Updated May 28, 2025
Each of the below sample personal statements is a real essay submitted by a law school applicant, and each fulfills the following three criteria:
- They sincerely represent the individual applicant’s authentic voice and perspective.
- They have been assessed as exceptional essays by our consultants, who are former admissions officers with over 250 years of experience working in law school admissions, reading applications, and making decisions on files.
- The applicants who wrote them achieved admissions results that surpassed their numerical profiles, in most cases by a significant margin.
Beyond that baseline, we chose these examples in order to showcase a breadth of different types of essays coming from a diverse range of perspectives. Some are the sort that describe uncommon, exceptional life experiences, while others are examples of clear, effective statements about the writer’s life path and motivation to pursue law in the absence of extraordinary circumstances.
Please keep in mind that the personal statement is just one part of a full application package, and a topic that worked for one applicant would not necessarily work for others. Moreover, these are by no means the only styles, structures, or approaches through which applicants can successfully tell their stories. The best personal statements are those that are deeply authentic to the individual submitting them. For more personal statement advice, check out our Personal Statement Deep Dive podcast episode.
Note on formatting: The examples in this blog post are for content only and not formatting. Always follow law schools' instructions on formatting your essays, and in lieu of specific direction, we recommend defaulting to indented paragraphs, double-spaced, with no extra spaces between paragraphs.
Personal Statement Example #1
This essay has a memorable opening line that immediately hooks the reader, and the applicant’s gift for writing and sense of humor organically come through in the sentences that follow. The applicant manages to discuss how a computer’s components work in a compelling way by maintaining their conversational, authentic voice throughout the narrative—making them immensely likable while conveying what drives them academically and professionally. They matriculated with a scholarship to a top law school with numbers below both medians.
Please note that, while there is a contraction in the first sentence of this essay (and that made strategic sense based on this specific story and this specific applicant), we recommend using contractions in law school applications extremely sparingly or not at all.
The best gift I ever received didn’t work. It was a 1998 IBM computer that weighed almost as much as I did when my dad gave it to me in second grade. He had lugged it home from his office after I asked, “How does a computer work?” Rather than admitting he had no clue, he told me to dismantle the relic and find out for myself. That computer became the first victim of my newfound hobby of dissecting electronics.
My dissections, initially chaotic and unorganized, soon evolved to a more methodical approach. I would remove each component and assign it to a respective area of my workstation, i.e., the blanket I laid out in the corner of the garage. Though screws posed no challenges, certain elements called for more complicated extraction methods, such as desoldering circuit board joints or scraping thermal paste off heat sinks. As the number of components removed from the device grew, so did the number of blankets needed to keep up with the expanding project. Each dissection eventually came to a halt when my dad got tired of crushing circuit boards while getting into his car. At that point, I would attempt to reassemble the device.
Examining the innards of those devices often produced more questions than answers—questions that loomed for over a decade. Then I entered engineering school. And one by one, my classes illuminated the workings of those components. My Heat Transfer lectures detailed the thermal exchange between the heat sink and the processor on a molecular level, while Thermal Systems Design allowed me to devise my own heat sink. C Programming gave me a glimpse into the code running through the processor, while Circuit Theory, aside from revealing why I should not have been soldering in a poorly ventilated garage, explained the roles of the resistors, transistors, and capacitors that lined the circuit boards.
My classes uncovered an observation that had eluded me in the garage: although the individual components are intriguing, their interplay offers an entirely separate realm of challenges. The heat sink, for example, has the core function of regulating the processor’s temperature. However, failing to make the design compact enough necessitates expanding the computer’s entire housing. Integrating a fan helps to dissipate heat but may overstrain the computer’s power supply. Every decision requires thoughtful deliberation as to how it will affect the component, how that component will affect the system in which it is integrated, and, ultimately, how that system will interface with the end-user. More simply put, each decision must consider the big picture. Engineering school acted as a playscape where I cultivated my ability to see the big picture through “BattleBot” competitions, building autonomous search-and-recover robots, and 3D-printing wind turbine blades. After years of practice, I applied that ability in the real world when I joined the engineering firm that sponsored my senior capstone project.
