school. I have completed several other justice-related internships which have provided me with a comprehensive understanding of how our justice system operates in practice, which often deviates from how our justice system operates in textbooks. These field experiences led me to pursue a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice, where my classes focused on the history of corrections and how other countries are utilizing confinement to successfully rehabilitate offenders. Academia quickly taught me that the majority of people simply accept our prison system for what it is, and very few question its punitive and unjust nature. Fortunately, my bachelor’s degree in social relations and policy allowed me to challenge conventional wisdom and confront policy issues as they relate to factors of class, race, ethnicity, gender, and religion – all of which exist in our prison system. My professors constantly pushed me to find ways that the American corrections system could change the course of its future. I spent countless hours researching the topic of injustice behind bars, writing numerous analytical essays and policy proposals, and presenting interdisciplinary conclusions to rooms filled with aspiring politicians. I look forward to perfecting these skills, sharing my experiences to enhance classroom discussions, and engaging in additional field experiences and clinics while in law school.

Ultimately, I am confident that my career fulfilment will lie in policy making and advocacy for those who have faced injustice within our prison system and in the free world. My interest in studying law and my decision to apply to University at Buffalo School of Law are a result of my longstanding enthusiasm to advocate for and to improve the lives of people impacted by incarceration. The University at Buffalo will provide me with both the necessary education as well as the hands-on experience to ensure that I will confidently enter the legal world prepared to contest the many issues of justice reform.  

3. How one applicant found their voice, and why a stale piece of toast is displayed alongside their college diploma.

Growing up, I was nonplussed by the idea of awards. While other friends entered cut-throat competitions over grades and the attention of our coaches, I cared more about preserving my friendships with people than beating them on any field or test. Whenever I found myself winning, I tended to remain quiet about my victories. Most of the time.

In the waning weeks of my junior year of high school, my tireless U.S. History teacher – Mr. Welgoss– kept us showing up to class each day by breaking us into debate teams and having individuals from each side square off against each other around designated topics. The winner would take away a most delicious reward: A single slice of white bread toast. Pun intended. This was when I learned that I was to define the best Supreme Court Cases in U.S. History and then defend my stance in front of the entire class. Alone. I was completely terrified.

This is the perfect place to share just a bit about high school me. You likely knew me well. I was that kid curled into a corner at the back of the classroom in an effort to make myself smaller. During the first week of each school year, I sized up my teachers, figured out which of them was into cold calling on students, and positioned myself within the room accordingly. While I was a dedicated student and history geek who loved to read, I was not a particularly extroverted one. There was no part of this assignment that I was excited about.

To make matters worse, I was assigned Marbury v. Madison, perhaps one of the most boring cases in the eyes of a bunch of fresh faced politically active 16-year-olds who had just spent an entire year learning about the societal gravity of cases like Brown v. Board of Education and Roe v. Wade. Still, I did careful research. I composed a meticulous claim. I didn’t want to embarrass myself, so I did the work that I needed to.

Along the way, I fell in love with the assignment. This was the first time I experienced that rare moment as a researcher when everything seems to click. I’d never had that moment as a research and argument writer before, and I have been chasing that feeling since. I love leaning into knotty problems, following research, and learning processes that help me untie them, and then, showing others how to unscramble crossed lines themselves, when they need to.

So, you likely know how this story ends. I won the debate. That piece of toast, miraculously mold free after six years, sits on my bookshelf alongside my college diploma, reminding me of the moment I not only found my passion, but my voice.

Since the moment I won that single slice of super processed food that still looks as fresh as the day I brought it home, there have been other moments that solidified my decision to study law. As a freshman at Nazareth University, my newfound interest in the law inspired my decision-making as I chose my major and began coursework that I inevitably fell in love with. When I started my internship at a local non-profit during undergraduate, I saw how my research and application of the law could help me to advocate for marginalized communities. My desire to

practice law was again upheld when I began paralegal work for Berardi Immigration Law the day after I earned my degree. My dedication to this work has taught me that there are often a variety of solutions for complicated problems. Many assume that creativity is something you’re born with. Experience has taught me it's not quite this simple, though. Constraint often inspires creativity, and to me, this is what makes the law the most wonderful muse.

I’m the daughter of a writer and the sister of a designer. My great grandfather owned a hobby shop. I never enjoyed most of these things, and try as I might, any attempt to practice arts and crafts always ended badly and left me feeling like the least creative bird on my family tree. Imagine my surprise then, as the last few years of learning, work, and a piece of toast began revealing the creative nature of the law to me. Imagine my delight when I realized that I have certain strengths here, too.   

4. This applicant writes about their never-ending pursuit of knowledge and how pursuing law provides a practical outlet for their curiosity.

There are very few things in life that are more important to me than learning. I have been driven by curiosity, and the never-ending pursuit of knowledge has always been a great source of joy for me, both inside and outside of the classroom. I finished my undergraduate studies in December of 2019, with plans to work in France as a teacher that coming fall. I was beyond excited that I had been afforded an opportunity to pursue such a dear intellectual passion. The intervening pandemic meant that I had to make difficult decisions about the direction my future would take, and ultimately this meant setting aside some of my own ambitions in order to take care of my loved ones.

While my immediate post-graduation plans did not work out, I have never set aside my curiosity. If anything, the challenges of post-collegiate life have reaffirmed to me the vital importance of learning as a constant and on-going part of living. As a student of history and languages, many of my college peers nurtured plans of attending law school, and the idea of studying law has long interested me.

In June of 2022 I began working as a legal assistant at a small law firm in Queens. I hoped that job would give me a chance to learn about the legal field, while pushing me to grow as a professional. Being confronted with the vast complexity of the law has been a humbling experience, but also an endlessly intriguing one. At work, I relish any opportunity to learn more about the law, and I have found that the field is perfectly suited to the academic skills that I have spent my entire life building.

What is perhaps most exciting to me about the prospect of studying law is the idea of having a practical, real-world outlet for all the curiosity and scholarly instincts that I have nurtured throughout my life. Studying case law, building arguments based on evidence and legal research, using language itself as a tool; all these skills that I have seen to be so vital to the successful practice of law feel like natural extensions of the skills that I’ve developed across my life. Performing research was of course integral to my studying history, and combing through Westlaw as a legal assistant has often reminded me of the time I would spend searching through university archives as a student, looking for information to help me build my arguments. Having studied both History and French, I am very comfortable with interpreting language that feels unfamiliar or archaic, which is certainly a necessary skill to have when studying and practicing law.

The challenges of post-graduation life have led me to do a great deal of reflecting. I’ve been forced to ask myself what makes me feel fulfilled, and at the same time have had to evaluate my own strengths and weaknesses. I’ve found that there are no simple answers, but I can affirmatively say that I have the self-confidence, motivation, and ability to be an excellent law student.

5. How a Unified Basketball program inspired this applicant to pursue education law.

I never realized how great of an impact one policy could have on so many people until I was in high school. I knew how far-reaching the law was, but it became so much more apparent and personal when it began to impact the lives of my friends and classmates in the Unified program.

When I began high school, I was still a little shy, but I was sure that I wanted to get involved in things that made a difference in other people’s lives. It was through my involvement in Student Council that I was asked by the athletic director to help start up a program called Unified Basketball. I remember being called down to the Athletic Office one day out of the blue. I felt extremely confused. I had not previously played any school sports and I never would have expected to be asked to speak with the athletic director. I also wouldn’t have expected a meeting that lasted maybe fifteen minutes to serve as a great turning point in my life.

The Unified Basketball program is a cooperative team combining students with and without intellectual disabilities, run by the Special Olympics and New York state high school sports. From that first season, the Unified program quickly grew to become one of the best experiences of my life and it continues to shape me every day. In the second year of the program, we added a Unified Bowling team, and I helped create a Unified Club so that those who might also have physical limitations that would keep them from playing sports, could still benefit from the family created in the program.

Through this program I created connections with the members of the team and our coaches, and we effectively created a family and a community greater than ourselves. Because of these friendships which I had grown to value so much, it only hurt that much more when I learned from my coach that New York’s eligibility rules for high school sports would cause some of my teammates to be ineligible to play. Although they could remain in school until the age of twenty-one, they would not be able to play after they reached a certain age or had played for a certain amount of time. One of my friends was the first on our team to age out due to these guidelines and as a team we were devastated. These policies did not line up and although the original guidelines were intended to prevent unfair advantages in competition, this really wasn’t an issue with the Unified program. Thankfully, this policy was eventually changed by the state Board of Regents to allow my teammates to play once again.

There have been two indelible legacies created through the Unified program. First, I have been able to see the impact that the program has had on students in our district’s special education program. I saw this happen for one of my teammates, who was first introduced to me by his aide as being nonverbal. He was initially very shy but as he grew more comfortable with the game and his teammates, he came out of his shell. From that first season on his confidence grew and even when I see him now, over five years later, he will rush over to give me a high-five or a fist-bump and say “Hi!” Second, is the impact the program has on my district and the community at large. During my junior year of high school, our team performed the dance “The Wobble” at our pep rally, marking the first time that our special education students were included in the homecoming event. Even years later, this tradition has continued and the response from the school and community has been extraordinary.  

This experience shaped me as a person and shifted my interests in terms of career goals. I have had an interest in education and the social sciences since I was little, but being involved in the Unified program allowed me to better understand how these interests could connect and how I can make an impact. I want to pursue a law school education and become an attorney so that I can practice education law. I want to support students, faculty, and staff to create the best possible educational environments for our future generations.

[2024] 4 Law School Personal Statement Examples from Top Programs

by Talha Omer, MBA, M.Eng., Harvard & Cornell Grad

In personal statement samples by field.

In this article, I will discuss 4 law school personal statement samples. These statements have been written by successful applicants who gained admission to prestigious US Law schools like Yale, Harvard, and Stanford. The purpose of these examples is to demonstrate how prospective applicants like yourself can artfully integrate their passion, skills, and pertinent experiences into a captivating narrative.

* To further guide you on your law school application journey, I will not only present these personal statement samples but will also provide my expert review after each one. This includes an analytical feedback, a graded evaluation, and a detailed discussion of any identified weaknesses and strengths within the personal statement. Through this comprehensive analysis, I aim to provide a clearer understanding of what makes a compelling law school personal statement.

In the process of composing these personal statements, the applicants have drawn upon valuable insights from several of my previous writings on the subject. Furthermore, you are encouraged to utilize my prior works as a resource to aid you in crafting your own personal statement.

In those posts I’ve discussed the  art of constructing a captivating personal statement , and I’ve highlighted the  pitfalls to avoid  to ensure your law school essay leaves a positive impression.

I’ve also shared valuable tips on  structuring your personal statement for clarity and readability, not to mention  how to create a powerful opening  that grabs attention from the start. And let’s not forget about maintaining brevity while effectively telling your story, as well as offering a vast range of  personal statement examples  from different fields for reference.

And yes, do not forget to explore my  8-point framework  that anyone can use to self-evaluate their law school personal statement. Complementing this, I’ve also created a  7-point guide  to help you steer clear of potential traps and missteps in your personal statement.

I encourage you to explore these topics in depth, as they will be useful while we explore the sample personal statement for law schools.

In this Article

1) Research the Law School

2) outline your law school personal statement, 3) write a compelling introduction, 4) showcase your achievements and interests in law, 5) articulate your motivations for pursuing law, 6) highlight unique qualities for the legal field, 7) addressing potential weaknesses or gaps, 8) craft a persuasive conclusion, my in-depth feedback on sample 1, my in-depth feedback on sample 2, my in-depth feedback on sample 3, my in-depth feedback on sample 4, why do law schools require a personal statement, does every law school require a personal statement, what should you avoid in a law school personal statement, can i use the same personal statement for all law schools, should i put my name on my law school personal statement, should you brainstorm your law school personal statement, how to write a personal statement for law school.

Writing a personal statement for law school requires thorough research, a well-structured outline, and a captivating introduction. The following steps will guide you in crafting a coherent and compelling narrative that effectively showcases your journey and aspirations in the field of law. For a more detailed post, follow this ultimate guide on how to write a personal statement .

Begin by immersing yourself in extensive research about the law school you are applying to. Explore the institution’s website, paying close attention to its mission, curriculum, faculty expertise, and any unique offerings such as clinical programs or specialized courses. Familiarize yourself with the admission requirements and tailor your personal statement to highlight relevant qualifications.

Immerse yourself in the law school’s culture and gain insights from faculty members, current students, or alumni. Attend informational sessions or open houses to gather additional details. Reflect on how the law school aligns with your career goals in the legal field and incorporate this understanding into your personal statement, showcasing your dedication and suitability.

Before delving into writing your personal statement, create a comprehensive outline of its content. Begin with a captivating introduction , which could include a compelling anecdote, an impactful quote, or a statement that highlights your passion for the law.

For example: “Ever since I witnessed the transformative power of the law in securing justice for the vulnerable, I have been driven to pursue a legal career that upholds the principles of equity and fairness.”

Next, outline your academic achievements and relevant experiences, such as internships, research projects, or extracurricular activities that demonstrate your commitment to the field of law. Emphasize the skills you have developed and the honors you have received.

Articulate your motivations for pursuing a legal education, sharing your aspirations and long-term goals. Highlight unique strengths, such as critical thinking, analytical abilities, or effective communication skills. If necessary, address any potential concerns or gaps in your application, explaining the situation and showcasing your ability to overcome challenges.

Conclude by reiterating your passion and qualifications for the legal profession and express your enthusiasm for joining the law school. This structured approach will ensure a coherent and persuasive personal statement.

Begin your personal statement with a captivating introduction that immediately grabs the reader’s attention. Consider starting with an engaging anecdote, a thought-provoking quote, or a personal experience that sparked your interest in the law.

For instance: “In a world where justice often hangs in the balance, I recall the moment I witnessed a courtroom’s transformative power. The eloquence of the attorneys, the weight of their arguments, and the profound impact on the lives of those involved compelled me to pursue a legal career.”

Briefly introduce the central theme of your personal statement, whether it’s your passion for advocating for others, your commitment to upholding justice, or your desire to make a positive impact through the law. A compelling introduction sets the tone for the rest of your personal statement.

In your personal statement, focus on highlighting your academic and professional accomplishments that showcase your preparedness for law school. Discuss relevant internships, research projects, or academic achievements that demonstrate your commitment to the field.

For example: “During my internship at XYZ Law Firm, I had the privilege of working alongside experienced attorneys, analyzing complex legal cases and conducting in-depth legal research. This experience solidified my passion for legal advocacy and honed my ability to navigate intricate legal frameworks.”

Illustrate key achievements, such as publications, successful legal cases, or leadership roles within legal organizations. Explain how these experiences have shaped your interest in law and contributed to your growth and expertise in the field.

Clearly articulate your motivations for pursuing a legal education. Share personal experiences, challenges, or encounters that have fueled your desire to make a difference through the law.

For example: “Growing up in a community where access to justice was limited, I witnessed firsthand the disparities in legal representation. These experiences instilled in me a deep sense of responsibility to advocate for those who have been marginalized by the legal system.”

Outline your career goals and aspirations, illustrating how obtaining a legal education aligns with your vision. Discuss how the law school’s program, faculty, and resources will contribute to your growth and help you achieve your professional objectives.

Highlight personal qualities and attributes that make you well-suited for a legal career. Emphasize traits such as critical thinking, problem-solving abilities, research skills, or effective communication.

For instance: “My ability to analyze complex legal issues, combined with my unwavering commitment to pursuing justice, has enabled me to approach legal challenges with both empathy and determination.

Provide concrete examples that demonstrate how these qualities have positively impacted your academic or professional experiences. Showcase how these qualities align with the values and expectations of the law school, presenting a strong case for your fit within the legal community.

Address any weaknesses or gaps in your application candidly. If you encountered obstacles or faced academic challenges, briefly mention them, focusing on what you have learned and how you have grown as a result.

Demonstrate resilience and determination by highlighting subsequent achievements or steps you have taken to overcome difficulties. Showcase how these experiences have strengthened your commitment and prepared you for the rigors of law school.

Your conclusion should effectively summarize the key points of your personal statement. Recap your passion for the law, the skills you have acquired, and your future ambitions within the legal field.

For example: “Driven by an unwavering commitment to justice and armed with a solid foundation in legal research and advocacy, I am ready to embark on this transformative journey in law school.”

Express your enthusiasm for contributing to the legal profession, emphasizing how your unique perspective and experiences will enrich the law school community. Conclude with a confident and concise statement that demonstrates your readiness to excel in their program and make a meaningful impact in the field of law.

Sample 1: NYU, UCLA, and Duke

Variations of this personal statement got accepted at nyu, ucla, and duke..

One day, I decided to quit home, leave my parents behind and move to a small rural town called Leiah after being inconsiderately and incessantly forced to marry a cousin. It was a bold step, but I did not want to be like other women in my country who do not fight for their rights. While living in solicitude in Leiah, I stumbled upon a poor old man sitting beside a piece of furniture that would define his existence. Lying limply on a street corner, the old man had only one helping hand – the crippled furniture.

Coming from a privileged background, I saw for the first time the disparity between the haves and have-nots. Nothing, however, seemed more unlikely when I first arrived. Constrained by their poverty, these rural people took what jobs they could find, working for long hours in the field and finally retrieving their broken houses and furniture for respite. They were outrageously overworked and underpaid but never brought any bitterness home. At that time, I realized how blessed I was, and they were not.

Inspired by these experiences, I decided to use my education and connections to bring change to the lives of these people of Leiah. By collaborating with an NGO for money and resources, I started giving out basic amenities and finances to set up cheap livable houses for these people. I didn’t stop there – I joined a maternity home in Leiah as a public liaison officer and helped the clinic with legal and administrative issues. By understanding the numerous Federal and State laws regarding Health Care, I better equipped myself at work. After tireless efforts, I handled several cases of women and children who suffered abuse, violence, and neglect.

I wanted to discuss these experiences because I believe that, as an ever-present factor during many of these four formative years, these incidents played a significant role in shaping the adult I have become. Ten years ago, I would never have foreseen that I could become a powerful vehicle for others’ growth by living in a village. The experience has helped me develop a heightened sensitivity for those who have struggled to fit into our society. As a result, I decided to move back to the city after several years and pursue further education in law and political science. During these academic years, I was actively involved with various community service projects and as an investigator in law firms, allowing me to interact with troubled and disadvantaged youth and the mentally disabled.

I have long been interested in law as an academic discipline, and working in rural areas has confirmed that my academic interests would extend to the real-world application of legal principles. To this end, I purposefully chose jobs that provided very distinct perspectives on law practice. As a legal assistant, I became acquainted with both the advantages and disadvantages of private practice. As a member of the human rights commission, I investigated how non-profits worked at a larger scale to improve the lives of the underprivileged. Moreover, helping in DIL (development in literacy) has offered me a glimpse of how the law may be used constructively in the public sector. I am currently working as a member of the Michigan chapter on fundraising that will take place next year in LA. All these positions have equally impressed upon me the unique potential of the law to make a direct, positive impact on people’s lives.

Working as a legal consultant, I was initially turned off by the formal language, which permeated all writing and discourse (“Aforementioned • legalese had heretofore proven incomprehensible”). As one unfamiliar with the jargon, I found the law to be pretentious and distant. Gradually, however, I began to sort out the shades of difference between a “motion in limine” and a “56(f) motion.” Finally, I understood the law as a vast set of rules which could, with intelligence and creativity, genuinely be used on behalf of values such as fairness and justice.

In addition to my primary assignment on an antitrust case, some exposure to pro bono work further convinced me that law has a vital role in our society. I am also avidly involved in extra-curricular activities. For example, I went to India to attend my father’s book launch (a writer) organized by Ghalib Council, Delhi. By collaborating and bonding with the people of India, I could impart brotherhood and literacy since I found Indian people more educated than us. My society needs education and health, and I want to work in these areas when I return.

As with my experience at a law firm, I soon realized the practical application of the laws written here. Unlike most of the public, who see only the final version of a bill, being part of the health legislative process has forced me to examine all sides of any given issue. Although politics can make this process agonizingly slow and inefficient, my work here has given me a greater appreciation for how laws affect our constituents back home.

Given my skills, I am convinced that health law presents the single greatest chance for me to make a difference, both in the lives of individuals and in terms of influencing the broader fabric of society. Moreover, I am confident that my insistence on looking beyond those first impressions has provided me with an exciting opportunity to apply and study at UCLA Law.

The woman in my society is an artisan and a tradesperson. She’s an economist and a doctor. She is also a fisherwoman and a craftsperson. She’s a mentor, nurturer, parliamentarian, and cultivator. She’s brimming with life and capability, but she waits for what justly belongs to her: the right to a superior life.

Here is a brief review and rating of this personal statement based on different aspects:

• Hook and Introduction (4.5/5): Your introduction is powerful and immediately hooks the reader. It shows strength, courage, and determination.
• Background and Motivation (4.5/5): You’ve done a great job of illustrating your background and motivation, which stem from your experiences in Leiah. You could add more about how these experiences triggered your interest in law.
• Relevance and Competency (4/5): You have demonstrated a clear path from your experiences to your interest in law, but a more explicit discussion about the legal skills you have developed and how you applied them would make this section stronger.
• Passion and Personal Drive (5/5): Your passion for law, social justice, and helping others is palpable and will make a strong impression on the admission committee.
• Program Fit and Future Goals (3/5): Your statement is currently lacking in specific references to the law school you’re applying to, making it difficult to assess fit. Discussing how the program aligns with your career goals and what aspects of the program particularly attract you would strengthen your application.
• Conclusion (4/5): Your conclusion is effective in tying together your experiences and your desire to study law. However, a clearer expression of your readiness for law school and how you plan to contribute to the law school community would enhance this section.

