law school admission personal statement example

Login to your account

Remember Me

Register for a Free Account

Access sample lessons, a free LSAT PrepTest, and 100 question explanations today!

Password (twice) * password strength indicator

Analytics Identifier

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.

📌 Further reading:

• Six Law School Personal Statements That Got Into Harvard
• Free admissions course

All Categories

• Admissions 201 Posts
• Success Story 4 Posts
• LSAT 231 Posts
• Logical Reasoning 11 Posts
• Logic Games 10 Posts
• Reading Comprehension 5 Posts
• Podcast 92 Posts
• Uncategorized 35 Posts

Join our newsletter

Other posts.

Listen and subscribe:Apple Podcasts | Spotify | Audible We’re making a list and checking it twice! With applications open, we’re offering some tips and tricks on how to make an app list that works for you […]

With the incoming students arrived (hopefully in one piece!) and orientation complete (hopefully without incident!), law school admissions officers face one of their stranger time periods of the year. It’s […]

While last week’s blog detailed how law school admissions officers were preparing last-minute details for orientation, this is the week when there are no more “last minutes.” It’s the current […]

Leave a Reply Cancel

You must be logged in to post a comment. You can get a free account here .

Tips For Law School Personal Statements: Examples, Resources And More

Expert Reviewed

Updated: Mar 22, 2024, 4:48pm

Tens of thousands of undergraduates pursue law school every year, and the competition for admission is fierce.

When it comes to admissions, your law school personal statement is not as impactful as your LSAT scores or undergraduate GPA. Still, a personal statement can be the deciding factor when competing with other applicants.

In this article, we discuss how to write a law school personal statement that demonstrates why you belong in a Juris Doctor (J.D.) program.

Why You Can Trust Forbes Advisor Education

Forbes Advisor’s education editors are committed to producing unbiased rankings and informative articles covering online colleges, tech bootcamps and career paths. Our ranking methodologies use data from the National Center for Education Statistics , education providers, and reputable educational and professional organizations. An advisory board of educators and other subject matter experts reviews and verifies our content to bring you trustworthy, up-to-date information. Advertisers do not influence our rankings or editorial content.

• 6,290 accredited, nonprofit colleges and universities analyzed nationwide
• 52 reputable tech bootcamp providers evaluated for our rankings
• All content is fact-checked and updated on an annual basis
• Rankings undergo five rounds of fact-checking
• Only 7.12% of all colleges, universities and bootcamp providers we consider are awarded

What Is a Law School Personal Statement?

A law school personal statement is a multi-paragraph essay or narrative highlighting the reason you are pursuing a J.D. degree . This essay is an opportunity to share your identity with an admissions committee—beyond just transcripts and test scores.

Personal statements are typically two to four pages long. Most law schools do not provide specific prompts for applicants’ statements, but some do. Either way, the content of your statement should leave a strong impression.

Why Do Law Schools Ask for Personal Statements?

Law schools receive a high volume of applications and typically do not contact applicants for interviews until after reviewing their applications. As a result, personal statements largely act as a substitute for the applicant interview process.

Your personal statement serves as a writing sample that shows your ability to communicate ideas effectively. In addition to demonstrating your ability to write well, a personal statement can give an admissions committee a clear picture of your motivations for attending law school and indicate how well you might fit into their program.

If you’re wondering how to become a lawyer , law school is the first step—and your personal statement is important to the law school application process.

How To Write a Law School Personal Statement

Writing a law school personal statement can be a challenging part of the application process, involving hours of planning and drafting. However, with solid brainstorming and prewriting strategies, you can craft an effective personal statement that illustrates how you are a strong candidate for law school.

Picking What to Write About

If your prospective school does not provide a prompt, choosing what to write about can be frustrating and time-consuming.

Start with a serious brainstorming session to get your ideas on paper. Give yourself the license to explore every experience or idea before deciding on your final topic.

Consider spending time jotting down every idea that falls into the following categories:

• Life events or experiences that motivated you or changed your perspective
• A meaningful personal achievement and what you learned from it
• How you became interested in the law
• Your passions and how they contributed to your individual goals

Structuring Your Law School Personal Statement

The structure and method you use to craft your statement is important. It might be tempting to follow a rigid formula and write a personal statement that methodically unpacks your reason for attending law school, your qualifications and the relevance of your extracurricular engagements. However, some of the most effective personal statements are crafted through a narrative approach.

Well-written narratives are engaging and illustrate why law school would benefit your career path. Your essay should exhibit your dedication and passion for the law and highlight the relationship between your values and your target law school. By creating a narrative with a common theme woven throughout, you can captivate your reader while informing them of your qualifications and goals.

Rather than overtly telling the reader why you should be accepted into law school, a narrative allows its audience to make connections and engage at a personal level. Your anecdotes and specific examples should reveal the traits you want the admissions committee to see and appreciate.

What Makes a ‘Good’ Law School Personal Statement?

Law school admissions teams read hundreds, even thousands of personal statements, so it’s important to write one that stands out. Ultimately, a good law school personal statement engages the reader, provides a unique perspective and demonstrates why you would make a good candidate for law school.

Choose a Unique Topic

A personal statement is exactly that: personal. Crafting a memorable narrative is paramount and dependent on your story and unique life experiences, especially since reviewers read so many personal statements with similar stories and themes.

Unfortunately, certain topics can come across as cliche. This is not to say that your lived experience of overcoming adversity or your time spent volunteering to help those in need is undervalued. However, those narratives have motivated thousands of aspiring attorneys to pursue law—meaning they have appeared in thousands of law school personal statements.

Give Specific Examples

Once you’ve selected a topic, take time to unpack the examples you plan to share and how they tie into the “why” behind your pursuit of law school. General statements are not only boring to read but lack the depth of meaning required to make an impact. Specific examples are critical to creating interest and highlighting the uniqueness of your personal experience.