The job, my first foray into operating and maintaining mission-critical facilities, blended business strategy with the technical systems I studied in school. My assignments included highly-secured NSA data centers in Utah, satellite imaging facilities in the Midwest, and military installations in Germany. Most memorable, however, was a proposal we pursued for the White House. The ten-year contract encompassed 24/7 operations and maintenance of the electrical, mechanical, and life safety systems for multiple executive branch facilities. My role on the project was straightforward yet daunting: calculate the contract’s cost. Reverting to my childhood ways, I began dissecting the 984-page contract. Hundreds of components assumed various forms, including West Wing electrical diagrams, Top-Secret security clearance requirements, and collective bargaining agreements; extracting and studying them individually and in relation to their constituents deepened my knowledge of their interplay. This knowledge accumulated, enabling me to shape staffing strategies, map system maintenance, and negotiate with subcontractors. After I condensed three months of work into a three-hour presentation to the CEO, he greenlit the submission of our [$xx] proposal; a few months later, the White House became our flagship program.
While my dissections have evolved from electronics to contracts, my predilection to probe and understand the details remains unchanged. This predilection now drives me to dissect matters in my most intricate setting yet: the legal field. As a prospective attorney, I aspire to use the research, analytical, and problem-solving skills I have garnered to deconstruct legal cases, reasoning, and statutes. My dissections have come a long way since disfiguring that IBM computer in second grade; I eagerly await the next stage of their evolution as I make my way to law school.
Personal Statement Example #2
This applicant did a great job making a big topic (rule of law) personal and conveying dense, informative content in a thoughtful and compelling way. Through this essay, they were able to demonstrate their knowledge and intelligence in a heartfelt, sincere manner, and they were admitted as an international student to the most competitive law schools in the country.
I will never forget my first visit to Hong Kong at age 12. Purpose of the trip: grocery shopping. A string of explosive scandals since 2003 eroded my mother’s trust in food safety in China. When Hong Kong opened up to individual travelers from mainland China, she immediately undertook the trek to this unfamiliar neighboring city, to buy rice. I was her rice mule seduced by a McDonald’s vanilla cone.
During our return trip, weighed down by three 28-inch suitcases loaded with rice, I asked my mother what the point was of such a hassle? She answered that products supplied in Hong Kong were safe, guaranteed by the city’s established, operational, and comprehensive legislation to protect consumers. At that time, although I could not yet fathom the fundamental contrasts between the “two systems” of the mainland and Hong Kong, I did notice that the same vanilla soft serve in Hong Kong tasted milkier than it did in my hometown. This conversation, flavored with ice cream, was my first insight into the rule of law.
As I grew older, I started to visit Hong Kong myself to take advantage of its global cultural scene, spanning from exotic restaurants to bookstores selling scholarly works labeled as contraband by Beijing. Protected by Hong Kong’s Bill of Rights, these bookstores were a haven for dissenting opinions that were, unsurprisingly, suppressed in the mainland. By frequenting there, I soaked up the inharmonious voices that contradicted state propaganda, challenging me to never hastily accept a single narrative as the final truth.
The year 2012 put my evolving objective mindset to the test, when Xi Jinping waged the largest anti-graft campaign in the history of communist China. Powerful oligarchs and low-ranking bureaucrats alike were swiftly indicted, leading to waves of bankruptcies for high-end restaurants that exclusively served officials flush with stolen state money. This campaign swept the headlines of major newspapers, in which the state media incessantly extolled Xi’s superior efficiency in eradicating malfeasance within the party rank and file, dignifying the iron-fisted anti-corruption efforts as the hallmark of his political brand.
I was initially invested in these initiatives out of a deep concern about the entrenched corruption in the Chinese government. I grew up listening to dinner table stories about how businessmen, voluntarily or grudgingly, conjured up covert ways to bribe employees of state-owned enterprises (SOE) to win contracts. To me, it was a belated vengeance of justice that these officials were punished for soliciting the filthy lucre.