Now, let’s delve deeper into each part of your statement:

• Introduction: Your introduction is powerful and impactful. The raw honesty about your decision to leave home and confront societal norms hooks the reader immediately. It tells us you are strong, independent, and willing to make hard choices. One suggestion would be to more directly link this bold decision to your interest in law—did it spark a desire for justice, or a passion for advocating for others who are oppressed?
• Background and Challenges: You effectively depict the stark contrast between your privileged upbringing and the poverty-stricken lives of the people in Leiah. Your empathy is palpable, and it showcases your character and capacity for understanding others’ situations. To provide more context, you could elaborate on the societal and cultural norms that were challenged by your experiences in Leiah and how these experiences shaped your view of law and justice.
• Transferable Skills: You talk about your role as a public liaison officer and how it familiarized you with Federal and State healthcare laws. This shows you’ve already been using legal skills in a practical environment, a strong point in your favor. Perhaps expand on the specific skills or competencies you gained during this period, such as negotiation, critical thinking, or public speaking, and how they will be beneficial in a law school environment.
• Passion and Goals: Your experiences, such as working with NGOs and maternity homes, indicate a strong passion for social justice. The goal of using law to improve the lives of the underprivileged is noble and will resonate with law schools. It might be beneficial to discuss specific areas of law you are interested in (e.g., human rights, public interest law) and how you see yourself contributing in these areas in the future.
• Relevant Experiences: Your varied experiences, from community service to law firm investigation work, provide you with a wealth of practical experiences, all very relevant to your law school journey. Perhaps you could add more detail about how these experiences solidified your desire to study law and how they shaped your perspective on legal practice.
• Specific Interest in the School: The personal statement does not mention a specific law school or its program. Including a paragraph detailing why you are interested in the specific school you are applying to, and how its program aligns with your career goals, could strengthen your application. Discuss the school’s specific courses, faculty, or values that attract you.
• Conclusion: While your conclusion effectively ties together your experiences and future law goals, it could be more direct in expressing your readiness to face the challenges of law school and contribute to the school community.

Your personal statement is already compelling, but adding more context to your experiences and making clear links between your past, present, and future in the context of law could further enhance it. Remember, specificity is key—whether it’s about the skills you’ve gained, the experiences that shaped your interest in law, or the specific school you’re applying to.

Sample 2: Northwestern, Vanderbilt, and UC Berkeley

Variations of this personal statement got accepted at northwestern, vanderbilt, and uc berkeley..

Unlike many, my passion for acquiring a law degree is neither a childhood fantasy of fighting a case in a courtroom nor a preconceived notion of myself as a lawyer. Instead, I recognize that a law degree would enable me to advance my career as a taxation lawyer.

I had to skip schooling during 4th and 5th grade and instead studied at home. This was due to the financial difficulties stemming from my mother’s cancer treatment, which put a significant financial burden on us. Additionally, as a female from an agricultural and rural family, I faced family pressure to attend a public school instead of a private one. But I did not succumb to these pressures. Instead, I persevered in studying and investing in getting myself private education through partial financial support from my older brother and by working part-time as a writer and content curator. Six months before my high-school graduation, my mother succumbed to her illness and passed away. She spent the last eight years of her life bedridden. The loss was immeasurable, but life had to move on.

I first set my sights on becoming a lawyer when I interned at a law firm during the summer break following my high school graduation. Throughout this internship, I annoyed my supervisors by writing long-winded legal documents even when they asked for a few sentences – this was because of the writing habits I had developed as a content writer. With time, I started to write better legal reports, but my attention was increasingly turned toward tax law. With the guidance and counseling of my supervisors, I applied to an undergrad law program. I spent the next several years understanding the Federal Reserve’s proposed Income Tax Ordinance, including exemptions from income tax and withholding tax.

Throughout this time, I continued to work part-time with various firms, hospitals, and non-profits as a volunteer, legal advisor, and editor. Upon graduation, I applied for the position of legal advisor at the Monthly Atlantic. My current job entails researching and reporting for the newspaper on appropriations bills and export legislation. I also write daily summaries of major contracts awarded by the Federal Government. I am also primarily responsible for supporting discrete legal issues by advising the organization, drafting undertakings, and structuring remedies for the relevant issues.

I am excited but also apprehensive as I try to explain legal jargon to an informed general audience, some of whom may know more about these policies than I do. For example, recently, I had a significant challenge in understanding and decoding the budget proposals of the Federal Reserve, by section 42 of the MOPA Act, 1956 (the Act), in which the entire income of the Federal Reserve and its subsidiaries is remitted to the federal government. After thoroughly going through the provisions, I learned there are still some provisions in the Income Tax Ordinance 2001, Sales Tax Act 1990, and Federal Excise Act 2005, attracting the application of taxes and duties.

Too often, I need more legal knowledge to fully grasp bills that control how companies do business overseas, the limits to which government agencies can go to collect covert intelligence, or the amount of funding an agency can receive in a given time. On the one hand, these limitations have yet to do much to impair me in my current position. I am called to turn out several short stories daily on various topics without going into significant detail. However, I would like to advance to more complex and challenging assignments one day. I fear I will be able to do so if I acquire more expertise than I can within the confines of my deadline-driven job. It is a belief shared by several of my colleagues and many of the senior legal consultants at the newspaper that those who hold advanced degrees in law, business, and related disciplines are at an edge. A law degree would put me in a better position to join their ranks, mainly if I could attend school while continuing to work as a legal advisor in taxation-related instances.

Given my circumstances and interests, a graduate degree in taxation law from UC Berkeley is my ideal choice. In addition, I have an acquaintance that is currently enrolled at Berkeley Law school. His generous feedback has convinced me that this program would also fit my needs considering its flexible schedule and emphasis on tax law.

• Hook and Introduction (5/5): The hook and introduction effectively capture the reader’s attention and provide a clear understanding of your unique motivation for pursuing a law degree. The personal anecdote about your internship and your writing habits adds interest to the narrative and sets the stage for the rest of the personal statement.
• Background and Motivation (4.5/5): The background section effectively outlines the challenges you faced during your education and personal life, showcasing your resilience and determination. It helps the reader understand the context in which your passion for law developed. The motivation behind your interest in taxation law is well-explained, highlighting how your experiences and skills have guided you towards this specific field.
• Relevance and Competency (4/5): You effectively demonstrate your competence by discussing your experiences as a legal advisor, writer, and content curator. The mention of your work with firms, hospitals, and non-profits further strengthens your case. However, it would be beneficial to provide more specific examples or achievements that highlight your skills and expertise in taxation law.
• Passion and Personal Drive (4.5/5): Your passion for taxation law shines through in your personal statement. The enthusiasm you express for writing legal reports and your desire to tackle more complex assignments demonstrate your genuine interest in the field. The mention of your colleagues and senior legal consultants’ belief in the value of advanced degrees in law further emphasizes your commitment to continuous learning and professional growth.
• Program Fit and Future Goals (3/5): While you express your interest in pursuing a graduate degree in taxation law from UC Berkeley, the personal statement lacks specific details about why this program is a perfect fit for your goals. Providing more information about the program’s strengths and how they align with your aspirations would strengthen this section.
• Conclusion (4/5): The conclusion effectively wraps up your personal statement and reinforces your commitment to pursuing a law degree. It restates your interest in UC Berkeley and highlights the feedback you received from an acquaintance at the institution. However, it could be enhanced by briefly summarizing your key strengths and accomplishments and how they will contribute to your success in the program.
• Introduction: The introduction of the personal statement effectively hooks the reader by highlighting your unique motivation for pursuing a law degree with a focus on taxation law. The mention of it not being a childhood fantasy and instead recognizing the degree as a means to advance your career sets the tone for the rest of the statement.
• Background and Challenges: The section detailing your background and the challenges you faced is compelling. The explanation of having to skip schooling due to financial difficulties resulting from your mother’s cancer treatment adds depth to your personal story. It showcases your resilience in overcoming obstacles and your determination to pursue education despite the circumstances. The mention of facing family pressure to attend a public school instead of a private one further emphasizes your determination and ability to make your own choices.
• Transferable Skills: While you mention working part-time as a writer and content curator, the transferable skills gained from this experience could be further elaborated upon. Explaining how your writing skills, attention to detail, and ability to analyze information have prepared you for the demands of the legal field would strengthen this section.
• Passion and Goals: Your passion for law and taxation law is effectively conveyed throughout the personal statement. The explanation of your interest developing during your internship at a law firm, where you consistently wrote legal documents, showcases your dedication and enthusiasm. The mention of your desire to tackle more complex assignments and the belief shared by colleagues and senior legal consultants that advanced degrees are advantageous demonstrate your long-term goals and commitment to professional growth.
• Relevant Experiences: The inclusion of your various volunteer and advisory roles, as well as your current position as a legal advisor at the Monthly Atlantic, highlights your practical experience in the field. However, providing more specific examples or accomplishments from these experiences would enhance this section and further illustrate your competence and expertise.
• Specific Interest in the School: While you express an interest in pursuing a graduate degree in taxation law from UC Berkeley, the personal statement lacks specific details about why this program is a perfect fit for your goals. Adding more information about the program’s strengths, faculty, or specific courses that align with your interests would strengthen this section.
• Conclusion: The conclusion effectively wraps up the personal statement by restating your commitment to pursuing a law degree and emphasizing your interest in UC Berkeley. However, it could be strengthened by summarizing your key strengths, experiences, and goals and how they align with the school’s offerings.

Overall, your personal statement effectively conveys your passion for taxation law, your determination to overcome challenges, and your commitment to professional growth. Strengthening the sections on transferable skills, providing more specific examples of relevant experiences, and including more specific details about the school’s fit would enhance the overall impact of the statement.

Sample 3: Georgetown

Variations of this personal statement got accepted at georgetown..

My desire to apply to law school is not rooted in a childhood fantasy of arguing a case before a packed courtroom. I have never seen myself as a trial attorney, ala Perry Mason or Nora Lewin on Law & Order. However, a legal education would enable me to advance my career as a writer and analyst specializing in national security and global trade issues.

I first set my sights on becoming a writer when I learned my letters. But, of course, mastering the ABCs may have been a long way from winning the Pulitzer. Nevertheless, this minor detail did not prevent me from completing three “novels” and my version of Genesis before the age of seven. Throughout elementary and junior high school, I annoyed my teachers by writing 10-page themes whenever they asked for a few sentences. Later, as a high school and college student, I continued writing, though my attention was increasingly turned toward other subjects. Ultimately, one of my professors directed me on a path that would combine my background in writing with government and policymaking. With her help, I secured an internship with a government contractor. As a result, I spent the spring and summer writing copy for websites that the company managed for the government while taking additional classes at university.

In February, I accepted a full-time job as a researcher at Washington Post, where I am now an assistant editor. My current job entails researching and reporting on defense appropriations bills and export legislation, as well as writing daily summaries of major contracts awarded by the Department of Defense and other defense ministries worldwide. With enthusiasm but some trepidation, I attempt to decode pages of legal jargon for an educated lay readership, many of whom I suspect know more than I about such policies. But, too often, I lack the legal knowledge to fully grasp bills that control how companies do business overseas, the limits to which government agencies can go to collect covert intelligence, or the amount of funding an agency can receive in a given length of time.

On the one hand, these limitations have yet to do much to impair me in my current position. I am called to turn out several short stories daily on various topics without going into significant detail. However, I would like to advance to more difficult reporting assignments one day. I fear I will be able to do so if I acquire more expertise than I can within the confines of my deadline-driven job. I also would like to It is a belief shared by several of my colleagues, as well as many of the senior writers and editors at my company who hold advanced degrees in law, business, and related disciplines. A law degree would put me in a better position to join their ranks, mainly if I could attend school while continuing to work as a journalist.

Given my circumstances and interests, Georgetown University Law Center, with its top-ranked intellectual property and international law programs, is my ideal choice. In addition, I have a colleague that is currently enrolled in the Georgetown evening law program. His generous feedback has convinced me that this program would also fit my needs considering its flexible schedule and emphasis on legal writing.

Your personal statement presents a compelling narrative that effectively communicates your passion for writing, your current profession, and your interest in furthering your education in law to augment your skills and understanding. Here are a few suggestions to improve it further:

• Specifics: While you mention you would like to join the ranks of your colleagues who hold advanced degrees in law and related disciplines, it would be beneficial to include specific examples of how having a law degree could have or will benefit you in your current role.
• Motivation: You’ve done a great job discussing your professional path and how you hope a legal education will benefit your career. Still, it would help if you were to discuss any personal reasons or experiences that have led you to want to study law. Personal narratives often make an applicant more relatable and can help the reader understand your motivation better.
• Intention: You may want to further discuss how you plan to apply your law degree to your current career or future aspirations.
• Completion: Towards the end, it seems there is a sentence that is not completed: “I also would like to It is a belief shared by several of my colleagues…”. You might want to revise this sentence to make your statement clearer.
• Why Georgetown: While you have discussed that Georgetown University Law Center is your top choice, consider elaborating on why Georgetown, in particular, is the perfect fit for your career goals, apart from its flexible schedule and the fact that your colleague is enrolled there. You could mention specific courses, professors, or the university’s ethos, for example.

Your personal statement is already quite strong, and these suggestions are only meant to fine-tune your narrative further.

Sample 4: Harvard Law

Variations of this llm personal statement got accepted at university of pennsylvania, oxford university, and harvard law school..

I grew up in a middle-class family in Malaysia, where discipline and responsible behavior were the only doctrines taught. At school, I maintained 100% attendance without exception – a feat that my parents and I take pride in. My parents’ utmost involvement throughout my growing years always made me outshine my peers. Though my school grades were average, I represented my school in many activities ranging from debates and dramatics to being a soccer team captain for the entire house.

I have always had complete freedom from my parents until I had to choose a career. A STEM career was my parents’ priority, but for the first time, I differed from my family and chose Social Sciences. I was told that career prospects were bleak and that I was making the wrong decision, but I persisted. While majoring in social sciences, I met a mentor, Dr. Anonymous, a top economist. He challenged me intellectually, which helped me become a better thinker.

Subsequently, I secured the second position in college. My life turned around as people started to value my opinions, and at that time, I discovered my passion, “to speak.” I was chosen as the Coordinator for a Student Leadership Program, where I was mainly responsible for teaching empathy to hundreds of students from elite schools.

At the same time, at age 17, I met the chief editor of the New York Times, who invited me to host the “Youth Forum,” a program to highlight young people’s perspectives on existing social issues. With 55 episodes spanning over 2.5 years, I questioned youth’s role in our turbulent political, social, and economic system. The show gained popularity and performed exceptionally on TRP scores, with viewership growing to over 500,000.

At college, I met another mentor, Justice Anonymous of the Federal Court of Malaysia, who allowed me to attend court sessions as an observer of cross-questioning sessions. In addition, I socialized with lawyers at many forums, including the Court’s Cafeteria, where all appreciated my love for the field. In my 5th semester, I took a course on U.K. Constitutional Law, where I learned about the history of the U.K. Constitution. In the session on “Parliamentary Sovereignty” and “Britain’s relationship with the European Union,” the professor gave me new energy to research further about the steps in forming its Constitution. The more I read, the more I appreciated the perseverance of the founding fathers and the strong foundation England and Wales is built on.

A few years back, I attended the Oxford University Experience-Summer Course for Teens, Summerfuel. The program helped me with experiential learning about what college life is like. During my stay, I had plenty of opportunities to experience English life outside the classroom. Here, in a session, I narrated the first paragraph of the declaration of independence and asked, “whether all men are equal?”. To this, the professor appreciated my enthusiasm for constitutional law.

On my return to Malaysia, I had new energy to question the existing constitutional norms of Malaysia and kept comparing the constitutions of both countries and analyzing the factors that led to present-day turbulence in Malaysia. It is evident through the literature and historical precedence that the Constitution of Malaysia has been used maliciously to favor the powermongers. This indicates the lack of sincerity and dedication of the leaders who have formed this country.

Sadly, very few competent constitutional lawyers exist in the country that also happened to have played in the hands of powerful politicians who manipulated the Constitution to favor their vested interests. Therefore, I decided to take a career in this area as I aspire to be one of the few upright constitutional lawyers. I want to be amongst those who have shaped law and politics in Malaysia. Not amongst those who played in the hands of the powerful.

I want to choose Oxford Law for several reasons. Its tradition for excellence, the unique constitutional law curriculum, the summer program, and the excellent opportunity to meet and network with individuals from different parts of the world. I believe that Oxford law school’s vibrant and diverse community actively affirms my personality of maintaining lifelong relations. These different connections serve as a general resource for the campus community and a source of empowerment for students like me. The diverse setting at Oxford will enable me to investigate and engage in current issues and more profound societal questions. As a result, I will be able to discover how I can positively impact the world around me.

I am looking for an environment that promotes lively debates to complement my active speaking and reasoning traits. I can access well-known professors and discuss legal issues with exceptional young lawyers from more than 35 countries. Oxford offers a culture of collegiality and collaboration, where international students feel comfortable. At Oxford, professors like Dr. Anonymous, who specialize in constitutional law, and courses such as Democracy, Judicial Law-Making, & Constitutional Law can help nurture my skills and move forward in my career.

Professor Dr. Anonymous, a former Lord Justice in Wales, will teach me the value of strategy in litigation. Next, professor Dr. Anonymous and Dr. Anonymous will introduce me to the fabulous world of copyright. Finally, professor Dr. Anonymous will show me the foundations of the England and Wales litigation system. My long-term goal is to teach and practice constitutional law and eventually join politics on the path to becoming a leading politician. I have been inspired by high-achieving lawyers in Malaysia, such as Justice Anonymous, who have shaped Malaysia’s media, politics, and legal practice. I aspire to be the next in line.

Oxford offers a vast clinical & pro bono program via externships ranging from civil practice clinic to Wales Human Relations Commission. These externships indicate that Oxford wants to help all, a notion uncommon in Malaysia. Oxford is a lab for innovation and opportunities, as seen from the example of hundreds of Alumni that Oxford Law has catered to. I firmly believe that Oxford will genuinely appreciate my leadership at every scale and will polish my raw qualities and channel them so that I can apply them in Malaysia. Actual change on the grass root comes through education, and Oxford Law School is the ideal medium to achieve the highest standards.

Overall, your personal statement is impressive and well-articulated, illustrating a journey of personal and academic growth that highlights your passion, determination, and ambition. You make a compelling case for why you are interested in studying law, and specifically constitutional law, at Oxford. The narrative is well structured, and your argument about the need for constitutional reform in Malaysia is compelling and novel. Your professional experiences and extracurricular activities are quite impressive, providing evidence of your initiative and leadership abilities.

However, there are a few areas where your personal statement could be improved.

• Language & Tone: There are some areas where the tone may come off as overly self-congratulatory, which could potentially turn off some admissions officers. For instance, you could soften the phrase “My parents’ utmost involvement throughout my growing years always made me outshine my peers.”
• Coherence: The transitions between paragraphs are sometimes abrupt. For example, the transition from your second to third paragraph, where you switch from discussing your choice of Social Sciences to your achievement of securing second position in college, lacks a clear connecting link.
• Specificity: You could provide more specifics to demonstrate the impact of your work. For example, instead of mentioning that you taught empathy to hundreds of students, it would be helpful to illustrate what this entailed and what results it achieved.
• Mention of Oxford: The reasons for choosing Oxford Law seem generic and could apply to any top law school. To make your statement more compelling, research more about what is specific to Oxford Law – perhaps a unique program or course, or a faculty member’s work you admire, and express why that appeals to you.
• Criticizing Home Country: The criticism of Malaysia and its leaders seems a bit harsh, which may not resonate well with some readers. While it’s important to be honest about the issues you see, try to express these thoughts in a more constructive manner, focusing more on potential solutions rather than just pointing out problems.
• Ending: The statement ends abruptly. It would be great if you could end on a strong note, summarising your aspirations, and how Oxford fits into that journey.

Here is how I would grade your personal statement:

Content: B+ (The content is strong, but it could benefit from more specific examples and better transitions)

Structure: B (The narrative is coherent but could benefit from smoother transitions and a stronger conclusion)

Language & Tone: B (The tone sometimes comes off as self-congratulatory, and the language could be more nuanced in places)

Alignment with Purpose: B+ (Your statement makes a compelling case for why you want to study law at Oxford, but reasons specific to Oxford could be made more clear)

Overall Grade: B+ 

Your personal statement has a lot of strengths, and with a few tweaks, it could be even stronger. I hope this feedback helps you in refining it further!

Law schools typically require a personal statement for several reasons:

• Understanding You Better: The personal statement provides insights into who you are beyond your academic credentials and achievements. It helps the admissions committee understand your values, personal growth, and unique experiences that might not be evident from your GPA or LSAT scores.
• Assessing Your Communication Skills: Law is a field that requires excellent written communication skills. A well-written personal statement allows the admissions committee to gauge your ability to articulate complex thoughts, express ideas clearly, and construct logical arguments.
• Determining Your Commitment: A thoughtful personal statement can demonstrate your dedication to pursuing a legal career. It’s a way for you to express why you want to study law and how you perceive your future in the field.
• Identifying Diverse Perspectives: Law schools aim to create a diverse and dynamic learning environment. Your personal statement allows you to highlight unique experiences or perspectives that you can bring to the school, thereby contributing to this diversity.
• Evaluating Your Potential Fit: The personal statement gives the law school an opportunity to determine whether you’ll be a good fit for their institution. This isn’t just about you meeting their requirements, but also about whether the school can meet your academic and career aspirations.
• Demonstrating Resilience: Personal statements often include narratives that reveal challenges and obstacles you’ve overcome. These stories can demonstrate your resilience and problem-solving skills, traits that are highly valued in the legal profession.

In summary, a personal statement is a tool that allows law schools to evaluate you holistically. It goes beyond objective measurements of academic potential and provides a more comprehensive view of you as an individual.

Almost all law schools in the United States require a personal statement as part of the application process. The personal statement serves as a critical component of your law school application, allowing admissions committees to understand your motivations, experiences, and skills beyond what is reflected in your academic records and LSAT scores.

However, the specific requirements for law school applications can vary from one institution to another. Some schools may have specific prompts or topics they want you to address in your personal statement, while others may offer more freedom in choosing what to discuss. Certain schools might even ask for additional essays or statements to supplement your application.

If you are applying to law schools outside of the U.S., it’s always a good idea to check the specific admissions guidelines for each law school you’re interested in. Remember that meeting all of the application requirements can demonstrate your commitment and attention to detail, which are valuable traits in the legal field.

What is a Good Length for a Law School Personal Statement?

The length of a personal statement for law school can vary depending on the specific instructions provided by each law school.

A common guideline is typically around two to three double-spaced pages, or approximately 500-750 words.

This length is usually sufficient to provide a detailed narrative without overwhelming the reader with too much information. Remember, admissions committees review many applications, so they appreciate concise and compelling personal statements.

It’s very important to adhere to the instructions provided by each law school you apply to. If a specific word or page count is given, make sure you comply with that limit. Failure to do so could give the impression that you either cannot follow instructions or that you lack the ability to express yourself concisely, neither of which will help your application.

Above all, make sure that every word you write is meaningful and contributes to your overall narrative or argument. A well-crafted, succinct personal statement can often be more powerful than a longer one that lacks focus.