According to law school admissions consultant and founder of PreLawPro, Ben Cooper, “It is always great to have a story that speaks for you. A story that demonstrates certain qualities or a key lesson learned is always more compelling than simply saying, ‘I am dedicated, responsible etc.’ ”

Be Personal and Reflective

Law schools want to see critical thinking skills and deep reflection in applicants’ personal essays. Before you write, consider a few questions. Is your story unique to you? What was the primary conflict in your story? How did you develop over time? How does this story reflect who you are now and how law school suits you? Take time to ponder what challenges you’ve overcome and what events and experiences have shaped your worldview.

Common Pitfalls for a Law School Personal Statement

Before you invest hours writing an essay just for it to fall flat, make sure you’re aware of the most common pitfalls for law school personal statements.

Failing To Follow Instructions

Law schools set specific formatting and length guidelines. Reading comprehension and attention to detail are key skills for law school success, so failing to meet these expectations could count against your application or even result in an automatic rejection.

Length and formatting requirements vary among law schools. For example, if a school expects no more than two pages, 11-point font, 1-inch margins and double spacing, make sure to format your personal statement precisely according to those specifications. We advise tailoring your personal statement to each individual school to avoid violating any formatting requirements.

If a law school asks you to answer a specific prompt or write multiple essays, make sure to follow those instructions as well.

Not Revising And Proofreading

Nothing screams a lack of effort, interest and commitment like an unpolished personal statement. Admissions teams will quickly notice if you skip proofreads and revisions, even if the content of your essay is exceptional.

This step entails much more than running a spelling and grammar check. You must ensure that the order of information is purposeful and logical. Each word you use should be intentional and add value to the story you are trying to tell.

Revising an essay is not a one-person job. Have others provide feedback, too. Your peers and mentors are a great place to start, as long as they give objective feedback.

Also ask people you do not know to provide feedback. You might start with your university’s writing center . Writing centers employ trained writing tutors who are skilled in providing feedback across disciplines. A writing center tutor will not proofread your essay, but they assist in making it reach its full potential.

Using Flowery Or Overly Academic Language

The voice and tone of your personal statement should flow naturally and reflect who you are. This doesn’t require flowery or overly academic language, which can make your essay sound more obtuse and less personal.

As we stated earlier, your personal statement should use specific examples and stories to generate interest and reveal why you want to attend law school and become a lawyer.

Likewise, you should avoid using excessive legal language or famous quotes in your statement. Admissions reviewers are academics, so if you use a term improperly, they will catch it. Use language that you feel comfortable with, without being too informal, and allow your narrative to convey your intended themes and ideas.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) About Law School Personal Statements

What is a good personal statement for law school.

A good personal statement for law school is original, engaging, truthful and well-structured. When composing your personal statement, take time to reflect on your life experiences and how they led you to pursue a legal career. Follow each school’s required format, make sure to proofread carefully and use natural-sounding language.

How much does a law school personal statement matter?

Law school admissions committees typically place more emphasis on your LSAT performance and undergraduate academic record—including your GPA and the rigor of your course of study—but a personal statement can still have a powerful impact on the success of your application. A strong essay can help you stand out from the crowd, and conversely, a clichéd, poorly written or incorrectly formatted essay can hurt your chances.

Do law schools fact-check personal statements?

Assume that law school admissions officers may fact-check any verifiable information in your personal statement. They may not know if you are presenting your motivations for applying or your career plans honestly, but they can—and will—check whether, for example, you participated in a particular student organization or attended a specific conference.

• Best Online Criminal Justice Degree Programs
• Best Master’s In Homeland Security Online
• Best Master’s In Forensic Science Online Programs
• Best Master’s In Criminology Online Programs
• Best Ph.D. In Public Administration Online
• Best Online Paralegal Degrees
• Best Online Public Administration Degrees
• How To Become A Criminal Investigator
• How To Become A Lawyer
• Careers In Law
• What Can You Do With A Master Of Public Administration? 10 MPA Jobs To Know
• Online Associate Degrees In Criminal Justice
• Is Law School Worth It? How To Decide If Law School Is Right For You
• Is Law School Worth It? 5 Factors To Consider
• Paralegal Vs. Lawyer
• The Top 13 Pre-Law Majors
• 5 Types Of Law Degrees And Careers For Graduates
• What Can You Do With A Law Degree? Careers, Salaries And Job Outlooks

Where To Earn An Online Criminal Justice Associate Degree In 2024

Where To Earn A Ph.D. In Criminal Justice Online In 2024

Best Master’s In Criminology Online Programs Of 2024

Best Master’s In Homeland Security Online Of 2024

Best Ph.D. In Public Administration Online Of 2024

Where To Earn An Online Forensic Psychology Master’s Degree In 2024

Brandon Galarita is a freelance writer and K-12 educator in Honolulu, Hawaii. He is passionate about technology in education, college and career readiness and school improvement through data-driven practices.

Brenna Swanston is an education-focused editor and writer with a particular interest in education equity and alternative educational paths. As a newswriter in her early career, Brenna's education reporting earned national awards and state-level accolades in California and North Carolina. Since 2018, she has worked in the higher-education web content space, where she aims to help current and prospective students of all backgrounds find effective, accessible pathways to rewarding careers.

Ben Cooper the founder and CEO of PreLawPro, a law school admissions and career consulting firm. He is a former international lawyer who spent much of his legal career as a litigator in London’ financial district. After leaving private practice he oversaw the Pre-Law program at Baylor University, where he taught college classes on the legal profession, law school admissions, careers, and academic success. He has also helped students explore careers in diplomacy, intelligence and national security. After almost a decade of working with college students and young professionals, Ben has helped hundreds of law school applicants gain admission to law schools all over the country. Ben also coaches and mentors college students and young professionals (across a broad range of industries) as they navigate their education and careers.

Successful Law School Personal Statement Example (’24 Guide)

What is a great example of a personal statement for law school? 

A personal statement can massively improve your chances of getting accepted to a top law school. And today, you get a real example from an applicant with a low GPA who got admitted to a T-10 law school. 