The news reports that I read in Hong Kong, however, presented an opposite and disenchanting story: behind the façade of stellar productivity hid the ugly truth of a blatant lack of transparency and due process. Secretive investigations, arbitrary detentions, and grueling interrogations marred the campaign, which dissidents likened to a Stalinist purge weaponized by Xi to expel his political enemies. The collisions of information between Hong Kong and mainland China inspired me to contemplate the genuine meaning of the rule of law, as I realized that my understanding of it was parochially defined by its punitive aspect. Contrarily, the rule of law aims to protect people; it emphasizes not just the outcome, but the process of defending justice, striking a balance between retribution and rehabilitation. Without the core element of respect for people’s liberty and rights, the rule of law can be perniciously substituted with the rule by law: while the former is founded upon the idea that no one is above the law, the latter degenerates the law into a blunt instrument conveniently deployed by the governing authority to legitimize its decisions. Absent a codified due process to limit the reach of those in power, any crusade waged in the name of justice can be easily politicized and steered away from the declared goal, especially the often-glorified “fight against corruption.” Working at the forefront of the [international organization’s] efforts against corruption and poverty, I observed firsthand how a fact-and-rule-oriented anti-corruption regime can protect the accused, ensure procedural equity, and uphold the integrity of the system—while still meeting its goal of tackling corruption.
Upon reflection, I was extremely privileged that my family could afford the trips to Hong Kong to shield me from toxic rice and political indoctrination. Such protection, however, should not be a prerogative, and a healthy and educated citizenry capable of thinking critically is essential to the robust and sustainable development of any society. With an aspiration to do my part in promoting the rule of law to protect human rights and stimulate economic growth, I am bent on ascertaining how to design and reform social institutions through legislation to limit state power while ensuring government efficiency. To this end, I want to pursue a law degree in the U.S., where the separation of powers is written into the Constitution. By acquiring the necessary knowledge, skill set, and network, I want to rejoin the cause of global economic development, spearheaded by organizations like the [international organization], so as to create better lives for people across the world.
Personal Statement Example #3
This example comes from an applicant who applied to law school straight out of college and did a great job expressing their “why law,” doing so through discussing a relatable experience in which their perspective on life shifted. As a “KJD,” they were admitted to the top law schools in the country, many with significant merit-based financial aid, including a full scholarship.
The girl in the photo could have been my twin. Sarah and I were both nineteen, from the same town, and shared a hopeful, fresh-faced look. Except there was one undeniable difference between us. Sarah was dead, killed 20 years ago, and I was about to meet her murderer.
It was my first day as a summer intern at the Center for Death Penalty Litigation, and I eagerly absorbed every detail of the office: busy attorneys, overstuffed bookcases, and photos of beloved clients. I had been drawn to fighting injustice since high school, when I volunteered in a youth court program. A college course on wrongful convictions sharpened my focus. Learning about innocent men brutally executed ignited a fire in me. I wanted to become a capital defender, and as my supervisor led me around, I felt like I was stepping into a future I had long envisioned.
Our tour ended in a cluttered room where mountains of files covered every surface. But it was not the volume of work that made my blood run cold, it was the picture of a body peeking out from one folder. The documents were victim autopsy records I had to review. Flipping through the accounts of brutal violence, my mind wandered to images of the victims going about their lives, laughing with friends or greeting their families, unaware of the horrors awaiting them.
As days passed with these victims as my only companions, I began to realize I could not achieve the emotional distance needed for capital defense. How could I advocate for offenders after studying the lives they shattered? My initial enthusiasm for the work felt naive, but I pushed aside my doubts, fearing my empathy for victims made me less committed to public service. Yet, my inner conflict became impossible to ignore when I was asked to meet Byron: a man on death row for murdering a local college girl named Sarah. After seeing her photo, I imagined the life stolen from her— a life so similar to mine. That night, I lay awake.
Fortunately, with morning came clarity. I accepted that my future did not need to revolve around capital defense and felt instant relief. Still, I was not ready to abandon public service work entirely. I dedicated the rest of the summer to exploring other areas of the criminal legal system I was capable of pursuing, hoping to find my footing in a moment of immense uncertainty. Ultimately, I found my path forward not in a book or in conversation with a coworker, but in North Carolina’s Central Prison. The facility was in horrible condition. Paint was peeling off the walls of the visitation room, and Byron picked at the long, curling strips as he recounted the lack of medical care and educational opportunities behind bars. Yet, he was also open and warm, willing to share details about his childhood spent homeless and out of school. He was just a teenager when he carried out the crime that landed him on death row. It became clear that, long before Byron committed his crime, society had already given up on him.