Writing a personal statement for law school can be a challenging task. It’s equally important to know what to avoid as it is to know what to include . Here are some common pitfalls to avoid:

• Vague and Cliché Statements: Avoid clichés and general statements that could apply to anyone. Be specific, personal, and honest in your writing. For example, instead of saying “I want to be a lawyer to fight for justice,” show through your experiences and reflections why and how you’re committed to justice.
• Repeating Your Resume: Your personal statement should not be a recitation of your resume or transcript. It’s an opportunity to share your personal journey, perspectives, and insights that aren’t reflected in other parts of your application.
• Being Overly Emotional or Dramatic: While it’s important to show passion, avoid being excessively emotional or dramatic. Aim to strike a balance between personal storytelling and professional tone.
• Off-topic Content: Stay focused on what the prompt is asking, and tie everything back to your interest in law school and your future career. Avoid irrelevant details or anecdotes.
• Poor Structure and Flow: A disjointed or confusing statement can be difficult to read and may give a negative impression. Plan your statement carefully to ensure it has a clear structure and logical flow.
• Typos and Grammar Errors: These can give the impression of carelessness. Proofread your statement carefully, and consider having others review it as well.
• Negativity or Excuses: If discussing challenges or setbacks, focus on what you learned and how you grew from the experience rather than blaming others or making excuses.
• Making Unsupported Claims: If you claim a particular trait, back it up with concrete examples. For example, instead of just stating that you’re empathetic, share an experience that demonstrates this quality.
• Controversial Topics: Be cautious when discussing potentially divisive subjects, as you don’t want to alienate the reader. If you do choose to address a controversial issue, be sure to do so respectfully and thoughtfully.

Remember, your personal statement is a chance to present an authentic and engaging narrative about your journey towards law school. It should showcase your unique qualities, motivations, and experiences, demonstrating why you would be an excellent addition to the law school’s incoming class.

While it’s possible to use the same base personal statement for all law schools, it is not generally recommended. This is because each law school may have different prompts or expectations for what they want to see in a personal statement. If you don’t tailor your statement to each school, you might miss an opportunity to show how well you align with that specific program or fail to answer the prompt properly.

Additionally, tailoring your personal statement to each school can demonstrate your genuine interest in that particular institution. For example, you might discuss how a specific program, course, or faculty member at that school aligns with your career goals or academic interests. Showing that you’ve done your research and understand what makes each law school unique can make your application more compelling.

That said, it’s also important to maintain consistency and honesty across your applications. You might have a central narrative or theme in your personal statement that remains the same across all versions, while adjusting specific details or sections to better fit each school.

Remember to carefully review the application guidelines for each law school you apply to, paying special attention to any specific prompts or instructions for the personal statement. It’s crucial to ensure that each statement you submit not only meets all requirements, but also clearly conveys why you are a strong fit for each particular law school. 

In general, it’s good practice to include your name and sometimes your LSAC (Law School Admission Council) number on every page of your personal statement, usually in the header or footer. This ensures that if the pages get separated for any reason, the admissions committee can easily match them back up.

However, each law school might have specific guidelines regarding formatting and what information to include. Always follow the specific directions provided by the school to which you’re applying. If the application instructions don’t specify whether or not to include your name, it’s generally safe to include it to ensure your personal statement is easily identifiable.

Also, it’s always a good idea to include a title for your personal statement, even if it’s just “Personal Statement,” so it’s immediately clear what the document is. If you are sending more than one essay or document (like a diversity statement or addendum), this will ensure that each one is clearly identified.

Prior to initiating the writing process, it is vital to set aside some time to formulate your thoughts. Given that the prompts for law school personal statements are usually quite generic—such as, “Why are you interested in studying law?”—candidates often face uncertainty about the best way to approach their response.

You may find yourself overwhelmed with numerous ideas, or conversely, completely devoid of inspiration. To start off, let’s consider a practical approach you can adopt if you’re grappling with where to begin.

Take a writing pad and respond to the subsequent questions:

• Why do I want to go to law school? This question helps to clarify your motivation and passion for pursuing law as a career. It can be grounded in an event, an experience, or a specific interest you’ve cultivated over time .
• What experiences have prepared me for a career in law? These could be academic, work, or extracurricular experiences, where you’ve developed skills that are relevant to a legal career, such as critical thinking, negotiation, or public speaking.
• How have my past experiences influenced my world view? This can provide context about how you approach problems, deal with adversity, or interact with diverse groups, which are all relevant to a legal career.
• How does a law degree fit into my long-term career goals? Here, you’re demonstrating an understanding of how a law degree can contribute to your aspirations, showing a commitment to the field.
• Can I discuss a specific area of law I’m interested in? It’s a bonus if you’re able to tie your experiences and interests to a particular field of law. This shows a depth of understanding and dedication to the subject.
• Is there a unique perspective or diverse background that I can bring to the law school? Schools value diversity in their student body, as it contributes to the richness of classroom discussions and the overall community.
• Have I overcome any significant obstacles or challenges in my life that have shaped who I am? This might provide insight into your resilience, determination, and adaptability, which are valuable traits in a lawyer.
• How have I demonstrated leadership or initiative in the past? Law schools are looking for leaders and self-starters, so any evidence of this will be useful in your personal statement.
• Can I articulate the values and qualities that will make me a good lawyer? You might think about empathy, integrity, diligence, advocacy, or the desire to serve others and uphold justice.
• Why am I a good fit for the specific law school I’m applying to? Consider the school’s mission statement, values, programs, faculty, etc. This can show that you’ve done your research and are committed to attending that particular school.

Formulating a compelling law school personal statement requires thoughtful introspection and strategic planning. By answering these guiding questions, you can navigate the broad prompts and articulate your experiences, motivations, and unique attributes effectively.

Remember, the goal is not to present a list of accomplishments but to paint a vivid picture of your journey towards the legal profession. So, use these questions as your starting point, and craft a narrative that stands out in the sea of applicants and resonates with the admissions committee. The journey towards a career in law starts with this crucial step, and you have the power to shape it.

WANT MORE AMAZING ARTICLES ON GRAD SCHOOL PERSONAL STATEMENTS?

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I Got a Full-Ride to Law School Using This Personal Statement

Law school admissions certainly are intimidating, especially when it comes to the rather daunting task of writing a personal statement with no real prompt. Generally, law schools will ask for no more than two pages of basically whatever you would like to talk about.

However, there are a few well-established principles for writing a successful personal statement. Here are 4 principles, along with my own personal statement, to help you hit a home run:

The personal statement should only drive your application forward. If it is holding it back in any way, it is not ready.

Your personal statement should explain your interest or purpose for studying the law.

This does not have to be the backbone of the entire piece, but it should be at least mentioned somewhere. It should also avoid legal jargon and should not be some sort of showcase for legal knowledge. It also should not be a regurgitation of your resume. The committee will already have your resume, so the personal statement serves as a supplement to it.

Spend the time making your personal statement better.

To get a competitive offer from whichever law school you may be applying to, it all starts with a good application package. The admissions committee is going to want to see a good LSAT score , a strong GPA, some recommendations, and a well-written personal statement. That much is clear. Your personal statement may never feel like it is just right, but it can only become better with consistent time and effort spent drafting it again and again.

Research examples of well-written personal statements.

To get some ideas about what a good personal statement could look like, I did a preliminary search to read a few successful ones. The University of Chicago had a few essays posted on  their site  from admitted students that gave me a good point of reference. Although there is tremendous flexibility in writing the personal statement, it should not be so wacky as to discourage the admissions committee in your abilities as a writer or in your seriousness about attending law school.

Take advantage of the resources around you to make your statement the best.

For my statement, I went through a couple of potential concepts and decided to do one on my life’s motto. And, no, it was not some cliché that I pretended was my motto; I picked words that I truly lived by and continue to live by to this day. I spent many hours writing and rewriting my personal statement. Thankfully, I had the invaluable help of my roommate, who is a strong writer himself, and he gave me useful feedback on many of my drafts (I promised him a nice dinner if I ended up getting admitted with a full-ride to somewhere). When I got close to a final draft, I took it to my school’s writer’s workshop to have someone I had never met before read it aloud. It allowed me to hear where someone might misunderstand something so that I could make changes accordingly for the final product.

Beginning in the spring, picking up in September, accelerating further in October, and finishing in November when I sent my applications out, the whole process produced something that I thought gave me a very strong shot at success. So here it is. Enjoy:

“Ball: outside!” declared the umpire.

“Come on now! Get ahead, stay ahead, kid!” demanded my coach.

I checked the sign: fastball. That pitch was just not there; I shook my head no. My catcher gave me the next sign: curveball. Yes, the get-me-over-curve, my signature pitch. I stepped back to begin my windup.

“Steeeeeriiike! One and one,” the umpire grunted.

“That’s the way, Duff! Just like that!” my coach exclaimed.

My catcher fired that ball back to me. I toed the rubber and focused on his signs: he flashed two fingers and motioned to the right—curveball, outside. I nodded affirmatively. He and I were on the same page. I began my windup again, picked up the leg, and spun my big overhand curve to the plate.

“Two! One and two.” The batter stood motionless as he watched my back door hook clip the outer edge of the strike zone.

“One more now, Duff! Come on, kid!”

The pitch count, or the current amount of balls and strikes in a given at bat, is perhaps the most impactful construct of baseball. After every pitch, the umpire declares it to be a ball or strike, subsequently adding it to the count. If the batter reaches four balls, he earns a walk, or a free pass to first base; if he gets three strikes, the batter is out. The batter’s goal is to reach a base before three strikes. The pitcher does everything that he can to stop that.

As I got the ball back, I knew I was in the driver’s seat. The batter was at a tremendous disadvantage and would have to react to my pitches on two strikes rather than just being able to lock in on one. I leaned in for the sign: one finger, right, up—fastball, high and outside. I liked it. Even though it was not my best pitch that day, I understood that I could still use it effectively to keep batters off balance since I was ahead. I stepped back into the windup and let the pitch fly.

The batter flailed at the pitch. “Three!” shouted the umpire, raising his fist in the air to call him out. He was sitting on the big, slow curveball and not the fastball, but he could not be selective because he was down in the count. On to the next one.

“Atta kid! That’s what happens when you get ahead!”

Get ahead, stay ahead.

While my organized baseball playing days may be over, that fundamental is still strong. A picture of all-star pitcher Max Scherzer hurling a baseball towards the plate sits above my desk with that same motto in bolded letters:  Get Ahead, Stay Ahead .

What does getting ahead provide? For one, it gives the peace of mind that comes with flexibility; there’s room to react in case something goes off course. In baseball, it gives the pitcher more room to work within the count because he has more options when the batter must play defensively. In short, he can do what he wants. One of the key differences between baseball and life, however, is that baseball has a simple, predetermined goal: score more runs than the other team! Life, on the other hand, allows for enormous flexibility in choosing a goal. Rather than be content with the usual four-year bachelor’s track, I pushed forward as hard as I could to graduate in three years. Many people are surprised when I tell them about my efforts to graduate early; they often wonder why I chose to accelerate my education. I usually explain that it saved me a significant amount of money while expanding my room for error. Most importantly, I tell them, by efficiently reorganizing my schedule, getting ahead actually  gave  me time to think.

The most successful people throughout history have all had an overarching goal, no matter how grand; with the time from getting ahead, I chose mine. Andrew Carnegie sought to provide affordable steel, Henry Ford wanted to create a universal automobile, and Elon Musk aims to put a city on Mars. After seeing their success, I think about how I can do the same. Simply put, I want to be a leader in sustainable real estate. More specifically, I want to make green living universal. Whenever I get the same surprised looks from this claim as when I tell someone that I am graduating early, I clarify that there are already some pioneers designing revolutionary apartments with trees planted on all of their floors, working to clean the air in polluted cities. Stefano Boeri, for example, has designed a thirty-six-floor building covered with trees on terraces jutting out from its sides, dubbed the “Tower of Cedars.” I want to take this premise further: my mission is to expand clean living to all, not just the elite who can afford it. The law is one of the most important tools that I will need to achieve this. The complexities of environmental and real estate law will be major challenges. Regardless, to lead the industry, I must get ahead. When I start my business, I will reflect on my experience in running the Trial Team as its president, the perspective on efficient business systems that I gained with American Hotel Register, and the tips that the CEO of Regency Multifamily shared with me for optimally running a large real estate firm, among many other things. But I will always be looking forward. While history shows that there are answers in the past, only the future knows them. Thankfully, controlling the present by getting ahead can make the future that much more certain.

I stepped back into the windup, again. As I drove off the rubber towards the plate, I extended out as far as I could to get as much control and power as possible. The big hook landed firmly over the outer third of the plate, right into my catcher’s mitt with a solid  phwump .

“Steeeeeriiike! Oh-and-one.”

“Atta kid!” My coach was elated to see my pitch command this inning.

Are you inspired to get ahead? Don’t you just feel a sudden urge to admit me into your program? Well thankfully, it made an impression on someone. I did my best to show my ambitions while showing a bit of my personality. The greatest risk that I took was that some of the baseball jargon may have been hard to understand for someone unfamiliar with the sport, but I made sure that it would not detract from the overall meaning of the piece. It served as a useful supplement to the rest of my application.

As of 2018, I am enrolled at Chicago-Kent College of Law with a full tuition scholarship. While it is no Ivy program, it is a respectable school with a strong regional reputation. The great thing about having the financial burden of law school off my shoulders is that I can now focus on getting the most out of my studies, rather than stress to figure out how I am going to pay off the debt that would have financed my education. And if it turns out that the program is not the best option for me, I can walk away with no financial strings attached.

The personal statement should only drive your application forward. If it is holding it back in any way, it is not ready. Keep it professional but do be creative and show the reader more of your personality than a resume alone would give. You are selling them your brand as a student, so do not let them gloss over your application without much of a thought.

Jack graduated from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign in May 2018 with a degree in Economics and History, and he currently works in property management while attending Chicago-Kent College of Law on a part-time basis. He hopes to use his law degree to enhance his career in commercial real estate and eventually lead sustainable large-scale real estate developments nationwide.

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Find Your Rhythm with Black's Law Dictionary - Bonus Entries

Need some inspiration check out these legal terms by using the the links below., fuel your research with key numbers - bonus entries, need some inspiration check out these key numbers by using the digest searches below., westlaw's "no skips" tips playlist, real property, civil procedure, criminal law, constitutional law, show westlaw some love.

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Because neurodivergent people often need visual prompts or sensory tools, it is helpful to figure out what works best for you. Maybe you need a quiet fidget to use under your desk in class to help you focus. Maybe you need to incorporate the use of timers throughout your day. If you struggle with time blindness, you can use hourglasses to help you visualize time. Perhaps you struggle with extraneous sounds and need to use noise-cancelling headphones. More and more tools and gadgets are being made for neurodiverse individuals that can help you throughout law school.

Society can dictate when you are supposed to be most productive. See the traditional 9-5 work schedule. However, that model does not always work best for neurodiverse individuals. Some people are not morning people, and that is fine. Figure out when you have the most energy during your day to be your most productive self.

Find one system to use for organization and don’t change it. Trying too many organizational systems can become overwhelming. If your phone calendar works best, use that. If you are a list person, write all the lists. If you are a planner person, find the coolest one to use throughout the school year.

It would be nice to think that you can remember every task or deadline, but let’s be honest, that’s probably not true. Write down every deadline, every task, meeting, assignment, important date, etc. in the organizational system that you use.

Just like you can only put so much gasoline in a car, most neurodiverse individuals only have so much room in their focus tank. Figure out how long you can truly focus and apply yourself to a task before you need a break. That amount of time is typically shorter for neurodiverse individuals. If you can only truly focus for 20 minutes, study for 20 minutes, take a break, and then come back for another 20 minutes.

You may have started law school with your mind full of horror stories. Throw them out the window. Most of the people you attend law school with are genuinely kind and helpful people. Try to find a group or a couple of people that you can trust and lean on when necessary. Your law school friends can help you stay on task, body double, and even provide notes on the days you may be struggling. These friends can be one of your greatest assets throughout your law school journey.

Only discuss your neurodivergence with your professors to the extent that you are comfortable. If there are things you are concerned about related to your neurodivergence, it can be beneficial to make your professors aware at the beginning of the semester. Whether you are worried about cold calling or need a topic broken down, most professors love opportunities to discuss their area of law! They can’t know that you may need help if you don’t let them know. This is especially important if you aren’t successful in getting accommodations from your school’s Disability Services.

As a neurodivergent student, you may not fit the traditional mold of all the things a law student is “supposed to do” in order to be successful. You have been in school for years, and now is the time to trust yourself and not be afraid to be an “outside of the box” law student. There is no harm in trying new study methods, but never fear going back to your personal basics. If you need help figuring those out, see if your law school has a learning center or faculty member that can assist you.

Outlining with jury instructions.

• On your Westlaw Precision home screen, click on Secondary Sources and then Jury Instructions .
• On the Jury Instructions page, use the Jurisdiction filter to select your desired jurisdiction.
• Search for your cause of action. (Ex. elements of libel in Federal Jury Practice & Instructions )
• Open your relevant jury instruction and don't forget to check the related notes.
• To see more instructions, check out the table of contents to your left or click on View Full TOC.

Citation in a Click

• Highlight the text you want to copy. Try it out with Miranda v. Arizona
• Select "Copy with Reference" from the pop-up box.
• Paste into your word document...and you're done!

Black's Law Dictionary

Don't guess the meaning of a legal term. know it., by using black’s law dictionary, exclusively on westlaw , you’ll know the meanings of key terms that will help you understand your cases faster, be prepared for cold-calls and beef up your class notes. 1. access black's law dictionary on westlaw., 2. type your term into the dictionary term box. (ex. demurrer ) if your term contains multiple words, place the terms in quotes. (ex. "rule against perpetuities" ), 3. open up your desired term, copy it and paste it into your notes., looking for some inspiration here are a few legal terms to get you started contracts - collateral estoppel - consequential damages civil procedure - minimum contacts - in personam jurisdiction torts - negligence - invasion of privacy criminal law - mayhem - wobbler, where can i learn more about a firm so i can ask good questions in an interview, news is an excellent source for learning about a firm. you’ll see the clients and matters they represent along with the accolades they earned from their communities. 1. click on news under “specialty areas” on your westlaw edge home screen., 2. start by trying a plain language search for your firm. (ex. gibson dunn crutcher ), 3. to up your search game, consider running a terms & connectors search with an index field. (ex. gibson /2 dunn /s crutcher & in(law lawsuit legal) ), start writing your brief without starting from scratch, what is a brief, a brief is a summary of a case in your own words that includes the key facts, procedural history, issues addressed, along with the court's holdings. how can i find a case on westlaw, cases on westlaw contain a synopsis, a summary of the main facts, issues and holdings of a case, and headnotes, summaries of points of law organizes by topic. you can locate cases on westlaw in a variety of ways. find by citation: if you know your case's citation, just type one of the citations in the search box. (ex. 113 sct 2217 ), find by party name: if you know the names of your parties, just start typing them in the search box and select corresponding case from the drop-down menu. (ex. international shoe).

Note: If your case has common party names, you may need to enter more than one party.

Download your synopsis and headnotes: once you've pulled up your case, click on download under delivery options, select brief it under what to deliver and click on download..

The right search terms can make a difference. Here is an easy way to come up with smart search terms.

Rules, Codes & Restatements

Exporting tables of contents, exporting a table of contents is an easy way to get access to a list of rules, codes or restatements that you can reference on the fly and add to your outlines, as needed. locate your rules, codes or restatement: to export a toc (table of contents), you'll first want to locate your resource. restatement of torts restatement of contracts restatement of property federal rules of civil procedure ucc article 2 federal rules of evidence united states constitution, export your toc: click on download, select outline of current view under what to deliver and then click on download..

Strengthen Your Interview Discussions with News

• Search for a particular firm, attorney, or agency. (Ex. Kirkland and Ellis or Fourth Circuit )
• Or select a specific practice area (Ex. Mergers & Acquisitions )

American Law Reports

Your go-to secondary source, finding an a.l.r. (american law reports) article covering your topic is a great starting point for research. you'll get a quick summary of the legal issue you're researching and a table of cases, laws, and rules to see the law across all jurisdictions. you can also use annotations to find additional secondary sources, such as legal encyclopedias, treatises, and periodicals. no wonder they're nicknamed already done legal research see it in action: the legal discussion to compensate student athletes is heating up. check out this alr article to see how the legal picture for tomorrow’s student athletes comes together in one place., keycite graphical history, procedural history made easy, are you reading a case and not sure how you got there procedurally reversed, remanded or otherwise, we got you. just sign into westlaw and follow the steps below... 1. grab one of the citations you see in your case book and type it into the search box on westlaw . (ex. 480 u.s. 102), 2. click on your case in the drop-down menu., 3. click on the history tab to see your procedural history., keycite graphical history works best when you have a federal case and a complex issue. check out some additional examples from your classes below. contracts - koken v. black & veatch const., inc. - lamps plus, inc. v. varela civil procedure - national equipment rental v. szukhent - helicopteros nacionales de colombia, s.a. v. hall torts - palsgraf v. long island r. co. - kentucky fried chicken of cal., inc. v. superior court, law school resource center, flowcharts, overviews & more..

Scheduled Maintenance

Step 1 - create a new class, step 3 - invite your students, step 2 - assign lessons.

About this event

Love Your Lawyer Day

All the rules you need for class in one place.

Understand the procedural history of your case..

Don't guess the meaning of a term. Know it.

Copy the Code Below

You'll use this code to make a copy of the sample course.

Click on Copy Another Class

Go to the Knowledge Center and click on the Copy Another Class button.

Enter Your Copy Code

Enter your copy code in the Enter Class Copy Code box and click the Validate button.

4. Set Your Options

Change your course title, set your course dates and set your copy option to Assignments Only.

5. Click Copy Course

Click on Copy Course and you're all set to share your course with students.

1. Copy the Code Below

2. click on copy another class, 3. enter your copy code, set your options, click copy course, determining whether a federal court has subject matter jurisdiction over a non-class action case..

If the case arises out of the U.S. Constitution, U.S. laws, rules or regulations, or a treaty signed by the U.S., and the federal courts have exclusive jurisdiction, then the case must be litigated in federal court.

If the case does not arise out of the U.S. Constitution, U.S. laws, rules or regulations, or a treaty signed by the U.S., and there is not complete diversity between the plaintiffs and defendants (a.k.a they are both from different states or one is a citizen of a foreign country), then the case must be litigated in state court.

Restatement of Contracts 2d

Counter-offers.

(1) A counter-offer is an offer made by an offeree to his offeror relating to the same matter as the original offer and proposing a substituted bargain differing from that proposed by the original offer.

(2) An offeree’s power of acceptance is terminated by his making of a counter-offer, unless the offeror has manifested a contrary intention or unless the counter-offer manifests a contrary intention of the offeree.

Negligence Defined

Restatement (second) of torts 282.