Example personal statement: Emily

Here’s a real example of a personal statement my client Emily wrote (her name is changed to protect her privacy, everything else is true). 

Emily had a serious drawback when she applied to law school; her GPA was significantly below all T-14 law school medians. So her personal statement  really  had to shine. 

And by focusing on her statement, Emily was able to get admitted to a T-10 law school – a far better law school than what she “should” have been able to get admitted to if she’d only focused on her stats. 

Here below, I first break down her background and admissions outcome and then share her admissions strategy. Last, we’ll look at her initial draft and then the final, reworked draft that helped her get accepted to a top law school.

• 3.2 GPA, 171 LSAT 
• Out of undergrad for two years. Worked as a Visitor Services Associate at a major art museum in New York for the first 18 months after undergrad, then worked as a paralegal at a well-known plaintiffs’ environmental litigation law firm for the six months leading up to her application to law schools. 
• In undergrad, she was involved in primarily personal extracurriculars, including as captain of the club tennis team and the orchestra. She also participated in some community service, though it was a low-time commitment, primarily tutoring elementary students.
• During undergrad, she also interned at various art museums. 
•  Emily knew she wanted to go to law school to work in art restitution. This had been a long-held passion of hers: she majored in history to be able to study this, interned with various museums while in undergrad, and wrote her thesis on the restitution of Nazi art. 

Law School Goals

• T-14 law school with opportunities specific to art restitution. 
• GPA significantly below all the T-14 schools’ medians
• Trouble finding recommenders 

Admissions Outcome 

• Will be attending the University of Michigan Law School, a T-10 law school with specific opportunities in art restitution. 
• Emily was admitted despite her 3.2 GPA being significantly below Michigan’s median 3.84 GPA, and her LSAT just reaching their 171 median. She killed it!

Admissions Strategy 

With Emily, the main thing she had to overcome was her low GPA. She had a solid LSAT score, but not a score that was so elevated that it would automatically excuse her GPA.

And without having people she undoubtedly knew would write her outstanding letters of recommendation, we had an uphill battle making sure her application materials offset the low GPA.

These are the main pieces of her law school application we worked on to make up for her low GPA. 

1. Addendum 

Whenever a client comes to me with a low GPA, I look for every opportunity to help them show law schools that their GPA is not indicative of their academic capabilities. So we first analyze their transcript and I inquire whether there is any explanation for their low performance.

For Emily, there was a possible explanation, in that something difficult happened to her in college, but she wasn’t sure how much it had impacted her or whether there was a significant enough pattern in her grades where she could blame it on the incident. She was also very cautious of sharing it, as it was extremely personal and traumatic to her.

We eventually both agreed that it made sense for Emily to write an addendum. While her experience may not fully excuse her grades in the eyes of an admission officer, it was serious enough that it provided context for Emily’s performance. Admission officers want to know this.

The key to writing a  law school addendum  that doesn’t sound like you’re making an excuse, which was Emily’s biggest concern, is to just state the facts. She didn’t need to say that her GPA was entirely a result of this incident, but she was able to share the details of what happened and how it affected her and her ability to do well in school. It was valid and real.

2. Letters of Recommendation 

Emily struggled with figuring out who to ask for her letters of recommendation. She had some professors in mind but hadn’t kept much in touch since graduating in the past two years. And given her grades weren’t great in many of the courses, she didn’t feel she had many professors to ask. 

When a client has a low GPA, it is really important to get strong letters of recommendation that talk about how the applicant can handle rigorous academic work. And when an applicant like Emily is only a few years out from undergrad, without any intervening schooling, getting recommendations from undergrad professors is really important. 

Many applicants think they can only ask professors where they received an A or the top grade in the class. But if you feel that you excelled in a really tough course, even though you didn’t get an A, and that a professor for that course could actually talk more personally and specifically about your ability to handle rigorous academic work than a professor where you received an A, that will be a stronger letter of recommendation. 

That was exactly the case with Emily. She excelled in a History course where she wrote a 300-page paper—no small feat while in undergrad! While she didn’t receive an A in the course, the professor had thought enough of her work to recommend she try to get her essay published. That was clearly a professor who respected Emily, respected her ability to think analytically and write well—both skills needed as a lawyer. The professor was more than thrilled to write her a letter and ended up writing her a really outstanding recommendation. 

I helped her gather the courage to ask her super busy, intimidating boss at her paralegal job to write her another letter. The boss asked Emily to write the first draft. This can be so tough! Applicants often feel like this gives them control, but usually, the letters come out worse. And it is often very obvious to admissions officers that you wrote it yourself.  Read my advice here on how to write your own letter of recommendation.

With my guidance, Emily was able to use this opportunity to highlight the incredible amount of responsibility she was given, and how much she thrived in the role. This was another way to show law schools that she could handle the responsibility of law school and being a lawyer, as she was doing some pretty high-level legal work already. She also highlighted the intensity of the role she was in, and the demanding hours and expectations. 

This was strategic in that it helped combat any assumptions that her undergrad GPA was because of laziness. She clearly showed through her paralegal role that she was willing and able to go above and beyond, even in a very stressful environment. 

Finally, given that Emily wanted to go to law school to pursue a degree in art restitution, it was important she have a recommendation that speaks to that passion. Whenever you intend to talk about wanting to go into a specific area of law, especially one as niche as art restitution, you want to show proof of that passion through your experiences. Having a recommendation that can speak to what you have done in that arena can be very persuasive. Emily ended up asking a former supervisor at a prestigious art museum. 

Overall, the strategy behind Emily’s letters of recommendation was to show that she (1) could handle rigorous academic work, (2) had already mastered important legal skills of analytical thinking and writing abilities, (3) could thrive in a demanding environment, and (4) had a genuine and proven passion for art restitution.

3. Personal Statement 

The most important piece of Emily’s application was undoubtedly going to be her law school personal statement, and (albeit to a lesser extent) her supplemental essays.