Stepping out of the prison, the August sun harsh against my eyes, something shifted within me. That summer I had my sights set on defending capital cases, only to discover that justice is about more. By addressing the root causes of these tragedies, I can seek to prevent injustice before it occurs. In the years that followed, I immersed myself in social reform, researching ways to mend the frayed relationship between police and communities and working to support reintegration for those with criminal records. These experiences have solidified that, while I cannot stomach capital defense, I can fight for systemic change, opportunities for those society has overlooked, and a world that does not create Byrons in the first place.
I look back at the person I was on that first day—naive, perhaps, but driven by a genuine desire to make a difference. That core remains, now tempered by experience. I no longer aspire to be a capital defender, but my limits do not diminish my commitment to public service. If anything, my internship tested my resolve, and I remained dedicated, devoted to finding forms of advocacy that I am capable of pursuing. That summer, I lost some youthful idealism, but I gained something far more valuable: a clear-eyed determination to fight for a more just world.
Personal Statement Example #4
This applicant did a fantastic job telling the story of a difficult experience from their childhood in a sincere and compelling way, then connecting that experience to their current motivations and goals. They were admitted to many of the top law schools in the country, with scholarships, with an LSAT score several points below their 25th percentiles.
My hands gripped the podium as I tried to find where I had stopped reading. The sun bore down on me while the Iro and Buba, the skirt and blouse my mother dressed me in, clung to my damp skin. The whispers grew louder—their tones flavored with cadences of a Nigerian dialect I had only ever heard from my parents back home, 7,600 miles away. My head snapped up before the tears could escape. Standing on my tiptoes, I peered out at a sea of faces. Finally, I met my mother’s gaze; her somber expression was a mixture of pride and encouragement, willing me to continue. I kept reading, and from my nine-year-old voice, the final words of my eulogy were “Ahuru gi uche, nna.” I’ll miss you, daddy.
I spent the rest of June back home in [City], where the familiar dry summer embraced me. A few weeks later, my mother called me into her room. I entered what felt like a hollow shell—my memories stripped from the walls and crammed into bulging trash bags and cardboard boxes scattered across the floor. My throat tightened. We were moving. By August, our home, once brimming with the vibrant energy of my family, felt barren and grim. We exchanged its expansive rooms for a cramped one-bedroom duplex, and by the time I finished high school, I had lived in five different apartments.
Unbeknownst to me, the challenges of my childhood would come to nurture a passion that would shape my future. In the summer of 2022, at 18, I moved from my hippie college town to Washington, DC, beginning my first internship. Each day started with the same routine: phone in one hand, script in the other. “[Name] is a Congresswoman who will fight for [people from State]. We need your vote because…” I delivered those lines to countless voters while learning about the issues that mattered most to them. One morning, I dialed a number and started the call as usual, but before I could finish speaking, a woman’s voice interjected. “Save your breath. Congress doesn’t care about [people from State]. They haven’t done a thing for my community,” she snapped, her voice sharp and tinged with frustration. My rehearsed lines faltered as I stammered, and before I could formulate a coherent sentence, she hung up. Her words, however, lingered with me.
How do you measure the impact of Congress in communities thousands of miles away? Questions populated my mind, stirring thoughts about my past. Were there resources that could have helped my mom when she struggled to afford housing? What about the growing homeless population in [City]... how is Congress addressing their needs? I found myself craving a deeper understanding of the policymaking process, particularly regarding housing, and how policies affect individuals across the country.
The following fall, I interned for [State] Senator [Name]. While I gained insight into the Senate’s operations, I felt dissatisfied by my lack of work with housing policy. Determined to explore the issue further, I applied for an internship with my Congressman, [Name], in the U.S. House of Representatives. The summer of 2023 proved to be one of the most transformative experiences of my life.
For my final internship project, I focused on the bill H.R. 3860, the Humane Correctional Health Care Act, which outlined the intricate relationship between housing insecurity, mental health, substance abuse, and incarceration. Through my research, I noticed that barriers to housing extend beyond affordability, and current legislation often falls short by failing to address these deeper systemic issues. H.R. 3860 illustrated how the healthcare gap for prisoners contributes to the increasing homeless population and advocated for behavioral health treatment for prisoners to support their reentry into society and help them secure homeownership. Unfortunately, the bill did not pass into law and is one of few that address homelessness by prioritizing issues outside of cost. I realized that because housing laws focus so heavily on equality, they miss the mark in fostering equity, resulting in insufficient support for those most in need.