In the Restatement of this Subject, negligence is conduct which falls below the standard established by law for the protection of others against unreasonable risk of harm. It does not include conduct recklessly disregardful of an interest of others.

Black’s Law Dictionary (10th ed.2014)

Demurrer: A means of objecting to the sufficiency in law of a pleading by admitting the actual allegations made by disputing that they frame an adequate claim. Demurrer is commonly known as a motion to dismiss.

(2) An offeree’s power of acceptance is terminated by his making a counter-off, unless the offeror has manifested a contrary intention or unless the counter-offer manifests a contrary intention of the offeree.

testing footnote

What is common law and is it written by the courts of law?

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Negligence defined

Restatement (second) of torts § 282.

Law School Personal Statement Examples

The personal statement is a critical part of a law school application. Although it may not be as important as your LSAT score and GPA, remember that law school admissions committees are trying to build a diverse and interesting community of students. Your personal statement is the primary way you can show law schools who you are beyond your numbers and resume, and is also an opportunity to show the quality of your writing. If you’re not sure where to start, read on for law school personal statement examples and what makes each one successful.

Best Law School Personal Statement Examples

Below, you’ll find examples of successful personal statements that have been published by law schools themselves, followed by some tips and takeaways on what makes these law school personal statements work well. We also encourage you to check out this guide to formatting your personal statement .

Law School Personal Statement Example 1

First, take a look at the last sample personal statement about recovering from an injury: In Their Own Words: Admissions Essays That Worked | University of Chicago Law School . This was published by UChicago as an exemplary essay that worked well for admissions. Keep reading to get our analysis of what makes this a great personal statement!

• Law school personal statements don’t always need to be about why the applicant wants to go to law school. You can see how this statement touches on an interest in law only very briefly and lightly; the focus of the statement is instead on revealing personal qualities of the applicant.

Law School Personal Statement Example 2

Next, take a look at the last sample law school personal statement about an applicant’s experience in Teach for America: BU Law Student Personal Statements | School of Law . This was published by Boston University. Now, here’s why we think this is a winning personal statement.

• Clear and direct writing. The statement uses plain language and contractions – don’t think you have to use an overly “professional” tone.

Law School Personal Statement Tips

• Have you experienced any major changes in your career, intellectual interests, or life motivations? What caused the change?

How long should your personal statement be for law school?

Each law school may have its own rules regarding page length and font size for a personal statement. So make sure to check the personal statement format requirements for each school you’re applying to (among other specific law school requirements ). However, for the vast majority of schools, a statement should be about 2 pages long, double-spaced, in a readable font size (12 pt or 11 pt).

Even if a law school doesn’t specify any page limits for the personal statement, remember that admissions committees will be reading thousands of applications and will appreciate brevity. So you don’t necessarily want to write 4 pages or more simply because you can. For those schools that allow you to write more than 2 pages, having a 3-page version of your statement can make sense, but only if the extra page makes it better.

Final Advice

The personal statement is one of your only chances to let law schools know who you are beyond your numbers and resume. So, make the most of it. If you follow the tips above, you’ll have a compelling statement that will make law schools eager to have you join their entering classes. Meanwhile, if you’re writing a transfer statement, check out our advice on law school transfer personal statements!

Kevin Lin earned a B.A. from UC Berkeley and a J.D. from Columbia Law School. After working as a lawyer for several years, both at the U.S. Attorney’s Office and at a large New York law firm, he succumbed to his love of the LSAT and teaching and has been a full-time LSAT instructor since 2015. Beginning first at a major test prep company and rising to become one of its most experienced and highly rated instructors, he began tutoring independently in 2019. Kevin has worked with LSAT students at all stages of their preparation, from complete beginners to LSAT veterans shooting for the 99th percentile. Connect and learn more about Kevin on YouTube , LinkedIn , and his website .

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Sample law school personal statement essays, get accepted speak with an admissions expert today.

• Sample Essays

You are a thoughtful, intelligent, and unique individual. You already know that—now you just need to convince top law school adcoms that you're a cut above the rest. To do so you need to write a powerful personal statement for law school. Let's first discuss what that personal statement should be and then examine examples and what made them powerful.

A law school personal statement tells the part of your story that reveals your motivation for attending law school and the reasons you will make a great lawyer (or whatever career you want to pursue after law school). 

By reading the sample law school essays provided below, you should get a clear idea of how to translate your qualifications, passions, and individual experiences into words. You will see that the samples here employ a creative voice, use detailed examples, and draw the reader in with a clear writing style. Most importantly, these personal statements are compelling—each one does a fine job of convincing you that the author of the essay is a human being worth getting to know, or better yet, worth having in your next top law school class.

These sample law school personal statement essays are here to stimulate your writing juices, not to shut them down or persuade you to think that these essays represent templates that you must follow. The writers of these essays, who were all once law school applicants just like you, sat down, thought about their stories, and crafted these essays. However, their first step, significant self-reflection and thought, you can’t see. They didn’t use a template or try to shoehorn their story into someone else’s story. You shouldn’t either. But you should take the same first step that they took: Think about your life, the influences upon it, and why you want to obtain a legal education. 

Your story will be different from these author’s stories, but as you review all four of the sample essays you will see commonalities among them, which are highlighted below. You will also see that they are very different essays written by individuals reflecting their different life experiences and dreams. The authors of each of these essays were all accepted to law school, in some cases to elite U.S. law schools. 

Now let’s explore what you can learn from each of these outstanding sample law school essays.

Lessons from Law School Sample Essay #1: The Archaeologist Enthusiast  

• Attention-grabbing opening - The author of the essay immediately grabs the readers’ attention by placing them in the midst of the scene and vividly conveying what the author felt and saw as well as the excitement she felt. 
• Vivid, visual opening and consistent use of opening imagery - You can practically feel the dripping sweat and the heat at the opening of this essay because the applicant used vivid, sensory language that we can all relate to. She also quickly develops a metaphor comparing archaeological excavation with research in general and legal research specifically. She uses the imagery of archaeology (“finding the shard of glass,” “reconstructing the pot”) consistently throughout the personal statement to convey not only the unusual experiences she’s had in the past, but to show her love of research and analysis. 
• A clear theme that ties the essay together-  Her essay has a clear theme, which she states at the end of the first paragraph and in her conclusion. (You may not need to state it twice; that depends on your essay.) The applicant also relates every experience in the essay to her theme of research, analysis, and discovery. 
• Solid structure - Because her theme is so strong, the essay is easy to follow even though she has diverse experiences that aren’t obviously related to each other – archaeology in Spain, research on Colombian environmental policy, working for an online real estate company considering entry into the art market, and her travels.
• Good use of transitions - Transitions help your reader move from one topic to the next as you connect the topic in the preceding paragraph to the topic in the next. They can consist of a few words or a phrase or simply repetition of the topic by name as opposed to using a pronoun. The first paragraph in this sample essay ends with “research and analysis” and the next paragraph begins with “The challenge of researching and analyzing an unknown subject” as she turns from her introduction to her enjoyment of academic life and the research she had done in college. 

While one could argue that perhaps she has too many subtopics in this essay, because of the strong theme and excellent use of transitions, the essay holds together and highlights her diversity of experience, curiosity, and sense of adventure. 

Most importantly this law school personal statement earned its author a seat at an elite T10 law school.

Click here to read the essay >>  

Lessons from Law School Sample Essay #2: Returning to School 

This sample law school personal statement is about half the length of Essay 1 and concentrates on the author’s post-college work experience. In its brevity and focus it’s the mirror image of Law School Essay 1. The contrast between the two highlights the diversity that can work in law school essays.

This applicant writes about the impact of his work experience on his law school goals – with no discussion of extracurricular activities, hobbies, or travels. He had a tight word limit on his personal statement and simply had to be concise. Regardless of the narrower focus and shorter length, this essay also shares certain elements with Essay 1 and in both cases it leads to an engaging personal statement and acceptance. Let’s review them:

• Engaging, vivid opening that grabs attention - The applicant plops the reader right into his story and challenge: how to persuade the tired, grouchy doctors that the product he’s selling is better than the one they have been prescribing.
• A detailed story of his developing interest in law and relevant experience - Using just enough details, he tells his story starting with research that led to evidence-based persuasion. He also highlights his success, which led him to be named Rookie of the Year. He then goes on to explain that he now seeks new, more-lasting intellectual challenge than he currently has as a pharmaceutical sales rep because the industry, or at least his segment of it, changes slowly.
• Direction within law - Based on his background in science and his work in Big Pharma, he has direction in law. He clearly states that he wants to go into medical law. Given his background and work experience, that goal builds logically on his past, and is distinctive. 
• Ties the essay back to the opening - At the end of his essay, he references “his grumpy physicians” and “staring at his professor…” Sometimes applicants will start an essay with a catchy opening that grabs attention, but has little or nothing to do with the rest of the essay. When reading that kind of essay, the opening feels like a tease or a gimmick. In this essay, the applicant paints a picture of what he faces on a typical workday at the beginning, refers back to the opening scene in his conclusion, and contrasts that experience with what he hopes to face when in law school. It’s not a gimmick. It unifies the story.

This applicant was accepted at several T14 law schools.

Click here to read the essay >>

Law School Sample Essay #3: The Twilight Zone

There is a story behind this law school personal statement. This applicant, a very early Accepted client, during her first meeting said that she wanted to write about a trip to Country X. When asked about the trip, she said, “Oh, I’ve never been to Country X, but I know many people who have visited, and I haven’t done anything interesting.” 

Surprised at this unexpected approach, her consultant asked if she had any creative writing experience. The client said she didn’t. The consultant said that she too lacked creative writing experience and suggested they discuss what the client had done as opposed to what she hadn’t. This essay is the result of that (and other) conversations. It is an oldie but goodie.

Let’s take a look at the lessons in this sample law school essay:

• Don’t ever feel you don’t have a story to tell. Every single one of us has a story, and you don’t have to make one up or borrow someone else’s. Tell yours proudly and authentically.
• Launch with a vivid, engaging opening.  While her opening is a more frightening than the other openings, it definitely grips the reader’s attention and starts her story.
• Always have a clear theme.  Everything in this essay relates to the impact of the earthquake on her and specifically her decision to become a public interest lawyer. 
• Tell a story.  This personal statement tells the story of the earthquake’s impact on the applicant. In telling her story, she highlights her community service, her internship, and the evolution of her goals. 
• Use effective transitions.  As she moves from topic to topic, the author effectively carries the reader along. Look at the end of one paragraph and the beginning of the next one throughout the essay. You’ll see that in every case, there is either a word, phrase, or concept that ties one to the other. 
• Write a conclusion that really brings the essay to a close and contributes to the sense of unity while still looking forward. The applicant repeats her thesis that her career direction was shaped by the earthquake and its aftermath. She touches on key experiences (and achievements) that she wants the reader to remember, looks briefly forward, and ties back to the Twilight Zone opening.

This client was accepted to her top choice law school.

Lessons from Law School Sample Essay #4: Change 

This essay takes a different approach than the other three essays. The theme opens the essay followed by images and sounds that make the change she is experienced something the reader can also experience or at least imagine because the applicant uses sensory language. The writer also takes a chronological approach to tell her story of change and how it shaped her. 

The author in this essay chooses not to directly address her reasons for wanting to attend law school. However, the essay still works. The essay highlights her communications skills, research, international exposure, bilingual language skills, and initiative.

However here, too, there are lessons to be learned and some may sound familiar.

• Clear theme - Yes, this takeaway is in this essay as well as the preceding three. In fact, for any effective essay, you need a clear theme.
• Effective use of specifics and anecdote - Whether referencing the “bleak Wisconsin winter,” the fact her mother added “barbecued brisket” to her menu in Texas, or the cultural challenges she faced in Bolivia, she effectively illustrates her ability to deal with change and adapt throughout her life. 
• A conclusion that shows her evolution and growth - She subtly, but clearly reveals an evolution in her adaptability from complete adoption of the mores of her surroundings in New Jersey to more nuanced adaptability where she chooses what she wants to adopt and reject as she deals with change as an adult. Finally, while change is something she has to deal with throughout most of the essay by the conclusion she views it as an opportunity for growth.

Takeaways from These Law School Statement Samples

• There are an infinite number of ways to write a law school personal statement that will help you get accepted. 
• Begin your essay with an opening that grabs your reader’s attention. In today’s age of short attention spans and very busy people, there should be no long, slow warm ups. Put your reader in the scene as soon as they start reading.
• Use sensory language to engage your reader and help them imagine experiencing what you were going through. Reference scenes, sounds, smells, textures, and tastes as appropriate.
• Have a clear theme. Unless you are James Joyce, a stream of consciousness will not work. Know the core idea you want your essay to convey and ruthlessly ensure that every subtopic supports that idea. If it doesn’t, either make the connection clear or delete.
• Use transitions to take your reader with you through your story.
• Use specifics and anecdotes to support your theme in a distinctive way while highlighting your achievements.
• Write a conclusion that contributes to the unity of your essay. Highlight key points in your conclusion. While you can take your theme into the future in your conclusion, it still must relate to your core idea and build on what preceded it. If you can tie your ending back to your opening, your essay will have a stronger sense of coherence. 

How would I like to see these essays improved? I would like to see them, with the exception of Essay 2, address why they are applying to a given school. Essay 2 didn’t have room for that. 

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Law School Personal Statement with Examples

April 3, 2024

So you’re applying to law school? You’ve researched the LSAT , you’ve researched law schools , and now you’re preparing to write your personal statement. I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your plate so I won’t waste your time. In this blog, we’ll answer your questions, examine some law school personal statement examples, and discuss the law school personal statement format. Let’s dive right in.

What’s the purpose of a law school personal statement?

Here are the key objectives and functions of a law school personal statement:

1) Showcase your personal narrative

You can provide admissions committees with insight into who you are beyond your academic achievements and test scores. This essay allows you to share your personal narrative, experiences, values, and aspirations. Those details will help the admissions committee understand what motivates you and shapes your perspective.

2) Demonstrate your writing ability

Law schools place a high value on strong writing skills, because legal education and the legal profession require clear, concise, and persuasive communication. Your personal statement serves as a writing sample. The admissions committee will analyze your ability to articulate ideas effectively, organize thoughts coherently, and convey your message with clarity and precision.

3) Highlight your fit for the program

Your personal statement should also demonstrate why you are a good fit for the specific law school you’re applying to. So research the institution and tailor your statement accordingly. Then you can articulate how your interests, goals, and values align with the school’s mission, programs, and culture.

Law School Personal Statement with Examples (Continued)

4) Provide context for your application

Additionally, your personal statement offers context for the rest of your application. It allows you to address any inconsistencies or gaps in your application, explain unique circumstances, and showcase your growth and resilience.

5) Differentiate yourself from other applicants

In a competitive admissions process, a well-crafted personal statement can help you stand out from other applicants. By sharing authentic and compelling experiences and perspectives, you can distinguish yourself as a unique and valuable candidate.

6) Demonstrate your commitment to the legal profession

Admissions committees seek candidates who are passionate about pursuing a legal education and making a positive impact in the profession. So your personal statement should convey your sincere interest in law, your understanding of its challenges and responsibilities, and your readiness to contribute to the legal community.

  Law school personal statement format

Formatting a personal statement for law school is crucial as it helps convey your message clearly and professionally. So before we look at some law school personal statement examples, here are the key components of the law school personal statement format:

Most law schools have specific guidelines regarding the length of personal statements, typically ranging from one to two pages. So it’s essential to adhere to these guidelines to ensure your statement is concise and focused.

Font and size

Use a professional font like Times New Roman and adjust the size to 12 points. This ensures readability and maintains a formal appearance.

Introduction

Begin with a strong and engaging introduction that captures the reader’s attention. This section should set the tone for the rest of your statement and provide context for your motivations.

Body paragraphs

Organize your statement into several paragraphs, each focusing on a specific theme or aspect of your background, experiences, and motivations for pursuing law school.

Transitions

Use transitional phrases and sentences to smoothly transition between different ideas and paragraphs. This helps maintain coherence and flow throughout your statement, ensuring that each section builds upon the previous one.

End your statement with a compelling conclusion that reinforces your motivations for pursuing a legal education. Focus on leaving a lasting impression on the reader.

Stick to the guidelines

Follow any specific formatting guidelines provided by the law school, such as file format requirements or word count limitations. Adhering to these guidelines demonstrates attention to detail and professionalism.

Two law school personal statement examples

With the law school personal statement format fresh in our minds, let’s take a look at some examples.

Here’s the first of our law school personal statement examples:

As I gaze into the innocent eyes of my two young daughters, I’m filled with boundless love. In their laughter and curiosity, I see the promise of a bright future—but intertwined with that hope is a profound fear and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. I can never forget the sobering reality of climate change, a crisis that threatens to reshape the world they will inherit.

My journey towards law school is not merely a pursuit of personal ambition but a solemn commitment to safeguarding the future of my children and generations to come. Growing up amidst the rolling hills of California, I witnessed the devastating effects of wildfires and droughts. Yet, it was the birth of my daughters that catalyzed my transformation from concerned bystander to impassioned advocate.

Driven by this newfound purpose, I immersed myself in climate advocacy, from grassroots campaigns to policy research. I rallied alongside fellow parents and concerned citizens, demanding accountability from policymakers and corporations alike. Each petition signed, each protest attended, was fueled by the determination to leave behind a world worthy of my daughters.

I want to leverage the power of the law as a force for environmental justice and sustainability. The University of Oregon is where my passion for climate advocacy meets the rigors of legal education. Its esteemed faculty and commitment to social responsibility offer the ideal platform to amplify my voice and effect meaningful change.

At the University of Oregon, I aspire to become not only a skilled attorney but also a champion for the planet. With each legal brief penned and each precedent set, I’ll strive to leave behind a legacy of hope and resilience. And I’ll ensure that my children inherit a world teeming with possibility, not plagued by relentless climate catastrophes.

Why the first of our law school personal statement examples works:

Compelling narrative

First, the statement begins with the applicant reflecting on their young daughters and their concern for the future amidst the looming threat of climate change . This narrative immediately grabs the reader’s attention and sets the stage for the applicant’s personal journey.

Personal connection

The applicant demonstrates a deep personal connection to the issue of climate change. This personal connection adds authenticity and depth to their motivations for pursuing law school.

Commitment to advocacy

The statement showcases the applicant’s proactive approach to addressing climate change through advocacy work, including grassroots campaigns and policy research. This demonstrates their dedication and initiative in confronting pressing societal issues.

Alignment with law school

The applicant articulates why they’re drawn to the specific law school they’re applying to. They emphasize how the University of Oregon’s commitment to social responsibility and environmental justice aligns with their own values and aspirations. This shows that the applicant has researched the law school and understands how its resources can support their goals.

Vision for the future

Finally, it concludes with a vision of the applicant’s future role as an attorney dedicated to environmental justice and sustainability. This, coupled with their commitment to leaving behind a positive legacy for future generations, highlights their long-term goals and ambition.

Overall, this personal statement effectively combines personal narrative, passion, and commitment to showcase the applicant’s readiness for law school and their potential to make a meaningful impact in the field of environmental law.

Here’s the second of our law school personal statement examples:

Nestled amidst the golden fields of rural America, I learned from an early age that community is not just a place. It’s a commitment to looking out for one another in times of need. Growing up in a tight-knit community, I was instilled with values of empathy, compassion, and service.

On an autumn morning several years ago, there was a knock at my door. On my porch was my neighbor Sarah, a single mother. She told me about the looming eviction notice that threatened to upend her family’s life. As she looked at me with desperate eyes, I felt a surge of empathy and determination.

I sprang into action and rallied the support of our neighbors. Together, we organized to challenge the unjust eviction and provide Sarah with the assistance she needed. This experience ignited my passion for social justice and set me on a path towards law school.

Throughout my undergraduate journey, I dove into political science and community development. I immersed myself in research projects that shed light on the lived experiences of marginalized communities. One particularly impactful project involved collaborating with local activists to advocate for the expansion of affordable housing programs. This culminated in a successful city council vote that brought tangible relief to countless families in need.

The allure of UC Davis lies not only in its esteemed faculty and rigorous curriculum but also in its dedication to fostering a culture of advocacy and social change. Its renowned clinics and externship opportunities offer a unique platform to translate classroom knowledge into real-world impact. I’m eager to contribute my firsthand experiences and passion for justice to the vibrant community of UC Davis, where every voice is heard, and every action is a step towards a more equitable future.

Why the second of our law school personal statement examples works:

Compelling introduction

The statement begins with vivid imagery and a nostalgic portrayal of the applicant’s upbringing in rural America. This sets the stage for the narrative and establishes the values that have shaped the applicant’s worldview.

Personal anecdote

The story of Sarah, the single mother facing eviction , demonstrates the applicant’s empathy, compassion, and commitment to social justice. Additionally, it showcases their ability to take initiative and mobilize their community in times of need.

Connection to law school

The statement effectively connects the applicant’s personal experiences to their decision to pursue law school. It highlights how their passion for social justice was ignited by their experiences. Then it also emphasizes their determination to use the law as a tool for positive change.

Academic and experiential background

The applicant provides specific examples of their academic and experiential background. They include involvement in political science and community development research projects. This demonstrates their commitment to understanding systemic injustices and their ability to engage in meaningful advocacy work.

Fit for the law school

The statement concludes by articulating why the applicant is drawn to the specific law school they are applying to. It mentions UC Davis’s dedication to advocacy and social change, aligning with the applicant’s values and aspirations. This shows that the applicant has done their research. Additionally, it shows their clear vision for how the law school’s resources align with their goals.

Overall, this personal statement effectively showcases the applicant’s passion, commitment, and readiness for law school, making them a compelling candidate for admission.

How to brainstorm for your law school personal statement

Here are some strategies to help you brainstorm effectively:

1) Reflect on personal experiences

First, think about significant events, challenges, or accomplishments in your life that have shaped your identity and aspirations. Also, consider how these experiences have influenced your interest in law and your commitment to social justice or advocacy.

2) Identify core values and beliefs

Reflect on your core values, beliefs, and principles that guide your decision-making and actions. Then consider how these values align with the mission and values of the law schools you’re interested in. Also, consider how they inform your interest in pursuing a legal education.

3) Evaluate unique experiences and perspectives

Consider any unique experiences, perspectives, or backgrounds you bring to the table that may set you apart from other applicants. Reflect on how these experiences have shaped your perspective and how they contribute to your readiness for law school.

4) Seek inspiration from others

Talk to family members, friends, mentors, or advisors who know you well. They may offer valuable perspectives and help you uncover ideas you hadn’t considered.