Emily’s interest in such a niche area of law—art restitution—was a major advantage she had. And it was a genuine and long-standing interest that she had proof of her through her various internships, jobs, and thesis.

Law schools want a diverse class, which includes interest areas. They don’t want a school of lawyers all practicing the same kind of law; that doesn’t help them look as good. So having a niche interest, and one that you can talk about with deep insight, can make you stand out . . . a lot. 

So I knew that having a personal statement that spoke to this interest in a  personal and powerful way  could go a long way to helping offset Emily’s low GPA.

In the next section, I show you where Emily started with her personal statement and where we got to for her final version so you can see for yourself the difference between an essay that sounds like someone who has some idea why she wants to go to law school, to an applicant whose passion and deep insight into her motivation to go to law school can be felt through the page.

I always say: you want to make the admissions officer reading your personal statement understand and feel your passion to become a lawyer. 

I’ve included my comments on Emily’s first draft so you can see my own thinking. But know that there were A LOT of drafts in between this first version and Emily’s final. Emily’s personal statement probably took longer than most to get final, and that was because we both wanted it to be perfect, and also because I knew from talking with her that she had so much more depth and power in her than was coming across on the page. So I kept pushing. (Sorry I’m not sorry!)

In Emily’s own (maybe exaggerating) words:  “You forced me to write and rewrite my personal statement maybe 20 times. But I forgive you because there is absolutely no way it would have turned into the masterpiece I think that it is if it were not for you.”

The main differences I want you to notice between the first draft and Emily’s final version are:

(1) the cohesive narrative surrounding her passion for art restitution and her desire to attend law school—the final essay reads more like a single story than her first draft’s series of disjointed stories,

(2) a grounding of her passion in the personal—she uses a personal story about her family to explain the origins of her passion for art restitution. This helps ground the narrative a bit more, keeps it from feeling too much like an academic paper.

(3) the global insight Emily shares about the importance of art restitution—she shows not only why she cares, but also why we should care about the work she is going to do. And she shows that she can think critically about her experiences and how they apply in the real world, an important skill for lawyers.

(4) a specific and thought-out plan for how she’ll get to her legal goals—shows maturity and insight into the legal field that most applicants don’t have.

Sample Personal Statements: Before & After 

Emily’s Initial Draft 

Emily’s Final Personal Statement 

        “I grew up feeling connected to my parents but detached from cultural roots. My parents came from Jewish and Catholic traditions, so they raised me with a little of both. When it came time to do family trees in elementary school, I was lost beyond my grandparents’ generation. My mother reached out to my great-aunt Terry, the matriarch of my mother’s side, and thanks to her I know the story of one branch of my family tree: the Lauterbachs, Austrian Jews who fled after a pogrom, leaving behind their successful hotel. This is the oldest story that I have about my ancestors, and I cling to it as part of my identity.

        In college, I pursued a degree in history to learn and tell other people’s stories, and in small ways, to find my own. Given my long-held interest in art and museums, I explored art history, but the academic perspective felt too detached, and I preferred using art as evidence or context in history papers, rather than as the subject.

        I was always grasping at things tangentially related to my weak sense of family history, so when I learned about the famous Adele Bloch Bauer I— the painting at the heart of a struggle between a Holocaust victim’s heir and a national Austrian museum, depicted in the “Woman in Gold” film—I clung to the story. I struggled to understand why there had been so much resistance to do what clearly seemed like the right thing. I was perplexed that there had been no clear avenue for families hoping to recover their looted art, searching to find a piece of their lost identity and stolen pride. Why had it taken decades for the pride of the Belvedere Museum in Vienna to be recognized by her real name and returned to her rightful owner? 

        I felt this same frustration when visiting 21 Rue de la Boétie, an exhibition in homage to French Jewish art dealer Paul Rosenberg—who represented Léger and Matisse among others and was forced to flee Paris in WWII, leaving behind many paintings to be stolen, destroyed, or sold by the Nazis. The last room of the exhibit contained a painting that had just been returned to his estate from a Norwegian museum a year earlier, and the plaque spoke about the ongoing efforts to find and recover additional works. Reading about how heirs were still, decades later, having to fight to recover what was rightfully a part of their family history, a part of their identity, left me furious. It felt like fate; as I was nearing the end of my quest for a senior thesis topic, I had found something that combined history, art, and justice, along with my personal search for identity.

        Hoping to get a quote for my senior thesis on the upward trend of restitution in cases of Nazi-looted art, I met with the Manhattan District Attorney’s Antiquities Trafficking Unit, who track down looted antiquities from war-torn or impoverished countries. The head of the unit told me that the landmark international agreement to return stolen works, known as the Washington Principles, was unenforceable and not self-policed, in his blunt words, “useless.”

        Another problem that I encountered in my research was that the people holding these works often fail to appreciate their symbolic value. For a museum, these paintings are valuable works by famous artists. But for those whose heritage, ancestors, or past, is tied to an object, the value is primarily its history. A work of art cannot be separated from its past, and as a physical object, it comes to represent the people who cherished it. For me, restituting a work is a way of honoring those people. Choosing not to restitute a work legitimizes the direct and intentional dehumanizing of the Nazi regime. This result and its implications are unacceptable.

        It is to this end that I am seeking a law degree. I intend to be an attorney who represents heirs of stolen, looted, and missing works. While restituting art can never bring back the millions of lives lost in the Holocaust or hold accountable those who were guilty or complicit in the looting, it can still provide a small glimmer of hope, a way to honor the dead along with the survivors and repair a missing piece of an heir’s identity. It remains a way to disrupt the results of the original looting, a small right in the face of unspeakable wrongs.

        I envision starting my career as a litigator in an art recovery practice group. Through these cases I will bring to light the stories of the individuals tied to these works and ensure that their stories are always told when their works are displayed. I intend to spend my career contributing to the eventual paradigm shift at which point museums and individuals will always feel obligated to restitute looted works.”