It is for this reason that I aim to enhance the efficacy of legislation. With a JD, I will gain the legal expertise to craft precise, enforceable, and comprehensive housing laws that address the unique challenges faced by marginalized communities and ensure equitable access to the resources provided by the law. My mother worked 55 hours a week to afford a one-bedroom apartment and provide for my sister and me. She is my definition of resilience and the source of my motivation to advocate for those in my community. Housing is a fundamental human right, yet hundreds of thousands of [people from State] face housing insecurity each year. This stark reality drives my desire to attend law school as the next step in my journey toward creating a future where safe and affordable housing is accessible to everyone, in [State] and across the United States.
Personal Statement Example #5
This is an example of a great personal statement that isn’t necessarily about a profound experience. It builds into the applicant’s “why law?” by demonstrating their key characteristics and skills relevant to law school and the legal profession, and it’s told through a memorable, relatable story with concrete visuals that draw the reader in while also showcasing their personality and EQ. They were admitted to a number of top law schools with this essay.
I posed like Superman in front of the bathroom mirror at a local breakfast diner. Earlier that morning, I had read somewhere that such a power stance would boost self-confidence. In my jumping into a cold pool approach to networking, I was meeting with Vince [Surname], an executive of a health system, over coffee and pancakes. I took the leap and sat down at our table.
I began the conversation with a tongue-twisted introduction as my heart raced faster than my thoughts. Vince smiled and responded by introducing himself. I had prepared and memorized questions the night before and started to shoot them off one after the other, taking no time to digest his responses. Relief came as the waiter stopped by to ask for our orders. At this moment, I collected myself. Vince asked for quadruple bacon, and we both laughed as the waiter reaffirmed his extra sides. Feeling a little more at ease, I went off-script, asking questions about Vince’s family, hobbies, and interests. We soon got into a discussion about a shared favorite college basketball team. The waiter returned with our orders, including his mountain of bacon.
Our discussion went deeper. Vince shared career advice and, specifically, how to handle crucial conversations. He spoke about how he managed conversations during the acquisition of another large health system. I learned that trust was the foundation for having these crucial talks and building relationships. Meeting with Vince inspired a passion not only for networking but for becoming an active listener and challenging myself.
I drew upon lessons learned during that breakfast as I managed my first project: integrating a pediatric association into our health system. The association was comprised of 450 providers accompanied by clinical and billing administrators. The integration would increase system revenue and benefit patients by streamlining the billing process. The project would also eliminate several vendor contracts, allowing us to charge less for the same quality of service.
During the kickoff meeting, it was apparent that the pediatric team was unenthusiastic about the project. It would cause substantial changes to their current workflow, organizational chart, and business. I recognized that the crucial conversations were failing due to a lack of trust between the two groups. The pediatric association pushed back against go-live dates and resource allocations. The project began to stall out before it even reached the first phase gate. To align the teams, I constructed a project plan that established expectations, deliverables, and timelines. This framework guided conversations and encouraged a sense of team as both sides made compromises. I listened to the customers’ concerns during each meeting and provided reassurance. Subsequent exchanges became less adversarial and more productive as honest relationships began to form.
The next challenge was gaining executive approval. Because of the complexity and technical systems that form the revenue cycle, upper-level management required a conceptual design. The assignment’s purpose was to make the project’s objectives more comprehensible. Only a few conceptual designs had ever been created, all of which the executive committee rejected. Beginning with a blank page, I sought to engineer a visual model that peeled back the technical aspects of the project while retaining its system benefit. After many iterations and upon presentation, my design was approved, garnering support for the project. The committee also established my model as the template for future requests systemwide.
The integration was successful in part because of the strong team that we had formed. Working closely with the regulations and compliance billing teams has supported my aspirations to pursue a legal career focusing on regulatory health law. I aim to become a thoughtful legal advocate, strengthened by my networking and problem-solving skills. Learning to build relationships through establishing trust was one of the significant lessons I took away from that breakfast diner. Another powerful lesson, stepping out of my comfort zone, led to personal and professional growth. That morning as Vince and I said our goodbyes, I noticed he hadn’t eaten any of his bacon. The extra side order had been his way of breaking the ice, building trust, and allowing for a crucial conversation.