5) Freewriting and mind mapping

Finally, set aside time for freewriting or mind mapping exercises. This is where you jot down ideas, memories, thoughts, and associations related to your interest in law school. Allow yourself to explore different angles and connections without judgment.

By engaging in these brainstorming strategies, you can generate a wealth of ideas and insights to inform your law school personal statement.

Final Thoughts – Law School Personal Statement with Examples

Well, you’ve analyzed the law school personal statement examples and the law school personal statement format. You understand the purpose of the personal statement and all the nuances it brings to your application. You know how to brainstorm. Now you’re ready to find your inspiration, choose your topic, and craft your story. Happy writing!

You may also wish to check out the following relevant blogs:

• LSAT Test Dates – 2024
• Best Law Schools in Georgia
• 15 Best Law Schools in New York
• Best Entertainment & Sports Law Schools
• Law School Admissions

Mariya holds a BFA in Creative Writing from the Pratt Institute and is currently pursuing an MFA in writing at the University of California Davis. Mariya serves as a teaching assistant in the English department at UC Davis. She previously served as an associate editor at Carve Magazine for two years, where she managed 60 fiction writers. She is the winner of the 2015 Stony Brook Fiction Prize, and her short stories have been published in Mid-American Review , Cutbank , Sonora Review , New Orleans Review , and The Collagist , among other magazines.

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Harvard law personal statement: how to write + example.

Reviewed by:

David Merson

Former Head of Pre-Law Office, Northeastern University, & Admissions Officer, Brown University

Reviewed: 03/03/23

‍ If you’re applying to Harvard Law School, it’s essential to write an impactful personal statement. Read on to learn how to write a Harvard law personal statement that sets you apart from the crowd. 

The Harvard Law personal statement is an important part of the application process. It provides an opportunity for you to showcase your unique qualities and experiences to the admissions committee. You can communicate your motivations, passions, and goals for pursuing a legal education at Harvard Law School through the personal statement.

To have a good chance of getting into Harvard Law , you need to stand out from the thousands of other applicants. By presenting a compelling personal statement, you can make a positive impression on the admissions committee and increase your chances of admission.

Keep reading to learn how to write a personal statement that distinguishes you from other applicants and demonstrates your fit with Harvard Law School's values and culture. 

This guide will cover the requirements and tips you need to know to write a well-crafted Harvard Law personal statement. We’ll also go over a successful Harvard Law personal statement example and why it works!

Harvard Law School Personal Statement Requirements

To write a successful personal statement that demonstrates your value as an applicant, you need to ensure you stick to the requirements. The admissions committee is looking for applicants who show they care about the application process and pay attention to detail. 

Not adhering to the requirements could suggest a lack of attention to detail and negatively impact your chances of being admitted. Following the requirements ensures that your personal statement is well-organized and focused so that you can effectively communicate your message to the admissions committee.

Here are the requirements for the Harvard law personal statement:

Length: Your personal statement must be no more than two pages in length, double-spaced, with a font size no smaller than 11-point, and one-inch margins. 

Content: It should provide insight into who you are as a person and as a potential law student. Use this space to tell a story that illustrates your strengths, passions, and goals. You can also discuss any challenges you’ve overcome or experiences that have shaped your unique perspective.

Format: Your personal statement should be saved as a PDF and uploaded to the application portal . Your name and LSAC account number should be included on each page of the personal statement.

Additional Information: In addition to the personal statement, you may also choose to submit a supplementary statement about any factors that may have affected your academic performance or a diversity statement that describes your unique perspective and experiences. 

Paying attention to these requirements is key, as failing to do so can result in an incomplete or disqualified application. Adhering to the guidelines and word count ensures that your personal statement is concise and tailored to the expectations of the admissions committee. 

It's also important to note that while the personal statement is a crucial component of your application, it's not the only factor that Harvard Law School considers. Your academic record, test scores, letters of recommendation, and other factors will also be evaluated.

Crafting a Winning Personal Statement for Harvard Law School

Harvard Law is one of the most prestigious law schools in the world. So, it’s important to make sure every element of your application is top-notch. A well-written personal statement can make you a memorable candidate and increase your chances of getting in. 

To put your best foot forward, it’s helpful to learn what’s worked for other applicants. So, refer to this guide when you need to brush up on the Harvard Law personal statement requirements or need a bit of inspiration. It’s been designed to help you write a personal statement you can be proud of. Let’s get started. 

Start by Brainstorming

Before you begin writing your personal statement, take some time to brainstorm your ideas. Consider your experiences, accomplishments, and goals, and think about how they relate to your desire to attend Harvard Law School.

Brainstorming helps generate ideas, clarify thoughts, and identify key themes or concepts. It’s a process of free-flowing, non-judgmental thinking that allows for creative exploration and problem-solving. It can help you organize and prioritize ideas and content. 

By brainstorming, you can uncover unique and compelling aspects of your experiences or qualifications that might have gone unnoticed. It also provides a foundation for the writing process and can help to streamline and focus your message. Overall, brainstorming can bring a lot of value to a Harvard Law personal statement.

Develop a Thesis Statement

Once you have a sense of the main ideas you want to convey in your personal statement, develop a thesis statement that encapsulates your main message. This should be a single sentence that highlights the central theme of your personal statement.

A strong thesis statement is essential for your personal statement because it serves as the central message or argument that you’re trying to convey in your writing. It should be concise and clear, and highlight the main theme you want to communicate to the admissions committee.

A thesis statement helps to focus your personal statement and gives it a clear sense of direction. It also helps to ensure that your writing is coherent and organized, which is important for making a strong impression on the admissions committee.

In addition, your thesis statement can help you to stand out from other applicants. It allows you to demonstrate your unique perspective and approach to the law and helps to highlight what makes you a strong candidate for Harvard Law School.

Overall, having a well-thought-out thesis statement provides a sense of direction throughout your personal statement, helps to make your writing more focused and organized, and allows you to communicate your unique perspective and strengths as a law school candidate.

Tell a Story

Rather than simply listing your accomplishments, use your personal statement to tell a story that illustrates your strengths, passions, and goals. Use specific examples and anecdotes to bring your story to life.

Storytelling can have a powerful impact on a personal statement for Harvard Law School. By telling your story, you can help the admissions committee get a better sense of who you are as a person and as a potential law student.

When done effectively, storytelling can help your personal statement stand out from the thousands of other applications that the admissions committee receives each year. It can make it more memorable, engaging, and can help create an emotional connection with the reader.

Storytelling can also help demonstrate skills and qualities that law schools are looking for, such as critical thinking, problem-solving, and effective communication. Using examples from your experiences to illustrate these skills, you can show the admissions committee why you would be a valuable addition to their community.

Storytelling can be a powerful tool in a personal statement for Harvard Law School. By using concrete examples and narratives to illustrate your strengths and goals, you can create a compelling case for why you would be a strong candidate for admission. 

Show, Don't Tell

Instead of simply stating that you're a hard worker or a great leader, demonstrate these qualities through specific examples and anecdotes. Use descriptive language and imagery to paint a picture of who you are and what you've accomplished.

Showing qualities through the lens of your experiences makes your writing more engaging and memorable. Using specific examples to illustrate your qualities and achievements will ultimately make your Harvard Law personal statement more impactful.

Keep It Brief and On Point.

Remember that your personal statement should be no more than two pages long, so stick to your point. Remember that the admissions committee receives thousands of applications each year, and they typically have a limited amount of time to review each one. 

Ensure that your personal statement is clear and easy to read by using simple language and staying focused on your main thesis. You want to write just enough to make a strong case for why you are a strong candidate for admission to Harvard Law School. 

By focusing on your most important experiences and qualities and avoiding unnecessary tangents, you can demonstrate your value as a potential law school student and make a compelling argument for why you should be admitted.

Edit and Revise

Once you've written a draft of your personal statement, take some time to edit and revise it. Pay attention to grammar, punctuation, and spelling, and make sure your writing is clear and concise. Ask someone else to read your personal statement and provide feedback. 

A well-written and error-free personal statement can make a positive impression on the admissions committee, while a poorly edited statement can detract from your qualifications. 

Editing allows you to refine your message, eliminate errors and inconsistencies, and ensure your personal statement is crystal clear. Careful editing helps to demonstrate attention to detail and professionalism, qualities that are highly valued in the legal profession.

Pay Attention to Formatting

Finally, be sure to follow the formatting requirements for the Harvard Law School personal statement. Save your personal statement as a PDF and include your name and LSAC account number on each page.

A well-formatted statement is not only aesthetically pleasing but also shows that you took it seriously. It can make the statement more readable and easier to navigate for the admissions committee. A well-organized statement can also help to structure your thoughts and ensure that you’re effectively conveying your message.

By following these steps and putting in the time and effort to write a strong personal statement, you can increase your chances of being admitted to one of the most prestigious law schools in the world.

What to Avoid in a Harvard Law Personal Statement

When writing a personal statement for Harvard Law School, it's important to know what to avoid. Read on to learn everything you need to know.

Avoid using clichéd phrases or overused quotes in your personal statement. The admissions committee reads a ton of personal statements every year, so it's important to try to make a unique impression.

Clichés can often be vague and lack specificity, which can make it difficult for the committee to understand your message and qualifications. By avoiding cliches, you can demonstrate your individual perspective and voice. Remember, there’s only one you .

Rambling or Tangential Writing

Your personal statement should be focused and concise, with a clear thesis statement and supporting examples. 

Rambling or going off-topic can detract from the overall impact of your personal statement. It can suggest a lack of organizational skills and attention to detail, qualities highly valued in the legal profession.

To avoid rambling when writing, it is important to stay focused on the topic at hand and stick to a clear structure. Start by outlining the main points that you want to make and the supporting evidence or examples that you’ll use to illustrate those points. Use concise language and avoid unnecessary tangents or repetition.

It’s also helpful to read through your writing regularly and ask yourself if each sentence and paragraph is contributing to the overall message you are trying to convey. Finally, consider having someone else review your work to provide feedback and help identify any areas where you may be straying off topic.

While it's essential to showcase your strengths and accomplishments, avoid coming across as cocky or entitled in your personal statement. Instead, focus on demonstrating your passion for law and your commitment to making a positive impact in the legal field.

Admissions committees are looking for candidates who are not only academically qualified but who also possess the emotional intelligence and interpersonal skills necessary for success in the legal profession. 

By being humble, you show your capacity for growth, willingness to learn from others, and commitment to serving the greater good. 

Avoid focusing on experiences that paint you in a negative light. Instead, pay attention to the positive lessons you've learned and how you've grown and developed as a person and as a potential law student.

Being negative may raise concerns about your ability to work collaboratively with others. Highlighting negative events or attitudes can take away from the overall message of your personal statement, which is an opportunity for you to promote your talents, experiences, and qualifications. 

The legal profession requires the ability to work effectively with others and to maintain a positive and professional demeanor even in challenging situations. By maintaining a positive tone, you can demonstrate your resilience, adaptability, and ability to work effectively in a team-oriented environment.

It should go without saying, but be sure to avoid any form of plagiarism in your personal statement. This includes copying and pasting from other sources, using quotes without attribution, or hiring someone to write your personal statement for you.

Presenting someone else's work or ideas as your own is a form of academic dishonesty. Your personal statement is meant to express your unique background, experiences, and qualifications, and plagiarism undermines its authenticity.

Additionally, plagiarism is a violation of Harvard Law School's code of conduct and can result in serious consequences, including rejection of your application or even revocation of an already awarded admission. 

By submitting an original and authentic personal statement, you can demonstrate your honesty, integrity, and professionalism, qualities that are highly valued in the legal profession.

By avoiding these pitfalls and focusing on crafting a unique personal statement, you can increase your chances of being admitted to Harvard Law School. Remember, the personal statement is an important opportunity to show who you truly are and why you're a strong candidate, so take the time to do it right.

Harvard Law Personal Statement Example

It can help to read a Harvard law personal statement example to get a good understanding of what the admissions committee is looking for. Reading through successful examples can provide insight into what constitutes a strong Harvard law personal statement.

The following personal statement , written by Dasha Wise, is an example of a successful Harvard Law School application essay.  

"The large room was beginning to feel like a cramped interrogation chamber as we stood anxiously awaiting the next set of difficult questions. We did not have to wait long. Why were there discrepancies in our numbers? Wasn’t the retreat expense unnecessarily large? Not to mention that the submitted documents were not only late but incomplete! 

I could not help but steal a glance at the out-going treasurer standing next to me—as a newly elected executive board treasurer for Community Impact (CI), Columbia’s largest service organization, I had been invited to accompany her to CI’s annual presentation to request funding from the student councils. 

There was no doubt that she had stayed up most of the night completing this presentation, attempting to patch up holes in the financial records. 

I could not blame her for the mistakes—everyone at CI was overworked and stretched well beyond their capacity, too busy keeping up with the activities of each day to step back and tackle the organization’s underlying problems.

As she became visibly more flustered, I knew that I needed to assume responsibility for the remainder of the presentation. Standing there in defense of the organization that I had come to love, I managed to remain calm, elding critical questions to the best of my ability while swallowing the all-too-well-founded criticism along with my pride. 

As the presentation came to a close, I began to understand the systematic change that was necessary and that I would be responsible for making this change a reality.

I began immediately that summer. 

Learning as much as possible about the current system and its laws enabled me to discover that CI’s largest impediments were operational inefficiency and improper communication, the combination of which was contributing to internal frustration, ineffective resource management, and a tainted reputation. 

To establish both scale accuracy and efficiency, I reconstructed treasury procedures and devised an automated budget-tracking and request-processing mechanism that would be administered through CI’s online platform. 

Working closely with our webmaster, I designed a treasury section for CI’s website that would enable coordinators to request funding, monitor their budgets, and access key forms as well as the instructional manuals that I had written over the summer. 

To reposition CI’s public image, I insisted on transparency, persuading the staff of its importance and holding a board meeting to update important documents such as our constitution and spending guidelines. Reacting CI’s core principles and procedures, they would now be publicly displayed on our website.

In pushing for large-scale change, I knew in advance that over-seeing the process would be no easy task and that I would need to hold numerous trainings, respond immediately to student inquiries, and continue to work throughout the year to make further corrections based on feedback and my own observations. 

All this I was prepared for, and with input from my peers and CI’s staff along the way, I arrived at a product that would provide the CI treasury with structural support for years to come. 

CI’s records were accurate, and we were able to cut costs, monitor our spending, and receive approval from our volunteers, for whom the elusive red tape had now given way to simplicity and predictability. 

A system that responded to the needs of students, board members, and staff alike eliminated needless frustration, established procedural efficiency, and improved both internal and external communication. 

‍ When I found myself in front of the student councils exactly one year later, I was not met with the same mistrust and quizzical expressions. 

Our presentation, whose supporting documents had this time been submitted well in advance and verified multiple times, resulted in open gratitude for the effort that we had put in to establish scale accuracy and procedural transparency and to maintain open communication with the councils, informing them of the changes that we were making in light of their concerns. 

Unlike the previous year’s penalty and subsequent funding shortage, this time we received precisely what we requested. Yet perhaps most importantly, we received respect, not only from our own coordinators, volunteers, and other constituents but from the university as a whole. 

Although I had encountered numerous difficulties throughout my life, what I had decided to tackle at CI last year was my most significant challenge yet—not merely for the amount of effort that it required, but for the fact that my decisions now affected whether directly or indirectly, hundreds of others, from CI’s staff and student executives to our nine hundred volunteers and the nine thousand individuals that they served. 

In some quantifiable sense, this was my biggest accomplishment, the most rewarding, and among the most memorable, but it was not the first and it will not be the last. I would not have it any other way. 

To survive difficulties is one thing, but to excel in spite of them is another. Overcoming the most seemingly insurmountable yet worthy challenges is, for me, the primary means of obtaining respect from the one person that truly matters and is, at the same time, the most difficult to please— myself. 

Why this essay works: This Harvard law personal statement example checks every box. It’s personal, concise, impactful, and clearly communicates the qualities that would make Dasha an excellent lawyer. If it helps to get the creative juices flowing, reading sample personal statements can be a great source of inspiration for your writing.

FAQs: Harvard Law School Personal Statement

The Harvard Law personal statement is an important part of your law school application and needs to be carefully thought out. It makes sense to have questions, so keep reading to learn more about the Harvard law personal statement. 

1. How Long Should My Personal Statement Be for Harvard Law?

The length of your personal statement for Harvard Law School should be no more than two pages, double-spaced. Harvard recommends that applicants aim for a length of 750 to 1,500 words, which should provide enough space to effectively communicate your message while still remaining concise and focused.

2. How Important Is the Harvard Law School Personal Statement?

The Harvard law personal statement is a crucial component of the law school application and is given significant weight in the admissions decision-making process. 

The personal statement allows applicants to showcase their unique experiences, qualifications, and motivations for pursuing a legal education and to demonstrate their fit with Harvard Law School's values and culture. 

A well-written personal statement can make a positive impression on the admissions committee and increase an applicant's chances of being admitted to this highly selective law school.

3. What Should I Include in My Personal Statement for Harvard Law?

In your personal statement for Harvard Law, you should include information about your background, experiences, and achievements, as well as your motivations for pursuing a legal education. You should also highlight your skills and abilities relevant to the legal profession, such as critical thinking, problem-solving, and communication skills. 

Additionally, you may want to discuss any challenges or obstacles you’ve overcome and how these experiences have shaped your goals and aspirations. Finally, it is important to showcase your fit with Harvard Law School's values and culture and to explain why you are a strong candidate for admission.

Final Thoughts

Hopefully, you now have a good understanding of how to write a solid Harvard law personal statement. Remember to stay true to your voice and experiences, be authentic and sincere, and take the time to edit and revise your statement to ensure it’s polished and professional. 

By following the tips and guidelines outlined in this blog and reviewing the Harvard Law personal statement example provided, you can craft a compelling personal statement that stands out to the admissions committee and increases your chances of being admitted to Harvard Law School. 

Once you’ve written a strong personal statement, you can focus on the next steps, such as collecting letters of recommendation , prepping for a possible Harvard Law interview , or brushing up on legal terms . Good luck on your application journey!

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8 Successful Law School Personal Statement Examples

Many people have asked me to share law school personal statement examples. Here are a few I am especially proud of.

1) This is one of my all-time favorite personal statements. It contributed to the applicant’s admission at 8 of the T14 law schools.

The smell effervescing off the water hits me like a blast of morning breath to the face. I zip up a rain jacket to cover my nose, choosing to overheat in the muggy sunshine rather than gag with each inhalation. Too much of this air can cause nausea, headaches, eventually even liver damage. My colleague rips the recoil starter on the skiff’s engine, but it putters out immediately. The propeller struggles to churn the mossy water, so thick with toxic algae that we bring an extra gas can to ensure our later return to shore. The lake didn’t used to be like this. Something has poisoned it. We are here to find that something.

Despite the noxious vapors and smoke from a nearby wildfire blurring the scenery, Upper Klamath Lake is gorgeous in the summer. Snowy peaks pierce the sky, and the weird, algal green of the water completes an otherworldly view. I’m no stranger to working against this sort of backdrop. My years studying geology have brought me to the painted deserts of Utah and the technicolor pools of Yellowstone. I’ve mapped the Flat Irons of Colorado, probed sand dunes on Adriatic beaches, and, in the mountains of Upstate New York, hammered out garnets the size of baseballs.

But this trip is about mud. My partner and I arrive at stop one, site KL-04. She cuts the motor while I reach over the water to grab a buoy. I pull, and up comes the first of six mud traps scattered around the lake. The contraption, built from PVC pipes, syringes, and industrial-strength rubber bands, emerges from the swampy depths, vegetated and covered in silt. I haul it over the side of the boat. On the deck, wriggling with leeches, is the answer to Upper Klamath Lake’s crisis. The trap’s syringes hold the essential nutrients of blue-green algae: phosphorus, nitrogen, and heavy metals. The lake is overdosing on them. We know these specific nutrients are leached from the volcanic bedrock underlying the region. However, there is another culprit.

Restarting the engine, we hook back toward the southern coast, where water meets farmland. Here is the second source of the nutrients. On this boundary, fertilizer runoff mixes with the lake, frothing as the algae multiply. If we tested only the surface water, we’d be unable to parse the volcanic pollutants from their agricultural analogs. Our novel method bypasses this problem by focusing on the lakebed, in time allowing us to determine whether this ecological illness is mainly the fault of nature or humans. Once armed with a clear breakdown of culpability, litigation can be pursued against the responsible parties, and legislation may be written to limit local fertilizer use. In short, the water system’s future relies on the sludge we’re dredging up.

It’s difficult work though. By this point in the morning, the plastic raincoat is stuck to my body with sweat. But unlike splashes of lake water, sweat won’t sting my skin. I decide to use the back brace for this next stop as the traps feel heavier than they did on my last visit. Because we’re conducting a long-term study, this expedition to the lake is just one of the eight I will make this summer. Each is an 18-hour round trip from the U.S. Geological Survey lab in Menlo Park. The time between voyages is saturated with analyzing samples and sanitizing and reassembling the equipment, sometimes keeping me lab-locked into the summer nights.

Many parties closely follow our research, as Klamath is ground zero in an environmental brawl. Conservationist groups, farmers, local tribes, and salmon fisheries will all one day pivot their litigation on the intricacies of our unbiased findings. Geology is often like this. Most of what I’ve learned in my four years studying nature is joined at the hip with human problems. It’s not only geology’s vistas that enthrall me; it’s also its utility in a world beset by complex and far-reaching challenges. That’s why I’ve decided to shift focus from the study of Earth to the relationship between it and its inhabitants. By going to law school, I plan to protect places like Klamath, using my technical background in geology to inform the policies with which we approach both mountain ranges on the horizon and the algae under the boat.

It’s around noon when I hoist the last trap. We accelerate once more, blowing away mosquitoes that had gathered on my wrists and face. The skiff’s bow points back toward the dock, where I see the fifteen-passenger van I parked three hours ago. I’ll spend the upcoming nine-hour drive with just an audiobook, the open California grassland, and an icebox full of controversial mud. Regardless of what the mud eventually tells us, this project is only among the first in a career working for the environment. The boat drifts to a stop by the dock, and I step onto it, trap in each hand. Setting these two traps by the van’s backdoor, I start back across the sun-bleached parking lot for another pair. My mind is on the long journey ahead.

2) This personal statement contributed to the applicant’s admission at a T6 law school with a 25th percentile LSAT.

A desk. A chair. A stack of letters. I arrive at the office at 9:50 a.m., grab a cup of coffee, and begin reading letters from incarcerated individuals. The first few contain simple requests: housing and employment options for individuals with a criminal record, information about medications, legal definitions. Easy enough. I research the relevant issues and respond with my findings. The next couple contain complaints about living conditions. Straightforward. I document them and reply that we will send a volunteer to investigate. Reviewing at a steady pace, I get through almost half the letters before lunch.