How do you write a good personal statement for law school? 

Now you know what Emily’s personal statement looked like and why. 

And by now you also know that your GPA and LSAT score aren’t the only things that determine whether you’ll get accepted or not. 

Many applicants with amazing GPA and LSAT scores don’t get into top law schools, while plenty of applicants without those same scores do get in. (Just like Emily.)

The secret to getting admitted to law school is to  tell a cohesive story . 

Don’t try to include everything and anything. Instead, form a story around many or individual experiences. 

Your personal statement also needs to answer  why you want to go to law school . You don’t have to know what type of lawyer you want to become, but you should be able to answer  why . 

Finally, one of the most important parts of your personal statement is to show admissions officers  how you think . After all, they’ll want to know if you have what it takes to thrive as a lawyer.

Get law school personal statement prompts 

There you have it! You now have a highly insightful example of a personal statement for law school.

And as you know by now, the topic you choose is one of the most important parts of your statement.

To help you create YOUR personal statement, I’ve created a list with prompts to brainstorm your topic. 

Download it here: 

Frequently asked questions about personal statement examples

What should be the opening sentence of a law school personal statement.

How should you start your personal statement? The key is to introduce your topic fast and then build your story. If you include a lengthy introduction, you won’t have as much space to fill in your story… And frankly, you’ll lose the admission officer’s attention.

Start with an engaging introduction that clearly shows the reader what you will be talking about and keep them interested in reading the rest of your statement. 

What not to say in a law school personal statement?

You’ll generally want to avoid any overused personal statement topics. These are historical or political events (unless you were personally affected by them in a meaningful way – just like Emily had a family history that made her interested in Nazi art lootings), athlete stories, generic study abroad stories, high school events, creative writing-type essays, or relying on a difficult story as a “crutch” instead of using it to build your cohesive story.  

How long should a law school personal statement be?

The length of your personal statement depends on the law school, but the typical length is two pages. Check what law schools state about their requirements to understand how long your personal statement should be. 

Hope you enjoy this blog post! Want to know how to use the power of your personal statement to get into your dream law school, even if you aren’t the “perfect” applicant?

Get the three exercises that have helped countless law school applicants craft a wildly successful personal statement

How to kickstart your personal statement and get into your dream law school

Where can i send your pdf.

Privacy Policy: We hate spam and promise to keep your email address safe.

How to Stand Out & Get Admitted to the Law School of Your Dreams

Which program are you applying to?

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. 

Get Expert Help From Our World Class Consultants

Do you need guidance ensuring that your law school personal statement essay reflects you authentically and incorporates the lessons from these sample law school essays? Work one-on-one with an Accepted  law school admissions consultant  with years of experience in law school admissions. Your advisor looks forward to  helping you tell your compelling story .  

Get Expert Help With Your Law School Application

Our world-class team helps you stand out from the competition and get accepted.

APPLICATION STRATEGY / ESSAY REVIEW / INTERVIEW PREP

Accepted has been helping law school applicants gain acceptance to top programs since 1994.

Winning Law School Personal Statement Examples From Top Law Schools

Featured Expert: Phoebe Gilmore, JD

Review of law school personal statement examples is a great way to start your preparations for law school applications. Law school acceptance rates in the US and law school acceptance rates in Canada can be really intimidating but a great application and stellar law school interview performance are sure to increase your acceptance chances! Check out amazing law school personal statement examples below to get inspired! 

Want us to help you? Applicants and students, book a free strategy call here . Universities, businesses, or student organizations representative, book a free call here .

Article Contents 10 min read

Law school personal statement example #1 - yale law school.

Rain battered the windows of the courtroom that day, but inside, the storm was even more tempestuous. Witnessing my first trial at the age of sixteen, a landmark case for the small town of Harrisonburg, I was transfixed. The defense attorney, Mr. John Abernathy, weaved narratives with evidence, challenging my conception of justice, and setting my path toward the field of law.

Growing up in Harrisonburg, I was surrounded by stories. My grandfather owned the local bookstore, “Bennett’s Chronicles”, where stories of adventure, romance, and mystery filled the shelves. But the most compelling tales were those rooted in reality – the struggles of real people seeking justice. This understanding was magnified during my undergraduate studies at the University of Virginia. As a major in Political Science, I learned that laws are more than just words on paper; they are the distilled experiences, beliefs, and values of society. My tenure as president of the University Debate Club honed my ability to construct arguments, scrutinize every detail, and persuade audiences. Dr. Eleanor Simmons, my thesis advisor, often said, "In every statute and judgment, there's a hidden narrative." This belief drove my research on "The Evolution of Tort Law and Societal Values," illustrating the fluid relationship between the public's beliefs and our legal system.

While my academic pursuits provided a theoretical understanding of the law, real-world experiences imbued it with color and depth. Interning at the “Bates and Crawford Law Firm” in Richmond was my first foray into the legal world. Here, under the mentorship of Ms. Diana Crawford, I had the chance to work on cases that ranged from property disputes to criminal defense. One case, in particular, left an indelible mark. We represented Ms. Anna Rodriguez, a tenant fighting against an unjust eviction. Despite the evidence being stacked against us, Ms. Crawford's deft navigation through the nuances of property law not only ensured Ms. Rodriguez kept her home but also highlighted the power of a well-argued legal case. This experience taught me that the law isn't just about winning; it's about ensuring justice, fairness, and truth.

Another defining moment was my involvement with “LegalAid Virginia”, a non-profit aimed at offering legal services to those who couldn't afford them. I spearheaded a campaign to educate the underserved communities about their rights. Organizing sessions, disseminating information, and directly engaging with the community made me appreciate the vast chasm between legal rights and the knowledge about them. It reiterated the fact that law, at its core, is a service - one that requires dedication, compassion, and an unwavering commitment to justice.