Personal Statement Example #6
This essay tells a gripping, emotional story in a deeply authentic and empathetic way. While they initially had difficulty determining what information to share, they were ultimately able to achieve a level of disclosure and vulnerability that they were comfortable with while sincerely telling their story. They were admitted to every T14 law school with an LSAT score below median, including multiple merit-based full scholarships.
I stared in awe at the accolades and diplomas that adorned the walls of the office—a B.A. from George Washington University and a J.D. from Georgetown University Law Center. “Could that still be me someday?” I thought to myself. I remembered all I had achieved in college and the hopes I once held as a freshly minted college graduate. Across from me, sitting in his large and rather daunting office chair, Mr. Martinez was still flipping through the documents I had brought in for him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he looked up from his desk and uttered six words that would radically alter the course of my life. “[Name], your only option is bankruptcy.”
Fighting back tears as I left my meeting with Mr. Martinez, an overwhelming sense of failure washed over me. I was the first in my family to graduate from high school, the first to attend college, the first to hold a “fancy” office job, and now I would be the fourth to file for bankruptcy. Tears began to flow as the gravity of the situation dawned on me. Growing up in a tenacious Hispanic household, I was always surrounded by fearless role models who, like my mother, embodied perseverance. Due to her severe dyslexia, my mother never completed her high school diploma and can neither read nor write fluently in English. Despite her learning disability, through hard work and relentless persistence, my mother became the first female auto body shop owner in our region. Understanding my mother’s disability and inspired by her example, I learned at a very young age what a privilege it was to be able to read and write in English or any language. I helped her write emails, read books with her to my younger sisters, and even shared discreet whispers when ordering from the dinner menu. I never took the privilege and responsibility of being able to read and write for granted. This responsibility to reach my potential while supporting family members who struggled to do the same fueled my dreams of attending college and my aspirations to pursue a legal career because I view my education as a way to forge a better path for myself while giving back to my mother, family, and so many others.
During my senior year of college, as the COVID-19 pandemic spread across the country, I returned home and found my mother, the tenacious woman who had once defied all the odds, on the brink of losing her business. Equipped with my college education, I naively thought I could empower her by signing on as a shop co-owner. In the year that followed, I juggled two dissonant realities, working at a prestigious law firm while also trying to help save my mother’s business. As bills and notices continued to pile up, I knew I was out of my depth, and finally, I admitted to myself and my mother that we needed an attorney’s expert advice. Over the next few months, I worked closely with Mr. Martinez, our lawyer, to assess the viability of the business, our obligations as co-owners, and future options. Mr. Martinez invested the time necessary to build rapport with me and never made hasty judgments or assumptions. The trust he cultivated encouraged me to open up and share details that informed our legal arguments and later became key to my ability to, once again, be in good financial standing. He listened, provided reassurance, encouraged my mother to pursue new ventures, and helped me remove seemingly insurmountable barriers that had clouded my path to law school.
For years, I translated and empathetically advocated for my mother as she faced challenges due to her inability to read and write fluently, but, until my bankruptcy, I had never been on the receiving end of that kind of empathy and support. During my bankruptcy, I became the person who needed help and who clung to an attorney’s every word because I had dreams that hung in the balance of those legal discussions. I now know what it is like to be both the client and the advocate. The time and care that Mr. Martinez demonstrated as he listened to my story is a model of empathy that I have strived to adopt in all aspects of my life since—from helping my younger sister overcome her fear of driving to empowering the dozens of young paralegals I manage as they navigate the complexities of their positions. I hope to apply these same skills as I build relationships and craft legal strategies with my own clients as a lawyer.
Although the loss of our family’s business and my related bankruptcy were two of the most challenging experiences of my life, I have learned how to protect myself and consider all of the financial and legal implications of critical decisions. These are lessons that I will emphasize with future clients as they similarly balance emotional and legal commitments, and, in doing so, I will combine my legal training with the same kind of empathy that Mr. Martinez modeled. I have witnessed firsthand the transformational power of law, and I am eager to finally take the next step in my legal career. The path that I have taken to law school has been much more circuitous than I imagined, but it has shaped the person I am today and the lawyer I will become tomorrow.