When I return, the stack has doubled. This is quite common. At [redacted], we field more letters than we can efficiently handle. I try to get through the letters as quickly as possible, but I want to ensure each gets my full attention. For many, we are their only link beyond the prison walls. While drafting each reply, I omit any details about the individual’s case; it is not uncommon for mail to be opened by someone else without consent. When I finish, I send a copy to the central processing facility and then forward the letter to the appropriate staff mentor at the [redacted] to ensure we do not lose the person’s case.

I go through the same process each day, reading and replying, balancing efficiency with focus. Over the next week, I notice a trend. Many individuals have been sent to solitary confinement for minor infractions with no clear timeframe for release. They endure claustrophobic conditions and mental and physical abuse. As I read, I feel chills. One writer, who has been in solitary confinement for two years, shares his journal: paranoia, hallucinations, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts. He’s not asking for anything—he just wants to be heard. Another writes about being repeatedly sexually assaulted by a corrections officer while being held without a reason. I reply that we’re working on their cases. We’ll update them eventually . But what do they do until then?

I read many similar stories as I work through the never-ending stack. One individual in solitary confinement had to drop his college classes because they weren’t offered in isolation. Another lost his job as a cook. One was on the verge of completing vocational training before being sent to the “hole” for mouthing off to a corrections officer. A theme is developing. Solitary confinement, though intended to house the most dangerous offenders to increase safety and reduce violence, is overused, creating a barrier to rehabilitation.

I want to learn more. During my free time, I research. Studies show that solitary confinement doesn’t work. It does not increase safety. It does not reduce violence. Humans are not meant to spend twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a space the size of a parking spot with no human interaction, receiving food through a slot. No one benefits from such inhumane treatment.

I research further . If solitary confinement is not reducing violence, why is it used at all? Why are so many people relegated to solitary confinement for minor offenses if it’s only meant for the most dangerous offenders? Why are individuals ever sent there for years at a time? Somewhere along the way, prisons began to abuse and misuse solitary confinement. Data on solitary confinement is virtually absent and often underestimated, but in 2018, U.S. jails and prisons held an estimated 80,000 to 100,000 individuals in solitary confinement on any given day. It was never meant to be used as a precautionary measure, but during the pandemic, numbers ballooned to 300,000 as prisons attempted to curb infection rates. But at what cost? Solitary confinement has become a part of prison culture when it was only ever meant to be a last resort. The harm goes beyond the walls of the tiny cell. Individuals who spend time in solitary confinement are 15% more likely to reoffend within three years of release, five times more likely to commit suicide, and 127% more likely to die of an opioid overdose within two weeks of release. The overuse of solitary confinement creates a vicious cycle of punishment.

I want to go to law school to end this cycle, but I can’t do that through isolated victories. I must work from the ground up to shift the focus of our prison system. In advocating for reform, I intend to play an active role in transforming prisons into institutions that prioritize rehabilitative over punitive treatment. Re-entry programs must be emphasized. Re-entry barriers must be broken. Mistreatment by those in power must cease. I know this will not be a quick or easy change, but I have the drive and grit to embrace the challenge.

3) This personal statement contributed to the applicant’s admission at 2 of the T14 law schools with a sub-170 LSAT and sub-3.7 GPA.

Only five days remained in the legislative session, and I had just learned that the Senate Judiciary Committee had a major concern with our lead poisoning prevention bill: its million-dollar price tag. Almost all failed state legislation dies in Committee, and it looked like our bill was next. Worried that months of effort spent negotiating deals with our bill’s stakeholders would go to waste, I picked up the phone and got to work. I must have pleaded our case to a half-dozen state officials before, finally, the state’s Secretary of the Environment agreed to fund the bill and personally asked the Committee Chair to pass it. The bill crossed the finish line hours before the end of session, and it now helps thousands of children each year.

I started my political career at a well-regarded campaign fundraising firm. It was an arduous job, best suited for driven, resourceful people willing to sacrifice work-life balance for a chance to influence the political landscape. Prepared to do whatever it took to succeed, I was a perfect fit. I relished the feeling of hitting a campaign’s fundraising goal, seeing my clients’ numbers rise in the polls, and winning races. As I watched my clients transition from the campaign trail to public office, I realized that my passion for politics was evolving into a deep interest in policy and regulatory matters. After spending several nights weighing pros and cons, I decided to make a change. I gave notice and set up a meeting with a client of mine who had just been reelected as a State Delegate. She was surprised I was leaving the firm but also eager to bring me on as her new Legislative Director.

The first few weeks were a shocking adjustment. While my experiences in fundraising prepared me to run the office’s daily operations, I had so much to learn about policy. Constituents would contact us daily about a variety of issues, ranging from general questions about government programs to urgent crises that required immediate attention. As I worked to address each problem, I began noticing patterns, which enabled me to increase the speed of our resolutions.

On one occasion, a community group came in and expressed frustration that a local bus was skipping their stop nearly 25% of the time, negatively impacting hundreds of riders. They had reached out to several agencies before us, but each one just pushed the problem elsewhere. After listening to the group speak, I immediately reached out to the city transit authority and requested transit data for the area. Upon review of the data, I discovered that the route’s failures were symptomatic of a broader issue: severe traffic congestion. This bus, along with several others, often skipped stops due to road conditions. With clarity on the underlying issue, I was able to devise a practical solution. I reached out to city and state agencies and together we developed a bill that would enforce local bus lanes.

This bus lane bill, as well as our lead poisoning prevention bill, were two of the ten policy bills the Delegate and I put up for scrutiny during the 2019 90-day session. The ninety days represent our busiest time of year and is also when I get to fully embody my role as Legislative Director. On the strategy side, I utilize relationships with former clients to garner the necessary political support to pass bills. On the development side, I spend dozens of hours researching legal statutes and policy papers related to our legislation.

During the session, I worked closely with the General Assembly’s legislative analysts on perfecting the language of our bills to ensure they would be in the best position possible to get passed. I was eager to learn as much as I could, and they graciously spoke with me for hours, offering up insight into a range of policy issues and other regulatory matters.  I learned more about policy and state law over the course of a few meetings with them than through all my past independent research and study. By the end of the ninety days, the Delegate and I had passed four bills and secured almost $10 million in funding for 13 community-based projects. I am thrilled that our policy ideas are being put into action, and we are already underway with our upcoming legislative portfolio. I am most excited to introduce a bill to recoup hospital costs for indigent patients, before I take my next big career step.

Unlike leaving fundraising, deciding to pursue a legal career is a no-brainer. Through my work as Legislative Director, I learned to tackle real-world issues, such as those surrounding healthcare, housing, and public infrastructure, by developing and enacting public policy legislation. I learned how to collaborate with analysts to draft such legislation and with lawmakers to pass it. But I also learned that passing legislation is just the first step. In law school, I intend to study the legal factors that impact new laws, such as when they are interpreted or challenged in the court system. I seek to enhance my understanding of the entire legislative process and, in doing so, become a more effective change maker. I can’t wait to take this next step in my path, and I feel eminently prepared to tackle whatever challenges await me.

4) This personal statement contributed to the applicant’s admission at a T6 school and a T10 school with a 167 LSAT score.

I stared across the mat at Steve, an ex-military brown-belt in his late 30s, as I waited anxiously for the timer to start. I was fixated on his gi’s tattered collar, his wrestler’s ear, and the scars on his nose that had been broken far too many times. When the sparring began, it didn’t take long for Steve to sweep my leg and throw me to the mat. At first, I tried to escape from under him, but it was no use. I was pinned down by his 160 pounds of lean muscle and my sweat-soaked cotton gi. As I laid on my back, I defended patiently until I had an opening to set up the technique I’d been practicing for months. I grabbed Steve’s collar, wrapped my leg around his head, and then my knee around my own ankle, successfully executing the triangle choke submission.

Jiu Jitsu was an addiction for me. I had started martial arts at the end of elementary school, beginning with Tae Kwon Do before transitioning to Jiu Jitsu and other forms of grappling at the end of middle school. As a teenager, I routinely sparred with friends on mats set up in their garages. By the time I was a college sophomore, I was sparring almost daily, with a rotation of gi’s drying on the fire escape of my apartment.

The consistent sparring, running, stretching, and weightlifting ensured that my body was kept in peak physical condition. But Jiu Jitsu wasn’t only about endurance and athleticism; it was just as much focused on discovery and mastery of technique. At practice, I closely observed my coaches, thinking of creative ways to incorporate their moves into my own style. When I wasn’t at practice, I dedicated countless hours to film study, constantly exploring new sweeps, submissions, and takedowns. I would then take the moves I learned and focus on them during all of my sparring sessions for that week. Only after performing them hundreds of times did they become second nature.

My favorite move was the kimura. I saw my coach effortlessly sneak in the joint-lock submission one practice after his opponent escaped an attempted choke, and knew I had to learn it. I went home that night and immediately started my research, only to find that there were two other submissions, the triangle choke and arm bar, that I would have to learn in order to use the kimura effectively. Without proficiency in each move, my attacks would have little success, since it’s the combination of the three that make them so potent—defending against one usually creates openings for the other. For the next two months, I dedicated all my free time to memorizing and practicing different sequences. The off-mat studying soon paid off, as I found success in competitions by baiting my opponents into exposing their necks while protecting their arms, or vice versa.

My passion for Jiu Jitsu continued to grow until my sophomore year of college, when I dislocated my shoulder during a sparring session. As I rolled toward my opponent to escape an arm bar, I heard a click and felt my arm go limp. At first, the injury wasn’t a big deal. I was fully expected to recover, and I did. I was back on the mats three weeks later. But the same injury would occur twice more in the months to follow, landing me in the hospital a total of three times that year to place the joint back in its socket. After the third dislocation, I was told that, without surgery, I would risk severe injury that could affect even my daily functioning. I decided to undergo surgery in July 2017 to repair my labrum and rotator cuff, which required the doctor to reattach my shoulder ligaments with bioabsorbable anchors.

After the operation, I spent six weeks sleeping upright on my couch to allow my shoulder to heal before starting a half-year stint of physical therapy. I pulled resistance bands, rolled on yoga balls, and struggled with lifting even the smallest dumbbells as most of the muscle in my right arm had atrophied. After completing therapy, I returned to the mats, only to reinjure that same shoulder two months later. With the fourth and final dislocation, it became clear that I’d likely never compete in Jiu Jitsu again. For a moment I contemplated a second, more invasive procedure but decided in the interest of my health to focus my energies elsewhere.

That’s how I came to be an editor for the Hogwarts Undergraduate Law Review. A friend of mine had been a part of the journal for about a year and recommended I join. As an editor, I quickly took interest in the journal’s diverse articles, which covered anything from labor abuse to digital privacy. I worked with writers on their submissions, helping them storyboard ideas, conduct research, and form outlines, while pushing them to more meaningful analysis. I soon realized that my curiosity and eagerness for improvement were as important in the legal research process as they were in martial arts. And even though I was analyzing landmark cases and court opinions instead of arm bars and guard passes, the process was familiar: distilling information and applying it through constant revision.

My time on the Undergraduate Law Review gave me the chance to explore a diverse array of legal topics. It solidified my interest in becoming an attorney, as I was exposed to the law’s numerous social, political, and economic applications. While I no longer compete on the mats, I am confident that my curiosity and discipline will help me excel in law school.

5) This personal statement contributed to the applicant’s admission at Fordham Law and Emory Law as a splitter (above median LSAT, below median GPA).

Three hours after college graduation, I was on a flight from Atlanta to New York City to start a job as a litigation paralegal at a plaintiff’s firm. The position offered me a chance to observe the adversarial system beside an experienced trial lawyer and take part in every aspect of the litigation process. By my second week, we had started jury selection for an asbestos-related negligence trial, and by my sixth, I had witnessed my first multi-million dollar verdict. Having come from an isolated suburb of Pennsylvania surrounded by cow pastures and soybean farms, I had never even heard the word “asbestos.” I had never seen the agonizingly repetitive commercials jurors always seem to complain about, nor was I aware of the massive scope of asbestos litigation and the absolute devastation families face after a terminal mesothelioma diagnosis.

I still remember how nervous I felt for that first case. Despite having no experience, preparation, or training, it was my job to keep everything organized and the trial running smoothly. I sat beside my boss, yellow exhibit stickers in one hand and a pen in the other, keeping track of every exhibit. My boss was known firm-wide for his meticulous approach to preparation. Each night, I compiled thousands of pages of documents—just in case an expert witness needed to be reminded of their previous testimony or a Person Most Knowledgeable shown their company’s Interrogatory Responses. Then, at trial, I watched my boss craft a compelling narrative for the jury, demonstrating that had it not been for the negligence of a valve manufacturer, a man’s death could have been prevented.

After a month packed with four experts, eight boxes of exhibits, and fifteen days of trial testimony, it came time for the jury charge. Following two days of deliberation, the jurors found for the plaintiff on all issues. It was the first time in my life I felt integral in helping not just one person, but a whole family, receive closure.

About a year and a half later, in October 2018, my boss decided to branch into new areas of personal injury law, beginning with medical malpractice. Our first case was particularly tragic. Before what was supposed to be routine surgery for a 43-year-old patient, the anesthesiologist inadvertently inserted a catheter into the patient’s carotid artery instead of his jugular vein. We alleged that this critical mistake substantially contributed to the patient’s stroke, leaving him hemiplegic, wheelchair bound, and unable to live independently.

For months leading up to jury selection, I read through each fact and expert witness’s deposition. I attempted to relearn the science I grappled with in college, including the intricacies of heart and brain anatomy, to figure out how to best explain it to our jury. I then scoured various online databases for any scientific article I could find on facts relevant to our case, so we could try to challenge the opinions of the defense expert. Finding dozens of articles, I even happened upon minutes to a 1994 New Zealand conference—where the defendant’s expert witness had spoken—that addressed the standard of care at issue in our case.

I quickly learned, however, that despite how much we had prepared, it didn’t matter; the facts of the case appeared to change as the trial progressed. For example, defense witnesses offered a new theory of causation for the first time at trial, and an angiogram, which had been available for the duration of the patient’s hospital stay, had seemingly gone missing on the eve of expert testimony. We had to constantly reevaluate our trial strategy. By the end of it all, I wanted nothing more than to hear the jury’s finding of liability for the story I had been obsessing over for months.

But it never came. A few minutes into our wait for a verdict, defense counsel approached the plaintiff with a settlement offer, which he accepted. Handshakes were given and pleasantries were exchanged, but something felt off. How could some money, without a finding of liability, be justice? I couldn’t help but wonder if our work meant anything or if I had somehow failed our client. But after seeing his smile, I knew I was wrong. He was overjoyed. This was a man at his weakest, who needed someone to advocate for him when he and his family realized their lives would never be the same. Whether or not the jury foreman read out a verdict, our client still had his life to live, and this settlement, while maybe not justice in the usual sense, made that possible.

My experiences these past few years have motivated me to apply to law school. I want to become an attorney for the man who worked tirelessly day after day, fixing leaky pipes and valves to provide for his family, just to find out more than four decades later that he would die within the year due to that same work. I want to become an attorney for the man who went to a hospital, seeking the help of medical professionals, only to wake up hemiplegic due to a preventable mistake. Through each of these cases, I have learned not only about the law and legal procedure, but also about what helping a client really means. While the adversarial process seemingly allows for winners and losers, these trials are really about how the outcome—whether verdict or settlement—forever impacts the lives of the plaintiffs and their families. And if I can aid in bringing a sense of resolution to them, then I will be successful.

6) Each time I read this personal statement, I get a major yearning to go hiking. It contributed to the applicant’s admission at 5 of the T14 schools with a 168 LSAT score.

Granite pebbles crunch under the soles of my hiking boots, the only sound besides my heavy breathing. At this altitude, I am tired, my water is low, and the trailhead disappeared from view a little over two hours ago. But even in the grit and sweat and strain, I am most alive in the mountains—blood pumping in my ears, muscles driving against the incline, heart aching to push into the wilderness. In a moment of elation, I see the top. A pleasant breeze whispers across the ridge, and I catch a second wind. With renewed determination, I break into a jog and race to the peak.

Since I could walk, I’ve been hiking. I wish I could say that I’m exaggerating, but my mom lives and breathes physical activity, so I am completely serious. When I was eight years old, I hiked my first “14er”—backpacker lingo for a mountain 14,000+ feet in elevation—with my family, carrying a 50-pound pack and about as much resentment that I had to walk for two days straight on summer vacation. Back then, hiking was just a family activity for me, something I was “encouraged” to participate in and occasionally enjoyed. However, that didn’t keep me from doing the whole “Mom, are we there yet?” bit from time to time. Until high school, this was my relationship with hiking, a sort of grudging tolerance. It wasn’t until I was able to go off on my own that I fell in love with the sport.

The first time I prepped my pack for a solo hike, I felt the pull. Visiting my grandparents in Colorado Springs, I heard of a beautiful alpine lake accessible by trail a little out of town, and I decided to go find it. When my granddad went down for his mid-morning nap, I loaded my backpack and gear into the car and drove out to a trailhead in Pikes National Forest. From there, I walked for hours through the woods and up into the mountains, wondering if I should turn around, but quickly realized I was too stubborn to give up even if my lungs and legs hated me for it. Three hours and ten miles later, I reached the most beautiful lake I had ever seen, and I was so grateful that I hadn’t turned back. After standing at the edge of the water for almost an hour, I walked back down in silence, thinking about everything from friendships to life goals, loving the peaceful quiet of my wooded trail and the time to mull things over in my mind. I am naturally an extroverted person, but that day I learned that I need and love time out in nature with no one but myself to entertain.

Since then, I only became more and more obsessed. Living in Fort Worth, Texas, I lacked any meaningful mountain range, but as time went on, I found myself driving out to other states with friends (or alone) any chance I got. With every new mountain I climbed, I fell more in love with the weather, the adrenaline, and the challenge that drives me up above tree line. By junior year of college, I was hooked.

When the spring semester ended, I drove across state lines to spend the summer in Colorado. I hiked all over, spending every moment I had off from work on a different trail. I completely expected to wear myself out, walk to the point that I wouldn’t want to take another step, and be back home within a few weeks. But the opposite happened. The more I explored, the more I wanted to continue. I came to love the routine of waking up early, packing up my car, and driving to the next trailhead. Every day, I saw something new and unique, a little pocket of nature out of sight from the rest of the world, and walked away exhausted, having left all my energy out on the trail. Surfing from one couch to the next, I stayed with family and friends, extending my stay bit by bit until the summer was almost over. Eventually, I had to go home for school, but even as I drove back to Texas, I knew I could have stayed even longer and been completely content.

This past summer, my love of hiking came full circle. For years, my mom and I had planned a “someday” dream trip: hiking the Swiss Alps. After graduation, our dream materialized. Meeting a group in Chamonix, France, we started the famous Haute Route through the mountains, hiking from hut to hut for eleven days. The first two days, it snowed. On the fifth day, I sprained my ankle and had to use electrical tape as wrap until the next town days later. The rest of the way, my mom and I pushed each other as always and she was both impressed and annoyed that I finally outpaced her. By the evening of the eleventh day, we reached the end of the route, having hiked a total of 126 miles, and I could finally say I was ready to take a break.

In the last six years, hiking has become a non-negotiable part of my life. As much as coffee in the morning, it is a rhythm of being that I need and enjoy, a time to air out my soul. Not to my surprise, it was on one particularly grueling trek that I found clarity on my career path. As granite pebbles crunched beneath my boots, I considered my passion for people, love of problem-solving, and intellectual hunger. When my water ran low, I reflected on my inability to quit when I know I am chasing a worthy goal. As I spied the top, it was finally clear—law school was my next step. With this knowledge, I took off running. I reached the peak, bent over with my hands on my knees, and smiled as I breathed a sigh of relief. Law school was my next step, and if I have learned anything, it is that well-placed steps can have some pretty fantastic ends.

7) This personal statement contributed to the applicant’s admission to a T6 law school with a sub-25th percentile GPA.

“BEEEEEEP.” The dozens of TV screens lining the wall opposite me in the USC Annenberg Media Center all flash red at once: “Extreme Red Flag Warning – PREPARE TO EVACUATE.” As I fidget in one of the swivel chairs inside the editors’ circle, I peer out the floor-to-ceiling window facing campus—instead of the usual jumble of students I see racing to class, there’s a cloud of smog and an aura of emptiness. Somehow, the scent of wildfires raging about 55 miles away has crept into the newsroom I consider a second home.

“Scratch what you’ve been working on. Go get interviews with people evacuating ASAP,” I announce to my writers over the sound of phones ringing off the hook. At this point, USC’s campus is safe, but other schools closer to the wildfire have shut down. Many of my peers wait on edge, helpless as their childhood homes risk burning to the ground. Their families flee, with time to only grab a few prized possessions. 

It wasn’t uncommon for a news story to start out slow, then, all at once, explode like this one. When I started working on the wildfire story a few days earlier, I followed my usual process. First, I scheduled interviews with experts on the subject. Next, I researched. When writing the perfect piece, researching is an art. Much like how artists immerse themselves in their subject’s world to paint the perfect portrait, I must absorb every detail to create the perfect story. Why does California seem to have so many unmanageable wildfires? What exact protocols are in place to minimize damage? Who is responsible for implementing them? Then, I followed the most important step: remain unbiased and observational. I am not there to get involved, whatever the story might concern. Then, I write. And rewrite. And rewrite again.

Though breaking news like the Red Flag Warning no doubt shifts the narrative, my prior investigation into the problem remains relevant. It led me to one conclusion: mismanagement directly contributed to not just this wildfire but almost every prior one. I lead the story with the emergency notice, but my bottom line is unchanged—the government’s neglect of forests is quite literally adding fuel to the fire. That year, more than a hundred lives and a million acres of land were lost to wildfires. As gut-wrenching as the damage is, as a senior editor, I must keep cool, calm, and collected. I urge my staff to be empathetic but professional in conducting interviews. But staying levelheaded is difficult. A freshman whose family just fled her childhood home at 4 a.m. can barely speak. “How did this get so out of control?” she asks through short breaths. A junior who is having trouble contacting his twin sister evacuating a college near the chaos is bawling. It hits me that I can no longer bear staying on the outside, reporting as an observer. But I push the emotion away—I must remain objective.