Yale Law School stands at the nexus of tradition and innovation in legal education. The school's commitment to fostering a diverse community of top-tier students and its interdisciplinary approach resonate with my personal and academic experiences. Yale’s rich history of producing leaders, combined with its focus on nurturing individuality, makes it the perfect crucible for my ambitions. I believe that my unique blend of rigorous academic training, practical experience, and a deep-seated passion for justice would contribute richly to the Yale community.

In that dimly lit courtroom in Harrisonburg, amidst the drumming of rain, I realized that the law is a living, breathing entity, constantly evolving. It's the tapestry of our society, and I am committed to being one of its weavers. At Yale, I hope to further this understanding, intertwining the threads of justice, equity, and community.

"Justice consists not in being neutral between right and wrong, but in finding out the right and upholding it, wherever found, against the wrong." – Theodore Roosevelt. This quote has resonated with me since I first came across it during a high school civics class. The compelling vision it presented—of a justice system that actively discerns and champions the right—served as the catalyst for my interest in law. And the University of Notre Dame, with its commitment to ethics, morality, and the pursuit of justice, embodies the spirit of this quote.

My initial encounter with the practical application of Roosevelt’s words was during my undergraduate years at Boston College. I worked closely with Professor Leonard Mitchell, a passionate advocate for social justice. Under his guidance, I led a research project titled "The Intersection of Law and Morality." The study primarily focused on how legal precedents often evolve in tandem with society's moral compass. This endeavor not only fortified my research skills but also deepened my understanding of the symbiotic relationship between the legal system and societal ethics.

While at Boston College, I also volunteered with the “Legal Eagles” initiative, which aimed to provide legal assistance to underprivileged families facing eviction. It was here that I met Sarah Thompson, a single mother fighting to provide a stable home for her children. Sarah's resilience and faith in the justice system, despite the overwhelming odds stacked against her, were awe-inspiring. Representing Sarah and others like her, I learned to navigate the intricate maze of tenancy laws. More significantly, I grasped the profound impact that a dedicated legal professional can have on an individual's life. Winning the case for Sarah wasn't just about preventing an eviction; it was about upholding justice and ensuring that the legal system served as a beacon of hope for those who believed in it.

After college, I joined the “Justice First” Fellowship program in New York. Over two years, I was exposed to a myriad of cases, from civil rights to corporate law. My mentor, Attorney Rebecca Foster, emphasized the importance of approaching every case, regardless of its scale, with the same dedication to justice. Under her tutelage, I cultivated skills in legal drafting, negotiation, and critical analysis. One memorable case involved negotiating a settlement for workers facing discriminatory practices. Through rigorous investigation and leveraging collective bargaining strategies, we not only secured a favorable settlement but also instituted new workplace policies that promoted equality and fairness.

The University of Notre Dame's Law School stands out as a beacon that aligns with my belief in the active pursuit of justice. The university’s dedication to fostering ethical leaders who strive for moral integrity and the common good mirrors my personal and professional experiences. Notre Dame’s emphasis on a holistic education, where the study of law isn't isolated from values, ethics, and community service, resonates deeply with me. The university’s global perspective, combined with its rootedness in ethical principles, makes it the perfect institution to further hone my skills and deepen my understanding of the law.

Roosevelt’s vision of justice isn't passive; it's proactive, discerning, and uncompromising in its pursuit of the right. Every experience in my journey thus far has been an endeavor to bring this vision to life. At the University of Notre Dame, I see an opportunity to not only refine my legal acumen but to also become a part of a community that cherishes and upholds the same ideals. I am committed to leveraging the robust education and experiences Notre Dame offers to advocate for justice, both in letter and spirit, and I am eager to contribute to and learn from the university’s rich tapestry of scholarship and service.

Are you applying to Harvard Law School? Check this out:

Law School Personal Statement Example #3 - Boston University School of Law

Stepping into Room 205 of Lincoln High School for the first time as a fresh-faced educator, I was equipped with an arsenal of lesson plans, educational philosophies, and an unyielding optimism. I believed in the transformative power of education and the notion that every student has an undeniable right to it. However, three years into my tenure, a disturbing incident radically altered my perspective and spurred my interest in law. A brilliant student of mine, Alex, was entangled in a legal ordeal resulting from his undocumented status. Despite his academic achievements and contributions to our community, Alex faced the prospect of deportation. It was a glaring reminder that sometimes, the classroom's challenges extended far beyond its four walls. In seeking justice for Alex and others like him, I find my purpose aligning with the Boston University School of Law, an institution renowned for its commitment to public service and civil rights.

As a teacher, I've been on the front lines, witnessing firsthand the impact of policies and legal decisions on young lives. Collaborating with our school’s guidance counselor, Mrs. Clark, I initiated the "Know Your Rights" workshops. These sessions were designed to educate our student body, especially those vulnerable to legal pitfalls, about their rights. Organizing guest lectures from local attorneys, including the prominent immigration lawyer, Samuel Higgins, I ensured that our students were equipped with basic legal knowledge. This exposure to the legal field, albeit indirect, sharpened my skills in research, organization, and most importantly, advocacy.

In a bid to further aid my students, I interned during summer breaks at the 'Urban Legal Aid Clinic' in downtown Boston. Here, I worked under the mentorship of Attorney Jennifer Roberts, assisting with cases primarily involving juvenile rights. One particularly challenging case was defending a minor in a truancy case. While the law was clear, the underlying reasons for the child’s absenteeism—a turbulent home environment—highlighted the need for legal professionals to possess not just legal acumen but also a deep understanding of societal contexts. As I delved into case studies, reviewed legal documents, and participated in client consultations, I cultivated a knack for legal analysis. I also honed my abilities in effective communication, a skill I had fostered as an educator.

However, it wasn't just legal institutions that shaped my transition. During a summer teaching exchange program in Madrid, Spain, I encountered diverse educational and legal systems. One striking observation was the proactive role schools took in bridging legal literacy gaps among students and parents. My time there, collaborating with educators like Carlos Fernandez, a passionate law teacher at Instituto Vallecas, enriched my perspective on how law and education can be intertwined to foster empowered communities.

