PS- Please tear it apart/offer any advice Forum

[Anonymous User]

My eyes were fixated on my mother as I peered through her bedroom door. The blue glow of the computer screen was painted on her face as she nodded off and on. She had not always been like this. Once upon a time she would blast “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison throughout the house, crooning while tapping a wooden spoon against the kitchen countertop as if she were part of the live band. She was happy then and our beautiful home on XXX Avenue was a lively place full of family, friends, and fabulous food.

In 2005, my mother began abusing the pain medication she was prescribed for her infrequent migraine headaches. Terribly worried about her, I confronted my dad about the situation. Angrily, he replied, “Nothing is wrong with your mother,” effectively silencing me. Countless times my extended family reached out to intervene, but the three-way phone conversation between her, her dad, and siblings routinely concluded with her hanging up without a “goodbye.” The slurred speech and off-topic rambling were, according to her, a result of her exhaustion.

Coming out as a lesbian coincided with the beginning of her addiction. I had myself convinced that it was my fault. If I had just been the daughter she had always envisioned, the daughter who preferred men to women and shopping to sports, then my mother would still be blasting “Brown Eyed Girl” throughout our home on XXX Avenue. Each milestone in my life, whether a competitive soccer tournament or graduation, my eyes anxiously scanned the audience full of proud parents in search of my mother, hoping that this time she would be there cheering me on, but she never was. Her absence made me feel that my accomplishments were insignificant, frivolous “achievements.” Thus, I adopted the attitude of indifference in all aspects of my life. I felt lost and alone and became the sum of my circumstance. I dwelled on my mother’s addiction, constantly placing the blame on myself. My concentration waned, and my grades were not indicative of the student I once was. Our home was foreclosed on, and I started my freshman year at XXX University feeling deflated and depressed.

My perspective on my life and my belief in my abilities transformed during my junior year of college when my professor uploaded an extra credit assignment onto Blackboard. I decided to fulfill the assignment, which was to volunteer three hours with the “’I Have a Dream Foundation.” It was not until I tutored Erik, a ten-year-old, boisterous Hispanic immigrant, that I discovered the untapped reserve of my potential. The odds were stacked against him. His dad worked 80-hour weeks. His mom lived thousands of miles away in Guatemala, yet he was ready for any challenge and ready to overcome any obstacle to fulfill his dream of becoming a doctor. His self-confidence, emanating through his smile, reminded me of a part of myself: the me who believed, the me who knew the sky was the limit. By tutoring Erik, I realized that if I invested my energy into making a difference in people’s lives rather than trying to fix my mother, I could make a meaningful impact.

For the remainder of the school year, I volunteered with the Foundation, while my grades improved and my outlook on life bettered. With each volunteer opportunity, internship, or job my path towards what I wanted to pursue became increasingly more defined. The responsibilities I have had thus far, whether it was coordinating a pro bono legal clinic, or writing briefs to persuade the U.S. government to grant parents of U.S. citizen children prosecutorial discretion, have guided me towards, and eventually into, a career in law. Now I work as a paralegal in an immigration law firm. I am able to have a significant role in helping families reunite for the first time in years and assist children fleeing gangs in El Salvador to seek asylum. This has given tremendous meaning to my life and has quickly become my passion. The system is not perfect. However, cases which do not have an ideal ending, only challenge me to work harder to draft a more compelling brief. I know that what I am doing now is not the end of the road for me—I want to practice law, and I will not rest easy until I can argue cases in front of a Judge. Unlike the previous “me” who put dreams on the back burner, consumed with trying to change the things and people I could not, I understand now that what I do control is me and my dreams. I eagerly welcome law school to achieve those dreams.



Thanks in advance for your comments and/or suggestions. I've tried cutting it down as much as I can, and right now it is 2 pages in 12 Garamond font.

[EarthdogFred]

I think it is an adequately compelling statement. I would say that you need to work on the composition a bit. There are some grammatical problems. If you don't see them, PM me and I'd be glad to point you in the right direction.

[littlepuff]

.

[sparty99]

My eyes were fixated on my mother as I peered through her bedroom door. The blue glow of the computer screen was painted on her face as she nodded off and on. She had not always been like this. Once upon a time she would blast “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison throughout the house, crooning while tapping a wooden spoon against the kitchen countertop as if she were part of the live band. She was happy then and our beautiful home on XXX Avenue was a lively place full of family, friends, and fabulous food.

In 2005, my mother began abusing the pain medication she was prescribed for her infrequent migraine headaches. Terribly worried about her, I confronted my dad about the situation. Angrily, he replied, “Nothing is wrong with your mother,” effectively silencing me. Countless times my extended family reached out to intervene, but the three-way phone conversation between her, her dad, and siblings routinely concluded with her hanging up without a “goodbye.” The slurred speech and off-topic rambling were, according to her, a result of her exhaustion.