For the remainder of my tenure with the paper, this feeling festered. When writing about the rising homelessness rate, though I researched the ways in which LA County’s policies weren’t working, I still felt I needed to do more. When writing about depression on campus, though I researched ways USC’s mental health initiatives could be reworked, still, not enough. I grew restless. In August 2019, I decided to stop feeling the need to do more and to actually do more. I was facetiming my father who wanted to show me a fire blazing a few kilometers from his home in Beirut. Moments later, the screen went black. I heard a blast. The explosion, which put my father in the hospital and killed more than 200 people, was a result of the Lebanese government’s negligence. I was shook, especially knowing the people there have no avenues to fight such negligence.

A year later, I went to Beirut to work for Siren Associates, a human rights organization that addresses a range of humanitarian issues in Lebanon, including public sector accountability and access to justice. The country is still in mourning and the government has yet to take responsibility for their negligence. We try to communicate with the government and advocate for transparency, but it’s no use. They won’t budge. Citizens take the streets and protest in an attempt to hold those in power accountable, but they’re met with excessive force from the military. I tried meeting with military personnel directly, presenting guidelines for handling protests without aggression, but they weren’t interested. And while the court system eventually launched an investigation to prosecute those responsible for the blast, they have hit a standstill as the government has delayed the judicial process indefinitely.

In countries like Lebanon, where governments disregard human rights and accountability mechanisms are ineffective, international courts are the only potential source of justice. However, the current court system is insufficient. It is reactive, first stepping in after disaster hits. I want to go to law school to learn how to prevent human rights tragedies before they occur. I aim to create hybrid court systems, ones that combine state-run courts and international ones to strengthen developing countries’ ability to self-regulate. Only when prevention is prioritized will ensuring human rights stop being a system of reaction. I want to be at the forefront of this movement, and am eager to leverage the observational and analytical skills I mastered during my career, as well as the knowledge I have gained through human rights work, toward achieving human rights for all.

8) This personal statement contributed to the applicant’s admission to a T6 law school with a large scholarship, despite a 3.1 GPA.

A soft chime prompts me to check my email. It’s from Flo, a senior case manager at the law firm. “See attached motion for summary judgment. Please work on the opposition. Send your draft to David and Nick no later than July 13.” I flip through the attached exhibits and find what I’m looking for: the defendant’s brief. It’s the typical corporate defendant arguments, ones I had seen and responded to on dozens of occasions. A due date of July 13 would give me two weeks to draft the opposition—more than enough time.

I joined [redacted] Law Group as a law clerk five months prior. The first few weeks were a whirlwind of education in consumer protection law. Our cases usually fall into one of two buckets: the client has identified an inaccuracy in their credit report or they have been subjected to abusive debt collection practices. This case falls into the first. A thief had stolen our client’s credit card and run up a fraudulent balance, after which the client filed a dispute with his bank. The bank rejected it. When our client couldn’t afford to pay, the bank started to tack on interest and reported the debt as delinquent to a credit agency, tanking his credit score. After two years of being ignored while asking the bank to remove it, he disputed the reporting inaccuracy with the credit agency, who submitted it to the bank. The bank rejected this dispute, too. We sued the bank and the credit agency, claiming neither completed a reasonable investigation of the dispute under the Fair Credit Reporting Act. While the agency quickly settled, the bank resisted through discovery and moved for summary judgment.

Proving wrongdoing requires us to show the bank failed to conduct a reasonable investigation of our client’s dispute to the credit agency. Opening the case file, I go directly to the discovery folder, where I look for evidence of an investigation. There are copies of internal records, deposition transcripts, and responses to written discovery requests. The responses are mostly useless, consisting of pages of evasive objections and little more. The transcripts are more promising. They show a pattern of questionable actions by the bank. When it received the dispute, the bank passed it back and forth between two departments like a hot potato. Neither was responsible for investigating this type of dispute, ensuring it wouldn’t be reasonably investigated. This evidence is enough on its own to prove the bank failed to fulfill its obligation to our client and prevail against the bank’s motion, but I review further. I realize the bank’s actions implicate far more than just this one lawsuit.

The bank’s witness identified a third department at the bank that investigates fraudulent transactions, but it was never called upon to look at our client’s dispute. When an attorney from our firm asked why, the witness blamed our client for not filing a dispute in a “valid” or “appropriate” way. Since he filed his dispute through a credit agency, the witness asserted, it wouldn’t be turned over to the fraudulent transaction team. In other words, because the client didn’t file in the bank’s preferred way, they didn’t properly investigate. However, the client did file as required under the Fair Credit Reporting Act; there was nothing else he could have done.

I reread the testimony in disbelief. This is a national bank, worth billions of dollars and serving millions of consumers. It knows it’s required by law to conduct a reasonable investigation of credit reporting disputes—and it must have known it wasn’t by excluding the fraudulent transaction team, the most relevant team, from the investigation. Questions fill my mind. How many times has the bank been sued for this? How many times has it not been sued and gotten away with these practices? Is it just going to continue taking advantage of consumers? The remaining evidence provides no answers. Fortunately, I can draft our opposition to their motion without them.

After we file, the defendant immediately extends a favorable settlement offer, which our client accepts. At first, I feel satisfied he was made whole. But then I feel frustration. The money pales in comparison to the billions of dollars in profit the bank generates annually, and their procedures won’t change. They will continue harming consumers and exacerbating social inequity. According to a 2021 Consumer Financial Protection Bureau report, consumers residing in majority black areas were more than twice as likely to have a dispute on record than those residing in majority white areas. The common theme to the report was that low-credit-score and minority borrowers were drastically more affected by credit reporting inaccuracies. It’s an exacerbating cycle seen beyond banking. Low-income tenants struggle to obtain legal aid and are unable to defend themselves from eviction. Plaintiffs in employment discrimination cases who can’t afford an attorney rarely, if ever, see success in court. Those already in underprivileged circumstances face impeding inequity and the cycle continues.

These examples underscore the need for reform. Marginalized individuals take a back seat to profit as companies exploit them. In many cases, they don’t have the means or familiarity with the law to seek recourse. Protecting their rights is about more than winning individual cases. It’s about eliminating inequity by increasing legal accessibility for those in need. As an attorney, I will fight for reform and creation of laws to empower and inform marginalized individuals. By ending the cycle and improving social equity, perhaps consumer protection firms like [redacted] Law Group won’t be around in the future—hopefully they won’t be needed.

Interested in learning more? To set up a consultation, contact me at [email protected] or use my contact form: sharperstatements.com/contact .

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The University of Chicago The Law School

In their own words: admissions essays that worked.

Throughout this issue, countless examples show why we are so proud of the students at the law school. One might think that we get lucky that the students the admissions office chose for their academic accomplishments also turn out to be incredible members of our community, but it’s really all by design. Our students show us a great deal more in their applications than just academics—and we care about a lot more than their numbers. In these pages, meet five of our students in the way we first met them: through the personal statements they wrote for their law school applications. And through their photos, meet a sixth: Andreas Baum, ’12, the talented student photographer who took these pictures for us.

Tammy Wang, ’12

EDUCATION: Johns Hopkins University, BA in International Relations, concentration East Asian Studies, with honors (2007) WORK EXPERIENCE: AsianFanatics.net LAW SCHOOL ACTIVITIES: University of Chicago Law Review, Immigrant Child Advocacy Project Clinic, APALSA, Admissions Committee, Law School Film Festival I fell in love for the first time when I was four. That was the year my mother signed me up for piano lessons. I can still remember touching those bright, ivory keys with reverence, feeling happy and excited that soon I would be playing those tinkling, familiar melodies (which my mother played every day on our boombox) myself. To my rather naïve surprise, however, instead of setting the score for Für Elise on the piano stand before me, my piano teacher handed me a set of Beginner’s Books. I was to read through the Book of Theory, learn to read the basic notes of the treble and bass clefs, and practice, my palm arched as though an imaginary apple were cupped between my fingers, playing one note at a time. After I had mastered the note of “C,” she promised, I could move on to “D.” It took a few years of theory and repetition before I was presented with my very first full-length classical piece: a sonatina by Muzio Clementi. I practiced the new piece daily, diligently following the written directives of the composer. I hit each staccato note crisply and played each crescendo and every decrescendo dutifully. I performed the piece triumphantly for my teacher and lifted my hands with a flourish as I finished. Instead of clapping, however, my teacher gave me a serious look and took both my hands in hers. “Music,” she said sincerely, “is not just technique. It’s not just fingers or memorization. It comes from the heart.” That was how I discovered passion. Beethoven, Mozart, Mendelssohn: the arcs and passages of intricate notes are lines of genius printed on paper, but ultimately, it is the musician who coaxes them to life. They are open to artistic and emotional interpretation, and even eight simple bars can inspire well over a dozen different variations. I poured my happiness and my angst into the keys, loving every minute of it. I pictured things, events, and people (some real, some entirely imagined— but all intensely personal) in my mind as I played, and the feelings and melodies flowed easily: frustration into Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique, wistfulness into Chopin’s nocturnes and waltzes, and sheer joy into Schubert. Practice was no longer a chore; it was a privilege and a delight. In high school, I began playing the piano for church services. The music director gave me a binder full of 1-2-3 sheet music, in which melodies are written as numbers instead of as notes on a music staff. To make things a bit more interesting for myself—and for the congregation—I took to experimenting, pairing the written melodies with chords and harmonies of my own creation. I rarely played a song the same way twice; the beauty of improvisation, of songwriting, is that it is as much “feeling” as it is logic and theory. Different occasions and different moods yielded different results: sometimes, “Listen Quietly” was clean and beautiful in its simplicity; other times, it became elaborate and nearly classical in its passages. The basic melody and musical key, however, remained the same, even as the embellishments changed. The foundation of good improvisation and songwriting is simple: understanding the musical key in which a song is played—knowing the scale, the chords, the harmonies, and how well (or unwell) they work together—is essential. Songs can be rewritten and reinterpreted as situation permits, but missteps are obvious because the fundamental laws of music and harmony do not change. Although my formal music education ended when I entered college, the lessons I have learned over the years have remained close and relevant to my life. I have acquired a lifestyle of discipline and internalized the drive for self-improvement. I have gained an appreciation for the complexities and the subtleties of interpretation. I understand the importance of having both a sound foundation and a dedication to constant study. I understand that to possess a passion and personal interest in something, to think for myself, is just as important.

Josh Mahoney, ’13

EDUCATION: University of Northern Iowa, BA in Economics and English, magna cum laude (2009) LAW SCHOOL ACTIVITIES: Student Admissions Committee, flag football, Tony Patiño Fellow The turning point of my college football career came early in my third year. At the end of the second practice of the season, in ninety-five-degree heat, our head coach decided to condition the entire team. Sharp, excruciating pain shot down my legs as he summoned us repeatedly to the line to run wind sprints. I collapsed as I turned the corner on the final sprint. Muscle spasms spread throughout my body, and I briefly passed out. Severely dehydrated, I was rushed to the hospital and quickly given more than three liters of fluids intravenously. As I rested in a hospital recovery room, I realized my collapse on the field symbolized broader frustrations I felt playing college football. I was mentally and physically defeated. In South Dakota I was a dominant football player in high school, but at the Division I level my talent was less conspicuous. In my first three years, I was convinced that obsessively training my body to run faster and be stronger would earn me a starting position. The conditioning drill that afternoon revealed the futility of my approach. I had thrust my energies into becoming a player I could never be. As a result, I lost confidence in my identity. I considered other aspects of my life where my intellect, work ethic, and determination had produced positive results. I chose to study economics and English because processing abstract concepts and ideas in diverse disciplines was intuitively rewarding. Despite the exhaustion of studying late into the night after grueling football practices, I developed an affinity for academia that culminated in two undergraduate research projects in economics. Gathering data, reviewing previous literature, and ultimately offering my own contribution to economic knowledge was exhilarating. Indeed, undergraduate research affirmed my desire to attend law school, where I could more thoroughly satisfy my intellectual curiosity. In English classes, I enjoyed writing critically about literary works while adding my own voice to academic discussions. My efforts generated high marks and praise from professors, but this success made my disappointment with football more pronounced. The challenge of collegiate athletics felt insurmountable. However, I reminded myself that at the Division I level I was able to compete with and against some of the best players in the country.While I might never start a game, the opportunity to discover and test my abilities had initially compelled me to choose a Division I football program. After the hospital visit, my football position coach—sensing my mounting frustrations—offered some advice. Instead of devoting my energies almost exclusively to physical preparation, he said, I should approach college football with the same mental focus I brought to my academic studies. I began to devour scouting reports and to analyze the complex reasoning behind defensive philosophies and schemes. I studied film and discovered ways to anticipate plays from the offense and become a more effective player. Armed with renewed confidence, I finally earned a starting position in the beginning of my fourth year. My team opened the season against Brigham Young University (BYU). I performed well despite the pressures of starting my first game in front of a hostile crowd of 65,000 people. The next day, my head coach announced the grade of every starting player’s efforts in the BYU game at a team meeting: “Mahoney—94 percent.” I had received the highest grade on the team. After three years of A’s in the classroom, I finally earned my first ‘A’ in football. I used mental preparation to maintain my competitive edge for the rest of the season. Through a combination of film study and will power, I led my team and conference in tackles. I became one of the best players in the conference and a leader on a team that reached the semi-finals of the Division I football playoffs. The most rewarding part of the season, though, was what I learned about myself in the process. When I finally stopped struggling to become the player I thought I needed to be, I developed self-awareness and confidence in the person I was. The image of me writhing in pain on the practice field sometimes slips back into my thoughts as I decide where to apply to law school. College football taught me to recognize my weaknesses and look for ways to overcome them. I will enter law school a much stronger person and student because of my experiences on the football field and in the classroom. My decision where to attend law school mirrors my decision where to play college football. I want to study law at the University of Chicago Law School because it provides the best combination of professors, students, and resources in the country. In Division I college football, I succeeded when I took advantage of my opportunities. I hope the University of Chicago will give me an opportunity to succeed again.

Osama Hamdy, '13

EDUCATION: University of California, Berkeley, BA in Legal Studies, AB in Media Studies (2010) LAW SCHOOL ACTIVITES: BLSA, Intramural Basketball I was a shy thirteen-year-old who had already lived in six locations and attended five schools. Having recently moved, I was relieved when I finally began to develop a new group of friends. However, the days following September 11, 2001, were marked with change. People began to stare at me. Many conversations came to a nervous stop when I walked by. However, it wasn’t until one of my peers asked if I was a terrorist that it really hit me. Osama, my name is Osama. I went from having a unique name that served as a conversation starter to having the same name as the most wanted man in America. The stares and the comments were just the beginning. Eventually I received a death threat at school. I remember crying alone in my room, afraid to tell my parents in fear that they might not let me go to school anymore. My experience opened my eyes up to racial and religious dynamics in the United States. I started to see how these dynamics drove people’s actions, even if some were not aware of the reasons. The more I looked at my surroundings with a critical eye, the more I realized that my classmates had not threatened me because of hate, but because of fear and ignorance. This realization was extremely empowering. I knew that mirroring their hostility would only reinforce the fear and prejudice they held. Instead, I reached out to my peers with an open mind and respect. My acceptance of others served as a powerful counter example to many negative stereotypes I had to face.With this approach, I was often able to transform fear into acceptance, and acceptance into appreciation. I chose not to hide my heritage or myself, despite the fear of judgment or violence. As a result, I developed a new sense of self-reliance and self-confidence. However, I wasn’t satisfied with the change that I had brought about in my own life. I wanted to empower others as well. My passion for equality and social justice grew because I was determined to use my skills and viewpoint to unite multiple marginalized communities and help foster understanding and appreciation for our differences and similarities alike. The years following September 11th were a true test of character for me. I learned how to feel comfortable in uncomfortable situations. This allowed me to become a dynamic and outgoing individual. This newfound confidence fueled a passion to become a leader and help uplift multiple minority communities. During the last two summers I made this passion a reality when I took the opportunity to work with underprivileged minority students. All of the students I worked with came from difficult backgrounds and many didn’t feel as though college was an option for them. I learned these students’ goals and aspirations, as well as their obstacles and hardships. I believed in them, and I constantly told them that they would make it. I worked relentlessly to make sure my actions matched my words of encouragement. I went well above the expectations of my job and took the initiative to plan several additional workshops on topics such as public speaking, time management, and confidence building. My extra efforts helped give these students the tools they needed to succeed. One hundred percent of the twenty-one high school juniors I worked with my first summer are now freshmen at four-year universities. I feel great pride in having helped these students achieve this important goal. I know that they will be able to use these tools to continue to succeed. Inspired by my summer experience, I jumped at the opportunity to take on the position of Diversity Outreach Ambassador for the San Francisco Bar Association Diversity Pipeline Program. In this position, I was responsible for helping organize a campus event that brought educational material and a panel of lawyers to UC Berkeley in order to empower and inform minority students about their opportunities in law school. In this position I was able to unite a diverse group of organizations, including the Black Pre-Law Association, the Latino Pre-Law Society, and the Haas Undergraduate Black Business Association. Working in this position was instrumental in solidifying my desire to attend law school. The lawyers who volunteered their time had a significant impact on me. I learned that they used their legal education to assist causes and organizations they felt passionate about. One of the lawyers told me that she volunteered her legal services to a Latino advocacy association. Another lawyer explained to me how he donated his legal expertise to advise minority youth on how to overcome legal difficulties. Collaborating with these lawyers gave me a better understanding of how my passion for law could interact with my interest in social justice issues. My experiences leading minority groups taught me that I need to stand out to lead others and myself to success. I need to be proud of my culture and myself. My experiences after September 11th have taught me to defeat the difficulties in life instead of allowing them to defeat me. Now, whether I am hit with a racial slur or I encounter any obstacles in life, I no longer retreat, but I confront it fearlessly and directly. I expect law school will help give me the tools to continue to unite and work with a diverse group of people. I hope to continue to empower and lead minority communities as we strive towards legal and social equality.

Eliza Riffe, '13

EDUCATION: University of Chicago, AB in Anthropology, with honors (2006) WORK EXPERIENCE: Sarbanes-Oxley coordinator and financial analyst, ABM Industries Harper Library, situated at the center of the main quadrangle at the University of Chicago, resembles a converted abbey, with its vaulted ceilings and arched windows. The library was completed in 1912, before Enrico Fermi built the world’s first nuclear reactor, before Milton Friedman devised the permanent income hypothesis, and well before Barack Obama taught Constitutional Law. Generations of scholars have pored over Adam Smith and Karl Marx in the main reading room, penned world-class treatises at the long wooden tables, and worn their coats indoors against the drafts in the spacious Gothic hall. Abiding over all of these scholars, and over me when I was among them, is an inscription under the library’s west window that has served as my guiding intellectual principle: “Read not to believe or contradict, but to weigh and consider.” Per this inscription, which is an abridgement of a passage by Sir Francis Bacon, we readers ought to approach knowledge as a means of enhancing our judgment and not as fodder for proclamations or discord. The generations of scholars poring over Marx, for example, should seek to observe his theories of economic determinism in the world, not immediately begin to foment a riot in the drafty reading room at Harper. The reader may contend, though, that too much weighing and considering could lead to inertia, or worse, to a total lack of conviction. The Harper inscription, however, does not tell its readers to believe in nothing, nor does it instruct them never to contradict a false claim. Instead it prescribes a way to read. The inscription warns us to use knowledge not as a rhetorical weapon, but as a tool for making balanced and informed decisions. On the cruelest days in February during my undergraduate years, when I asked myself why I had not chosen to pursue my studies someplace warmer, I would head to Harper, find a seat from which I would have a clear view of the inscription, and say to myself: “That is why.” On such a day in February, seated at a long Harper table with my coat still buttoned all the way up, I discovered how much I appreciated Carl Schmitt’s clarity and argumentation. I marveled at the way his Concept of the Political progressed incrementally, beginning at the most fundamental, linguistic level. As an anthropology student, I wrongfully assumed that, because Schmitt was often positioned in a neo-conservative tradition, I could not acknowledge him. That day in February, I took the Bacon inscription to heart, modeled its discipline, and was able to transcend that academic tribalism. I added the kernel of The Concept of the Political , Schmitt’s “friend-enemy” dichotomy, to an ever-growing array of images and ideas that I had accumulated, among them Marx’s alienation, C. S. Peirce’s indexicality, and Pierre Bourdieu’s graphical depiction of social space. This patchwork of theories and descriptive models, when weighed and considered, informs my understanding of new ideas I encounter. The academic dons who decided to place the Bacon quote under the western window intended that the idea would transcend the scholastic realm of its readers. Indeed, in my work as a financial analyst for a publicly traded company, it is often a professional touchstone. Though each day in the world of corporate finance is punctuated with deadlines and requests for instantaneous information, I am at my best as an analyst when I consider all of the data thoroughly and weigh the competing agendas. Like emulsified oil and vinegar that separate over time when left undisturbed, the right answer will emerge from among all of the wrong answers when I take the time to consider all of the possibilities. An extra hour spent analyzing an income statement can reveal even more trends than could a cursory glance. Moreover, the more I weigh and consider when I have the opportunity, the more I enhance the judgment I will need to make quick decisions and pronouncements when I do not have time.With inner vision sharpened by years of consideration, I am able to “see into the life of things,” as Wordsworth described in writing of “Tintern Abbey.” Wordsworth’s memory of the abbey provided him much-needed transcendence in moments of loneliness or boredom. The memory of the inscription under the west window at Harper—“Read not to believe or contradict, but to weigh and consider”—has a similar function. For Wordsworth, Tintern alleviated emotional anguish; for me, the Bacon inscription reaffirms a sense of intellectual purpose. The words under the window, their meaning, and the very curvature of the letters in the stone are fixed in my mind and will continue to be as I enter the life of the law. What intrigues me most about legal education is the opportunity to engage simultaneously in the two complementary processes the Harper inscription inspires in me—building a foundation of theories and descriptive models while enhancing my judgment with practice and patience.