Boston University School of Law stands at the intersection of rigorous academic inquiry and an unwavering commitment to social justice. Its prestigious clinics, especially the Immigrants' Rights Clinic, resonate deeply with my purpose. BU’s emphasis on interdisciplinary studies offers the holistic education I seek—melding legal theory with the practical application, set against a broader socio-cultural backdrop. Furthermore, BU’s vibrant community, characterized by collaborative learning, offers the ideal environment to grow both as a professional and as an individual.

While the classrooms of Lincoln High were my initial battlegrounds for justice, I have come to realize that the broader arena of law offers an even greater opportunity to champion the rights of the underrepresented. The incident with Alex was a stark reminder of the intricacies of justice, and the sometimes-blurred lines between what is legal and what is right. At Boston University School of Law, I seek the tools, knowledge, and community to navigate these complexities, ensuring that every “Alex” out there finds his rightful place in society. My experiences as an educator, advocate, and international collaborator position me uniquely for this journey—a journey I am eager to embark upon with Boston University.

During my sophomore year at Eastern State University, I stumbled upon a book that would reshape my academic trajectory and instill a lifelong fascination with the law: "The Nine" by Jeffrey Toobin. This compelling narrative on the inner workings of the U.S. Supreme Court not only captivated me with its rich storytelling but also illuminated the power of legal decisions in shaping society. In a constitutional law class led by Professor Harold Mitchell, I delved into the landmark case of "Brown v. Board of Education." The monumental impact of this case on desegregation and its broader implications on justice and equality intensified my intrigue for law. Now, as I stand on the cusp of pursuing a legal education, Washington University School of Law, with its esteemed faculty and unwavering commitment to fostering innovative legal thinkers, emerges as my ideal academic sanctuary.

A pivotal event that enhanced my understanding of the law's practical implications was my internship at the "Metropolitan Legal Services" in Hartford, Connecticut. Under the mentorship of Attorney Lillian Turner, I was assigned to a team addressing housing discrimination cases. Crafting affidavits, interacting with clients, and attending court sessions not only honed my research and analytical skills but also underscored the importance of empathy and ethics in legal practice. In a memorable case involving a single mother, Maria Gonzalez, who faced eviction due to dubious lease violations, our team's efforts resulted in a favorable settlement, ensuring Maria and her children retained their home. The elation of that victory was a tangible testament to the real-world impact of legal expertise.

My passion for understanding law's societal implications led me to initiate the "Legal Conversations" series on campus. Collaborating with the university's Law Society, I organized monthly panel discussions, drawing participants from diverse fields, including law enforcement, journalism, and academia. In a particularly impactful session, retired Judge Helena Winters, a renowned civil rights advocate, shed light on the challenges and rewards of her career. These dialogues fostered an interdisciplinary approach to law, emphasizing its interconnection with politics, media, and society at large. Organizing these events, moderating discussions, and collaborating with guest speakers enriched my communication skills and further solidified my determination to pursue law.

Additionally, during a summer abroad program in Berlin, Germany, I had the privilege of studying European legal frameworks at the Alexander Humboldt Institute. Comparing European and American legal paradigms under the guidance of Dr. Friedrich Becker provided a unique lens through which to view my own legal aspirations. One enlightening seminar on data privacy laws, contrasting the European General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) with American standards, highlighted the significance of cultural nuances in legal interpretations. This global perspective on law has left me eager to explore international law further, an endeavor Washington University's globally-oriented curriculum would aptly support.

My journey, inspired initially by Toobin's riveting tales of the Supreme Court and propelled forward by diverse experiences spanning from Connecticut's courtrooms to Berlin's lecture halls, has cemented my conviction in the transformative power of the law. Washington University School of Law, renowned for its innovative curriculum, dedicated faculty, and a community that champions diversity and intellectual curiosity, aligns perfectly with my aspirations. The institution's emphasis on fostering well-rounded legal professionals resonates deeply with my experiences and ambitions. As I aspire to delve deeper into the realms of law, merging global perspectives with grounded legal practices, I am convinced that Washington University provides the fertile ground upon which my legal dreams can thrive.

No, not all law school require law school personal statements, but most do. Be sure to review the requirements of your chosen law schools.

Most law schools ask for a law school personal statement no longer than 2 double-spaced pages. 

Your law school personal statement should be structured like an academic essay: introduction, body paragraphs, and conclusion.

Your law school personal statement should start with a strong opening statement, like a quote, a story, or an anecdote. The opening sentence and paragraph must be so interesting and captivating that it makes the reader continue reading!

Make sure to use solid examples to demonstrate your suitability for law school. For example, instead of just saying that you have a curious and engaged mind, tell the reader a story that demonstrates this.

Some provide specific prompts, but most do not. In your personal statement, try to answer the question “why do you want to study law?” – this should be your prompt if you are not given a specific prompt in your application. 

Make sure that every part of your application is incredibly strong, including your optional essays, your resume, LSAT score, GPA, and so on. Your application should be strong enough to get you invited to a law school interview! Make sure to prepare it using difficult and common law school interview questions . 

Anything we didn't cover? Have a question? Ask below or share your comments!

Get Started Now

Talk to one of our admissions experts

Our site uses cookies. By using our website, you agree with our cookie policy .

FREE Training Webinar:

How to make your law school application stand out, (and avoid the top 5 mistakes that get most rejected).

Time Sensitive. Limited Spots Available:

We guarantee you'll get into law school or we don't get paid.

Swipe up to see a great offer!

Sharper Statements | Law School Admissions Consulting

Stand out from the crowd with Sharper Statements Law School Admissions Consulting!

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 3.11 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 .

Share this:.