Coming out as a lesbian coincided with the beginning of her addiction. I had myself convinced that it was my fault. If I had just been the daughter she had always envisioned, the daughter who preferred men to women and shopping to sports, then my mother would still be blasting “Brown Eyed Girl” throughout our home on XXX Avenue. Each milestone in my life, whether a competitive soccer tournament or graduation, my eyes anxiously scanned the audience full of proud parents in search of my mother, hoping that this time she would be there cheering me on, but she never was. Her absence made me feel that my accomplishments were insignificant, frivolous “achievements.” Thus, I adopted the attitude of indifference in all aspects of my life. I felt lost and alone and became the sum of my circumstance. I dwelled on my mother’s addiction, constantly placing the blame on myself. My concentration waned, and my grades were not indicative of the student I once was. Our home was foreclosed on, and I started my freshman year at XXX University feeling deflated and depressed.

My perspective on my life and my belief in my abilities transformed during my junior year of college when my professor uploaded an extra credit assignment onto Blackboard. I decided to fulfill the assignment, which was to volunteer three hours with the “’I Have a Dream Foundation.” It was not until I tutored Erik, a ten-year-old, boisterous Hispanic immigrant, that I discovered the untapped reserve of my potential. The odds were stacked against him. His dad worked 80-hour weeks. His mom lived thousands of miles away in Guatemala, yet he was ready for any challenge and ready to overcome any obstacle to fulfill his dream of becoming a doctor. His self-confidence, emanating through his smile, reminded me of a part of myself: the me who believed, the me who knew the sky was the limit. By tutoring Erik, I realized that if I invested my energy into making a difference in people’s lives rather than trying to fix my mother, I could make a meaningful impact.

For the remainder of the school year, I volunteered with the Foundation, while my grades improved and my outlook on life bettered. With each volunteer opportunity, internship, or job my path towards what I wanted to pursue became increasingly more defined. The responsibilities I have had thus far, whether it was coordinating a pro bono legal clinic, or writing briefs to persuade the U.S. government to grant parents of U.S. citizen children prosecutorial discretion, have guided me towards, and eventually into, a career in law. Now I work as a paralegal in an immigration law firm. I am able to have a significant role in helping families reunite for the first time in years and assist children fleeing gangs in El Salvador to seek asylum. This has given tremendous meaning to my life and has quickly become my passion. The system is not perfect. However, cases which do not have an ideal ending, only challenge me to work harder to draft a more compelling brief. I know that what I am doing now is not the end of the road for me—I want to practice law, and I will not rest easy until I can argue cases in front of a Judge. Unlike the previous “me” who put dreams on the back burner, consumed with trying to change the things and people I could not, I understand now that what I do control is me and my dreams. I eagerly welcome law school to achieve those dreams.



Thanks in advance for your comments and/or suggestions. I've tried cutting it down as much as I can, and right now it is 2 pages in 12 Garamond font.

I didn't really enjoy the essay. You talk about your mother, but then you stop talking about her. You leave us hanging. What the hell was the point of talking about her in the first place? You talk about being a Lesbian, but also leave us hanging. You didn't talk about the coming out process, you didn't talk about what it was like being a Lesbian. In short, one wonders why being a Lesbian is important. If you are trying to play the diversity card, it's not working.

You talk about being depressed. The personal statement while it can be sad and show that you overcame things, I think you did a poor job. Okay. You were depressed. But why do you need to even say that? This is a personal statement. This is your application to the school. You want to be a strong powerful foot forward.

"Thus, I adopted the attitude of indifference in all aspects of my life. I felt lost and alone and became the sum of my circumstance. I dwelled on my mother’s addiction, constantly placing the blame on myself. My concentration waned, and my grades were not indicative of the student I once was. Our home was foreclosed on, and I started my freshman year at XXX University feeling deflated and depressed. "

The above paragraph is way too melachonly. Now is not the time to talk about how you had bad grades. Also, you tutored a 10 year old immigrant who wanted to be a doctor and that made you realize you can be something more? After 3 HOURS WITH THIS KID?! Hmmm. Okay. That might be true, but it just doesn't sound credible. ALSO, the only reason why you joined was because it was an ASSIGNMENT. You would sound much better if you make it sound like it was your own initiative. It would also be better if you discussed overall how that experienced impacted you. Don't focus on that 3 hour experience with a 10 year old.

I would scrap this essay. You are a paralegal. I think your story would be more effective if you focused on being a paralegal and uniting families. Perhaps you can find a way in your essay to show that you lacked that connection in your own life due to your mom's substance abuse. Your mom wasn't there for you. She didn't show up at your sweet 16. She wasn't there to send you off to college. She wasn't there to meet your first girl friend. She wasn't there when you needed her the most. Our home was foreclosed on. Paint the picture. Don't just glide over this. Let your words paint the picture. Then relate that experience to what you do now. Go into more depth about your current job. How do you reunite families? Why did you choose immigration law? Why not business? Give the reader a better understanding. What have you accomplished as a paralegal?

Lastly, you need to tighten up your writing. There was grammatical errors and I think the flow could have been stronger.