Personal Statement Example #7
This essay is a strong example of a personal statement that explains the applicant’s motivations for changing careers. They ultimately matriculated to one of their top-choice law schools, where they were admitted below both medians.
“Welcome, guys… and gal,” my project manager said as he turned to raise an eyebrow directly at me. It was 7:30 am, nearly an hour into my first day on the jobsite. Most of our team recently relocated to build a new project, and I assumed this early team gathering would welcome many of us. However, my manager continued the kickoff meeting by next announcing that I was “obviously a woman.” Puzzled, I scanned the room and quickly realized that, in the excitement of my first day, I failed to notice I was the only woman on site, the singular “gal” in his opening remarks.
My mind raced as my coworkers shared policies they brainstormed in preparation for my joining the team: a separate bathroom for me, minimizing cursing, and avoiding derogatory comments about women. I tried to shake off this unusual introduction, hoping they only meant to make me feel welcome.
Unfortunately, as the months of the project rolled by, my status as “the gal” continued to impact my everyday interactions. Clients regularly mistook me for the team’s administrative assistant instead of an engineer, men frequently apologized to me only for cursing in meetings, and coworkers constantly approached my male counterpart with questions about my work instead of asking me.
Despite this atmosphere, I grew into a critical role on the team and excelled at drafting and negotiating contracts for our clients. I enjoyed analyzing project drawings to evaluate proposals and discovered my ability to translate technical terminology to different people, from tradespeople who speak English as a second language to government officials with minimal engineering experience. While some incidents still bothered me, particularly when a client inferred a problem arose because of “women like me,” I learned to navigate them while focusing on my work. In that case, I asked the client to take a break and return to the meeting when prepared to work together toward a solution. I slowly created a more comfortable environment for myself. Additionally, I continued to partner with female colleagues in our corporate office to cofound a women’s resource group. Through this group, what my male colleagues deemed a “glorified book club,” we bond over shared discriminatory experiences and work to enhance the culture for female employees by advocating for paid maternity leave and flexible return-to-work policies.
While maneuvering and supporting women through the gendered obstacle course at work, I noticed the industry is also disrespectful to our planet. Within the first weeks on site, I found it odd our trailer did not have a recycling bin. I brought one in, offering to empty it at my home weekly. Each week I found the bin filled with old lunches and half-full coffee cups. For months, I sorted through the trash to salvage the cans and bottles. Over time, my teammates’ mockery of and resistance to participate in even this minor effort to help the environment disturbed me and motivated me to find other ways I could increase our project’s recycling efforts and reduce hazardous waste. I recommended diverting a larger amount of the site’s byproducts to a facility that separates waste from recyclables, initiated an effort to procure materials that would minimize our carbon footprint, and worked with the architect to ensure we exceeded the sustainability design goals. My project manager rejected my initiatives, insisting these changes would not make a difference. I even offered detailed explanations of how recycling facilities operate pulled from my undergraduate sustainable design courses, but my manager refused to budge.
Today, after three years in construction, I see how much the industry’s practices regarding and common behaviors toward women and the environment differ from my personal values and educational interests. Growing up, my parents pushed my sisters and me to join any sports and activities, even if exclusively offered to boys. They raised us to believe women and men are equal and that your drive and how you treat others define your success in life. These values carried me through my undergraduate experience while I studied in engineering classes of mostly men and competed for an athletic department centered on the men’s teams. My parents’ encouragement also led me to explore interdisciplinary electives in environmental engineering, where I passionately researched methods we can use to mitigate climate change and help stabilize the environment through sustainable design.
Accordingly, these recent experiences as a woman in construction with the desire to improve sustainability practices on the jobsite made me reevaluate my career path. I now want to join the legal profession because it aligns with my skill set, values, and desire to promote inclusivity. In combination with my civil and environmental engineering background, a law degree would enable me to pursue a career as an environmental attorney and be a part of the climate crisis solution. While I will no longer be “the gal” sorting recyclables on the construction site, I want to help build a more sustainable and dependable future for our planet with a law degree.