Evan Rose, '13

EDUCATION: University of Otago (New Zealand), BA in Philosophy (1999) WORK EXPERIENCE: Ski and Snowboard Schools of Aspen/Snowmass, Eurospecs Limited (NZ) LAW SCHOOL ACTIVITIES: LSA 1L Representative, BLSA, Student Admissions Committee As I tumble through the air, time seems to slow. I have fallen hard many times before, but even before I hit the ground I can tell this fall is different. I complete one and a half back flips and slam shoulders-first into the slope. As I lie on the hill, the snow jammed into the hood of my jacket begins to melt, and icy water runs down my back. I do not yet know that the impact has broken my neck. I grew up only a short drive from some of New Zealand’s best ski resorts, but my family could never afford ski vacations. My first opportunity to try snowboarding came on a trip with my university flatmate.With expectations shaped purely by the media, I left for the trip assuming snowboarding was a sport for adrenaline junkies, troublemakers, and delinquents. Much to my surprise, I instead found that it provided me with a sense of peace that defied these preconceptions. Anxiety had been a constant companion throughout much of my childhood. I had not always been this way, but years of physical and psychological abuse at the hands of my stepfather had taken their toll. My once carefree demeanor had changed, leaving me fearful, panicky, and timid. On a snowboard these feelings faded into the background for the first time in years, and the difference was profound. I never truly realized the pain I had endured until riding gave me the opportunity to escape it. I sought out every possible opportunity to go riding, and through the sport I pushed the limits of both my physical and mental courage. Snowboarding became a vehicle for regaining the confidence and self-worth that had been taken from me through the injustice of abuse. Even as I began to ride competitively in boardercross racing and halfpipe, launching myself into the air over sixty-foot jumps, the sense of peace I gained during my first day on a snowboard stayed with me. It did, at least, until that April afternoon. As I lay in a hospital bed a few hours after my accident, an overwhelming sense of fear replaced any confidence that snowboarding had instilled in me. I faced the prospect of a lengthy and complicated surgery, with no certainty about the outcome. I knew my shattered vertebrae could easily leave me paralyzed. I was lucky to be alive, but any sense of luck eluded me as pain sent me in and out of consciousness. Two days later, surgeons worked for seven hours to rebuild my neck. I awoke to learn that I had escaped any serious nerve damage. However, I would need to be immobilized by a brace twenty-four hours a day, and for over three months, before I could even contemplate rehabilitation. Those months passed slowly. When I was finally able to start the process of rehabilitation, I made recovery my full-time job. I quickly learned that pain was to become the central reality of that year. The first day I could walk to my mailbox marked a significant achievement. Determined to return to full health, and even hoping to eventually return to riding, I gritted my teeth through the daily therapy sessions. At each subsequent visit, my doctor expressed his surprise at the progress of my recovery. Only twelve months after my injury, he cleared me to make a few careful runs on an easy, groomed slope. While I made it through those first few runs safely, they left me shaking with fear. Since then, I have again found joy in riding, but no amount of determination will allow me to ride the way I had before. I won’t be attempting double back flips again any time soon. Rather than focusing on my own riding, I now direct my energy into coaching. My experiences showed me the transformative power of courage and self-confidence, and taught me to build these qualities in others. At the Aspen Skiing Company, I develop and implement teaching curricula for more than two hundred snowboard instructors. My goal is for my fellow coaches to recognize that snowboarding can offer much more than just a diversion. It has the potential to have a profound and inspiring impact on their students’ lives. In the ample time my recovery allowed for reflection, I found solace in the fact that the abuse in my childhood fostered in me not bitterness, but an enduring dedication to fairness and justice. As a college student, this dedication led me to seek out classes in ethics and morality. As a manager and leader, I strive to display both courage and enduring fairness. My interest in the legal profession stems from my belief that laws represent the concrete expressions of justice and fairness in our society. After discovering the salvation it held for me, I believed that I was reliant on snowboarding. Yet, being forced to face the grueling process of rehabilitation without it allowed me to take the final step to recovery from the trauma of my childhood. I realized I am much stronger and more resilient than I had previously believed. I realized that courage is not something that snowboarding gave me but something that has always been within me. These realizations have prepared me to broaden the scope of my dedication to justice. Secure in the knowledge that the courage and determination I have shown will help shape my future success, I am now ready to take on this new challenge: the study and practice of law.  

Columbia Law School Personal Statement Examples

Featured Expert: Phoebe Gilmore, JD

If you’re applying to Columbia Law School , you must first take a look at some Columbia Law School personal statement examples that can help you understand what you’re up against and what you will be expected to showcase in your own law school personal statement. Columbia is the home to one of the best law schools in the US and has a reputation for excellence and a rigorous admissions process. In this article, we will go over three Columbia Law School personal statement examples and provide you with tips that will help you write your own outstanding submission!

>> Want us to help you get accepted? Schedule a free strategy call here . <<

Article Contents 10 min read

Columbia law school personal statement example #1.

English is not my first language, but I have always felt like I was born to speak it. While my high school classmates sighed with frustration every time we were asked to read Shakespeare or Chaucer, I looked forward to the challenge. It gave me great satisfaction to decipher the Bard’s winding phrases and encrypted aphorisms. I feel great joy in reading English writers in their original form, without resorting to reading them in my native tongue. While I love my first language, I am glad I can transition between my native language and English with ease. 

This did not go unnoticed by my professor, Dr. Linda Hamel, who taught me in a second-year course in Medieval literature. In addition to being an instructor at X University, Dr. Hamel also taught an ESL course at a local language center. We often spoke after class and seminars, and when she learned that I was an immigrant, she asked if I would be interested in helping her students practice their English after class.

I decided to pursue this opportunity because I remember how hard it was to talk with native-English speakers as a newcomer to the United States. I remembered the discomfort I felt due to my accent, the fear of mispronouncing words, the unease at the thought my interlocutor would not understand me. It was always much easier to speak with another immigrant, even if they were not from the same background as me! Dr. Hamel also noticed that her students did not feel too comfortable chatting with her after class about their day-to-day lives, hobbies, and interests. They were afraid of making mistakes and making a bad impression on their teacher.

I started coming to visit her classes every Thursday night. Dr. Hamel allowed me to take the last 30 minutes of her classroom time to set up practice opportunities with her students. I restructured the practice time to allow everyone to have the opportunity to use what they learned in the latest class and previous weeks. I also invited my brother and sister to visit from time to time to help with the students’ practice. Dr. Hamel noted that within a few weeks her students showed improvement in using newly learned words and phrases and showed more initiative in speaking with her after class.

This experience also opened up another interest that led me to apply to law school: many of my new acquaintances in the ESL class were unfamiliar with the local legal culture and found it difficult to navigate the challenging landscape of immigration law. This discovery led me to join the Immigration Law Society at my college in my third year of undergrad. Not only was I able to learn more about US immigration policies, but I was also exposed to working in the legal field with immigration agencies, non-profits, and government institutions. We disseminated legal information in immigrant communities by sharing fliers, organizing free workshops, and helping local law firms with pro-bono work in these communities.

During this time, I met another mentor, Mr. Jack Turner, a local immigration lawyer, who invited me to work in his law firm to help with paperwork. As an Immigration Law Clerk, I helped prepare and file LMIA-based work permit applications and a wide range of LMIA-exempt work permit applications. I also helped organize and file permanent residence matters, including Express Entry-based PR applications, PNP applications and Family Sponsorship applications. Not only was I able to gain firsthand experience with the paperwork, but I also got to learn how to work with immigrants and their families and provide them with knowledge on these matters so they could learn more about their immigration journey.

Immigration is a huge part of US history, but it is not always recognized as such. As a lawyer, my goal is to continue working in immigration law and help people from all over the world find home here, in America, and I cannot think of anywhere better to pursue this goal than Columbia Law School. One of my goals as a Columbia law student is to join the Immigrants’ Right Clinic – this experiential and inspirational learning opportunity is one of the biggest draws for me. In most recent history, immigration has become the ground for some of the most prominent political and human rights issues in our history and I will be proud to contribute to the legal discourse on immigration law as a Columbia Law student and alumnus.

From the moment I stepped into my high school's mock trial team meeting, I felt an undeniable surge of excitement. I am what some would call a typical “prelaw” student. As a teenager fascinated by courtroom dramas and legal intricacies, I knew that law was more than just a passing interest for me. The dynamic exchange of ideas, the art of persuasive argumentation, and the pursuit of justice ignited a fire within me that has burned brightly ever since. I knew, going into my undergrad, that I would major in political science and law courses because I realized at an early age that it was not merely a profession but a means to effect profound societal change. 

I continued to nurture my passion during my college years, as I sought opportunities to immerse myself in the field and gain practical experience. During my sophomore year of college, I joined the International Law Society, a decision that would profoundly shape my understanding of the legal world. As a member of this society, I was exposed to a diverse range of legal issues transcending national boundaries. Through panel discussions, guest lectures, and case studies, I explored the complexities of international law, witnessing firsthand how legal principles could foster cooperation, resolve conflicts, and promote justice on a global scale. This exposure solidified my belief that law was a powerful instrument for change and propelled me to take a more active role in the society. By my fourth year, I became the Vice President of the society and continue with this role today.

Inspired by my involvement in the international law society, I sought opportunities to contribute my time and skills in a meaningful way. I eagerly volunteered to organize an international law conference hosted by our society. Coordinating with renowned legal scholars, practitioners, and students from around the world, I assumed responsibility for logistical arrangements, speaker coordination, and publicity efforts. This experience allowed me to witness the immense power of collaboration and the profound impact of legal dialogue. As I observed legal professionals engaging in thought-provoking discussions and striving for innovative solutions to complex global challenges, I realized the transformative potential of international law.

Driven by the impactful experiences I had in organizing the conference, I sought to expand my legal knowledge and practical skills further. Seeking to enhance my understanding of legal systems and their impact on society, I pursued an internship at ABC law firm. This experience provided me with invaluable insights into the practical aspects of law, offering glimpses into the real-world implications of legal decisions and the intricate workings of the justice system. Whether drafting legal briefs, conducting legal research, or advocating for marginalized individuals, each encounter reinforced my commitment to pursuing a legal career focused on promoting justice and advocating for those who lack a voice.

Building on my experiences, I am now ready to embark on the next phase of my journey as a law student at Columbia Law School. Moreover, I am excited about the opportunities for experiential learning, such as participating in moot court competitions and pro bono initiatives, for which Columbia Law School is famous. With my unwavering dedication, diverse experiences, and strong passion for justice, I am confident that I will thrive as a law student at Columbia and, in due course, as a legal professional committed to making a lasting impact on our world.

Becoming a paralegal was never my first career choice, but it became the most lifechanging experience for me. I got the position after completing my political science degree, unsure of what I want to do next. In the meantime, I wanted to work in a meaningful environment and contribute to my community by using my analytical and research skills. After completing my training as a paralegal, I joined a local firm that specialized in criminal law. Working as a paralegal after graduating college provided me with a profound glimpse into the world of law. A world I never really understood before I was plunged into this environment. This relatively accidental turn in my journey determined the course of my life and led to me writing this law school application. 

As I assisted criminal attorneys in conducting legal research, preparing briefs, and interacting with clients, I realized the immense power and responsibility entrusted to legal professionals. Witnessing the impact of their work firsthand, I became captivated by the intricacies of the legal system and its potential to effect meaningful change not only in a person’s life, but also in the legal system. My research has helped my superiors with dozens of cases, and they continued to delegate more tasks and responsibilities to me as I grew in my role. 

As I continued to thrive as a paralegal at the firm, I sought out opportunities to attend conferences, seminars, and lectures, where I could expand my understanding of legal theory and witness the dynamic nature of legal discourse. In June of 20XX, I attended the XYZ Law Conference in Los Angeles where I was able to participate in a panel on legal education among refugees. Through this experience, I recognized that attending law school would not only enhance my analytical and critical thinking abilities but also provide me with a platform to effect change on a broader scale. Encouraged by my growing fascination with the law, I decided to seek deeper understanding of the law among professionals around me.

I actively reached out to mentors at the law firm where I worked who generously shared their insights and guided me along my path. Mrs. Lauren Call, a senior partner at the firm, provided me with invaluable advice and inspired me with her dedication to justice and service. Her guidance deepened my appreciation for the multifaceted nature of the legal profession, and it became clear to me that attending law school was the logical next step in my journey. Armed with a newfound clarity of purpose, I eagerly embraced the challenge of applying to law schools.

Columbia Law School is famous for interdisciplinary studies, which aligns perfectly with my belief that the law must be contextualized within a broader societal framework. The opportunity to engage with accomplished scholars from various disciplines would provide me with a well-rounded legal education, equipping me with the skills necessary to tackle complex legal issues and effect meaningful change. My journey from working as a paralegal to the decision to attend Columbia Law School has been fueled by a deep desire to effect positive change within the legal system. I am eager to embark on this new chapter of my life and further cultivate my passion for justice, advocacy, and intellectual growth.

Learn more in our video!

1. A story.

A law school personal statement is a story of your journey to applying to law school. Forget about statistics like your GPA or LSAT; forget about listing your accomplishments and experiences as you would in a law school resume . This is a narrative, and you must approach it as a writing assignment. Essentially, you are writing an essay to answer the question “ why do you want to study law ?”

It may sound simple, but it’s truly a great challenge to compose a narrative that tells the story of what prompted you to pursue law. Keep in mind that Columbia Law School asks for a statement that’s no more than 2 pages long, double spaced. This is not very much space at all, so you need to be mindful with what aspects of your story you tell and how you link them together into a captivating narrative.

It should be formatted as an academic essay, with introduction, body paragraphs and conclusion. But do keep in mind that it should be vibrant and engaging. Simple narration of facts and events will not do. You must have a captivating introduction, strong transitional sentences, and conclusion that tell us what you want to achieve as a law student or a lawyer, and what you look forward to as a legal professional. Be creative – this is the best place for creativity in your entire law school application. And frankly, this is where your creativity can really make you stand out. 

2. Examples.

The core of your story should be examples of events and experiences that led you to pursue law. It might be best to keep it to 1 or 2 experiences. As we already mentioned, you do not want to list too many events in the statement. Your story should revolve around 1 or 2 experiences that really motivated you to pursue law. They do not need to be law-related necessarily, but they should give us an idea that you understand the kind of career you are pursing and that you have a general knowledge of what a career in law entails. The story can cover your work experience, academic experiences, personal experiences, as well as law school extracurriculars you participated in.

Most importantly, your story needs to tell what kind of skills and lessons you learned that prepared you to become a law student. Do you possess curiosity, attention to detail, analytical and research skills, patience, intrinsic motivation, and so on? Give us examples of events and experiences in your life that showcase this!

Never underestimate the amount of time you will need to write your law school personal statement. Give yourself at least 8 weeks to write your submission. We cannot stress this enough. This is a challenging and time-consuming task.

Consider reaching out to a law school admissions consulting professional to get feedback. You do not want to leave your statement to chance. An outstanding law school personal statement can really mean the difference between a rejection and an interview invite.

It should be no longer than 2 pages, double spaced. However, keep in mind that a shorter essay can sometimes be a better choice. As long as it’s a strong essay and tells a captivating story of why you want to be a lawyer, your essay can be and should be shorter than 2 pages. Admissions committees review thousands of documents, so if you can showcase your strong communication skills in a shorter submission, do not hesitate.

Your personal statement should answer the question of why you want to become a lawyer. Choose 1 or 2 events that led you to apply to law school and create a captivating narrative.

No, there is no law school essay prompt . But your essay should answer the question of why you want to become a lawyer.

You can tailor your personal statement for different schools but try to not be too school specific in your personal statement if you plan on using it for different schools.

Columbia Law School is one of the most competitive law schools in the country. The law school acceptance rates for Columbia are around 11.8%.

Other law school requirements include your transcripts, GRE or LSAT scores, two law school letters of recommendation , a resume, a Dean’s appraisal, and a video statement.

You may be contacted for an in-person or a video interview. Start you prep early by going through common law school interview questions . 

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Let's Get Personal (Statement)

By Mehran Ebadolahi Mehran Ebadolahi -->

#1: PERSONAL STATEMENT BY LYNDSEY M.

My interest in the law began the summer of 2018. It was in that summer that I witnessed the legal system offer my friends justice and the ability to regain their power. My high school travel basketball coach sexually assaulted several players. I attended court to support my friend who was one of his victims. On the day of court, I and several other basketball players watched from the back of the courtroom as our former coach walked into the room dressed in a black and white jumpsuit. As he walked in, our eyes met, and I quickly regretted lifting my head. During court, I witnessed my friend and other survivors give personal statements while everyone in the court room burst into tears. After the statements were given, I hugged my friend and the court recessed for lunch. After the short break, a maximum sentence was given to the abuser. I left the courthouse with the worst headache I had ever experienced in my life. Ever since that day, my desire to pursue law has been strong. I did not think that one life event would determine what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, but here I am writing a personal statement to apply for law school. Not only did this event make me want to pursue litigation, but it has also helped me to see the world from an entirely different perspective. I was seventeen when I started working with the basketball coach who I would later find out abused multiple players who played basketball for him. Thankfully, one of the victims the coach had abused stepped forward and told the police what had happened before the coach could harm anyone else. Although this event is unbelievably sad and unfortunate, living through it helped me decide what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

What sets me apart from other law school applicants is the reason I want to attend law school, and the passion I have for pursuing this goal. My desire to attend law school did not come from a television show about law and order or an elective course. Rather, my desire and passion came from living through a traumatic event, seeing the detrimental effects, and wanting to make a change. Children are the some of the most innocent beings on the Earth, and sexually abusing a child is unforgivable. That is why I want to make sure I can assist with the prosecution of offenders to make sure justice is reached. Regardless of the crime, breaking the law is unacceptable, and in order to maintain law and order in our society, the world needs passionate aspiring attorneys like myself to keep us afloat. As a devoted Christian, ensuring the well-being of others has always been a top priority to me. If I were allowed to attend law school, I would ensure justice for victims and retribution for offenders.

I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. Although I wish I could change the past, my encounter with the basketball coach who abused many of my teammates and friends, made me the person I am today. I strongly believe that this event was part of God’s plan for me to find a way to help others. Ever since that day in court, I have had a strong feeling drawing me to the legal field. Coincidentally, I know law school would be perfect for me because I have always felt that I stood out among my peers during my many years of schooling. I have always been dedicated and passionate about my schooling. Because of this, I have always felt that I needed a challenge or a large goal to work toward. Now I know that the challenge I always needed is law school. Practicing law requires the exact traits I possess: grit, passion, and dedication. I have excelled in my schooling with honorable grades, accomplishments, and respect. Also, I have persevered through many surgeries, cancer, family losses, and every doubt that has come my way. The hardships I faced allowed me to develop the traits needed for law school. With all that being said, I know I can succeed in law school and become the attorney I dream of being. More importantly, I am more than capable of bringing justice to those who have been wronged. As I have recently learned, bringing justice to victims of crime is the first step toward healing. Furthermore, because of my motivation to pursue litigation, I will be able to make a difference in the legal field, specifically as a prosecuting attorney. For the ordinary law school applicant, motivation is hard to come by, however, this issue is not prevalent in my situation. I am more than motivated to make a difference, I know I am capable of doing so, and I will not stop until I ensure that all my future clients feel that they have had a fair trial. Without justice, there is no peace of mind, and without passionate attorneys, there is no chance of healing, either. This is why I am ready to tackle the legal world with the reassurance that I will be able to succeed as a future prosecuting attorney.

#2, PERSONAL STATEMENT BY LESLIE N.:

Sirens pierce the air. Cars screech to a halt. Phones buzz with mass Red Alerts—seek shelter, immediately. This ballistic missile drill is a sobering reminder that the threat of a Chinese invasion is never far from people’s minds. As a foreign correspondent in Taipei, I've watched as Taiwan confronts an uncertain future. The island floats in limbo, without many of the diplomatic trappings of an officially recognized nation. It is only fitting that I cover a country that’s still finding its place in the world.

As a Vietnamese-Nigerian-American, I’ve lived my entire life on the hyphen—teetering on a thin tightrope between colliding cultures. My refugee family and I have long straddled the crossroads of the world, always unsettled, forever unrooted. That’s why, for me, revitalizing American diplomacy through robust immigration reform and far-sighted foreign policy is not just a professional pursuit—it’s a personal quest too. The JD/MPP joint-degree program at Harvard will equip me with the legal and policy design frameworks necessary to wrestle with—and ultimately, answer—the nuanced questions that govern America’s byzantine asylum system.

I’ve seen the limitations of that system firsthand. Growing up, I learned to read and write by helping my parents fill out long-winded visa forms for faraway relatives. I translated legal jargon and ever-changing green card rules as we prepped for citizenship tests, medical exams, and job interviews. Between embassy visits, I witnessed how structural inequality broadly shaped the bureaucracies that served as stubborn gatekeepers to our long-awaited reunion. Marred by decades of war and displacement, my fractured family tree taught me how to ask uncomfortable questions and probe beneath the surface early on: Why haven’t I met Grandma yet? What are mortar grenades? What’s wrong with our accent?

Today, this natural curiosity is central to everything I pursue, as I explore different cultures to better understand my own. Soon after I enrolled at Stanford, I left the U.S. for the first time and studied in China, Turkey, Brazil, and Spain. I took classes in each country’s language to better understand its cultural context and I eventually earned a degree in International Relations. Later on, I entered journalism and built a global career in which I investigated not only my own family’s splintered narratives, but also larger stories of statelessness and nation-building—the same factors that pushed my parents to abandon their own countries decades ago and carve out a new life in America. Now, I collect bylines from all over the world, particularly in places where identities hang in the balance—like the Palestinian enclaves of the West Bank, the indigenous heartlands of Vietnam, and the Syrian refugee camps of Turkey. I see myself in these liminal spaces, neither here nor there. Because in an America as divided as my own family, I don’t know where I fit in yet.

However, the farther I stray from home, the more I feel compelled to return. Being abroad has allowed me to see America’s systemic immigration struggles with sharpened clarity and embrace the power of un-belonging that fuels so many rising first-generation Americans like myself. Those of us who are new to America should be the loudest in ensuring that the country delivers on the promises of opportunity that brought our families here in the first place. We are the ones who must clamor for transparent asylum procedures, demand due process for refugees who cling to the hope of resettlement, and steer foreign policies that scaffold stronger ties with the countries that hold our heritage and history. If we don’t, we risk merely joining a broken system and not pushing to build a better one.

Moving forward, I aim to transition to a career in public service that sits at the intersection of diplomacy and international law—focusing on impact litigation, refugee rights, immigration reform, and cross-border conflict resolution. An interdisciplinary education from both HLS and HKS will help me bridge that gap. While I can draft moving speeches for global tech companies and write feature articles for international media outlets, I also want to further hone my negotiation skills and learn how to wield powerful narratives that strategically bolster our diplomatic efforts in sensitive political regions like Taiwan or make a cogent case for refugee resettlement in America. I plan to leverage my storytelling ability to convey and connect, to bridge what divides us—whether border walls or chasms of misunderstanding. After all, our stories of loss, struggle, change, and hope are the best tools we have to understand one another, inspiring us to translate our values into meaningful, concrete action.

After years of reporting from Taiwan, I can more clearly see my role in the U.S., even as Americans also face an uncertain future. As it turns out, I’ve been looking for home in all the wrong places. My country, where my identity and purpose are so deeply rooted, is where I belong and where I can help others find home too.

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