Personal Statement Example #8
This essay is a beautifully written personal, ideological, and academic coming-of-age story. It demonstrates the applicant’s self-awareness, intellectual and social curiosity, and not just an openness to differing viewpoints, but a desire to understand them. The clarity and authenticity with which the applicant writes allow the reader to feel like they know the applicant as a person and why they are going to law school. They were admitted to several of the most competitive law schools in the country, with numbers below both medians.
I was raised to hold Sundays sacred. Not for a god, but for sourdough pancakes and family time at my Grandma Sadie’s house. Sadie lives amid lettuce, citrus, and date palm fields just outside of Verde, the farm town on the U.S.-Mexico border where I grew up. On Sundays, like clockwork, my large extended family would file in and squeeze around the kitchen island to fix themselves plates. Side-splitting laughter would erupt from my goofy cousins as sticky-fingered toddlers streaked through the kitchen. The cacophony of conversation ranged from politics to cotton prices to local lore.
But Sunday Breakfast taught me more than maple syrup’s superiority over Log Cabin. It united a family that spans multiple generations, socioeconomic classes, and political affiliations. From teachers and farmers to healthcare workers and hairdressers, Sunday Breakfast instilled the value of interacting with and respecting people who hold varied perspectives. In 2016, the year before I left for college, much of my family began to support Donald Trump. This was the norm in Verde. Many felt seen by Trump; this affinity did not track neatly with race or class but with the ability to identify as a group of people that felt forgotten by wealthy, college-educated “liberal elites.” As politics became more polarized, voices became fiercer as my liberal grandfather sparred with my cousins about Trump’s foreign policy approach or his border wall. I disliked Trump, too, and did not think he held sound solutions to my family members’ misgivings. But I never believed they were evil for supporting him; Sunday Breakfast impeded me from reducing them to their politics. I left for college, hoping my education would help me understand and bridge these deepening divisions.
I arrived at [College Name] to find that most of my classmates came from major cities and suburbs. For the first time in my life, I was surrounded by people whose parents headed giant corporations and who went to elite college preparatory schools. The similarity of my peers’ upbringings and how these upbringings ran parallel to their shared political views surprised me. Even more striking, they rarely interacted with people whose lives and views differed from theirs. Most of them knew few, if any, Trump supporters and seemed to believe they were, in fact, evil. I found myself toeing a middle ground, where defending either side felt like a betrayal. I sensed this chasm went deeper than partisanship, and my desire to understand its roots intensified.
From there, college became a quest to piece together this puzzle. It began with a philosophy of law class, which showed me how the Constitution, statutes, and precedent are interpreted and enforced to create the bedrock underlying every aspect of our lives. I was fascinated by how courts resolved disputes and effected sweeping changes outside the partisan arena. This legal framework then contextualized my subsequent classes. An American politics class underscored the connection between socioeconomic inequality and political instability. My constitutional law class illustrated how Citizens United has allowed corporations to game our democracy to their benefit. An economics class I took senior year highlighted how monopolies have imbalanced our economy and exacerbated inequality. Around this time, I read about Lina Khan and learned that antitrust law may need to evolve to better combat modern monopolies and their related harms. As these pieces coalesced, I saw that distorted economic powers increased socioeconomic inequalities in our country and fueled societal divides; as such, antitrust law presented a promising path toward resolution.
This insight clarified the divide I saw between Verde and the urban places my peers had grown up. Driving the contrasts between these two worlds was congregated power, amassed by huge companies and concentrated in wealthy places. This geographic congregation inherently gives way to negative spaces devoid of that power and wealth. Verde is proof, where graduating from college is atypical and socioeconomic mobility is scarce. Antitrust law aims to combat this power at the macro level before it trickles down to impede fair competition and eventually distort our familial spheres of life. In the long run, a healthier economy will bring a closer resemblance between Americans’ daily lives—and lessen the polarization increasingly separating them.
I want to be an attorney because I cherish my communities and want to fight the insidious forces dividing them. Moreover, as antitrust theorists contemplate how best to dismantle modern monopolies and correct economic imbalances, I believe my Verde perspective will allow me to bring valuable insights to the discussion. It may take a lifetime of Sundays for polarization to lessen its grip on our country, but that is precisely how I will carry forward my family’s most beloved tradition.
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