Personal Statements

Because there is no formula for a strong personal statement, it is difficult to give advice on what you should do when drafting your statement. However, here are some things to try and avoid:

1. Avoid writing your complete autobiography.

Personal statements are typically two to three pages long, so if you try to discuss everything that happened to you since you were born, every life event will get only a sentence or two. When writing your personal statement, think of depth, not breadth. You want to be able to share enough detail that the admission professional reviewing your application will feel like they know you and can envision you as a part of their student body.

That is not to say that writing down all your significant life events is not an important part of the personal statement writing process. In the brainstorming stage, you should write down everything you think may be a possible topic, then set your list aside for a day or two. When you come back with fresh eyes, try to identify one or two related topics that you can use to write a compelling narrative.

2. Don’t write a biography of someone else.

When writing about someone who has inspired you to go to law school, whether it is a family member or a mentor, applicants often write compelling stories about that person and never turn the lens on themselves. Remember: You, not your mentor or your family member, are applying to law school.

If you write about a person who has inspired you, keep it brief and make sure to shift the lens back to you. Share the ways in which that person impacted your life. How did they inspire you? What do you want to change on their behalf? How did they impact the way in which you view the world?

3. Don’t narrate your résumé or transcripts.

Law schools will look at both these documents very closely, so you do not want to duplicate a story they will already be able to piece together themselves. If you are going to share a story about a class or a particular work experience, make sure you go deeper than what can be found elsewhere in your application. Remember, depth, not breadth!

4. Don’t submit an unpolished personal statement.

In addition to telling the admission committee what matters to you in your own voice, the personal statement is a writing sample. Make sure to edit it closely and ensure you have a compelling narrative, as well as correct spelling and grammar.

• Academic Enrichment Program
• Find Degrees and Programs
• Explore Your Options
• Study Abroad
• Academic Calendar
• JD Admissions
• Graduate Admissions
• Tuition & Fees
• Financial Aid
• Visits & Tours
• Faculty Profiles
• Activities & Engagements
• Centers & Institutes
• Faculty Resources
• Clinics & Practicums
• Externship Programs
• Simulation Courses
• Law Journals
• Career Advising for JD Students
• Career Advising for Graduate Students
• Employment Statistics
• Employment Sectors
• Public Service Programs
• Law Student Well-Being
• Law Student Organizations
• Boston Legal Landscape
• About the Libraries
• A-Z Database List
• Institutional Repository
• Offices & Services
• Meet the Dean
• Diversity, Equity & Inclusion
• Visit Campus
• All Stories
• Faculty in the News
• Collections
• Past Issues of The Record

Want to Support BU Law? Learn how you can give back

Latest stories from the record.

BU Law Welcomes 12 New Full-Time Faculty for 2024–2025

Demand the Impossible

Bar Exam Motivational Music

Class Notes Spring 2024

Personal statements, personal statements from previous applicants.

Through their personal statements, applicants share their greatest influences, professional aspirations, and why they applied to BU Law. We share these examples to help you consider how to approach your own personal statement as you prepare your application.

Passionate students from across the globe choose BU Law for many different reasons. The personal statement portion of our application allows them opportunity to discuss significant experiences that have inspired them to become lawyers. Learn why these student—through influences like the earthquake in Haiti, innovation in the biotechnology sector, and a motel staircase—chose to enroll in our JD program.

Jean-Phillip: Teacher inspired to give back in earthquake aftermath

Q&A with Jean-Phillip

“Being a voice for those who are voiceless is an axiom that I carry with me as I think about my role as a teacher and citizen.”

“Earthquake in Haiti.” That is what the text from my aunt read. I went to dinner thinking this has happened before, not too big of a deal, and then after went to the dorm and turned on the TV. It was arresting. I sat in front of CNN transfixed for 3 hours as if it was 10 minutes. I could not believe that just 5 days before I was with my grandparents at their house in Delmas, Haiti with my mom, dad, and sister.

I am Haitian-American. Even though I was born in Chicago and lived in its suburbs most of my life, Haiti is a place I am deeply connected to through culture and family. The place where I lived when I was young and gave me the mix of languages, which got me sideways glances on the first day of 1st grade in the US when I introduced myself in French with, “Bonjour, je m’appelle Jean-Phillip.” It set me apart in my life but also made me a part of something. This relationship and the feeling of straddling different spaces would lead me to my interest in Race and Ethnicity and its impact on how people interacted in political and social worlds, especially immigrant populations. The pride I feel at the history of the first independent Black nation is immense, as it is for many Haitians, but so is the frustration with the failure to meet its true potential. To see it in such chaos and disaster tore at me and brought me closer to the Haitian reality. The reality of a small beautiful country filled with strong people who live with stark inequality. On my visits, my feelings of undeserved privilege have always been reinforced.

In the days after the earthquake my thoughts were of my grandparents who my family had not been able to contact. Seeing the destruction of a market nearby my grandparents’ house crushed our hopes. I sat and watched news stories helpless. I did not know what I could do to help. While in my dazed state, my friend Arlene called me to ask if we could reboot our Haitian student group. She asked and I assumed the role of President of the Haitian Student Organization and began working closely with the Yale administration to plan a concert fundraiser to support Haiti immediately. We also knew that keeping attention on Haiti, even a few weeks after, would be essential to helping Haiti in the long run. We spearheaded a committee to work on a Haitian awareness week, which brought the Haitian Prime Minister and aid workers as well as continued fundraising. My parents left to go back to their original home to help those who they could and see our family. They knew they would hear stories of many lost friends. Our story was lucky in comparison. My grandparents were shaken but alive. In this whole ordeal one moment stuck out to me. My grandmother on my mom’s side found one of her many cell phones to call us and let us know she was okay a few days after the earthquake and then against the wishes of my mom found a way to deliver a phone to my dad’s mom, who was visiting her old home for a month, so that he could speak to his family. It was an amazing moment of selfless giving. She knew my dad needed that conversation.

I drew strength from this and other moments as I balanced being a counselor, being a student, and being on our relief advisory committee. During one of the committee meetings with an administrator and graduate students from the Yale Forestry school there was a remarkable incident when the well-intentioned idea of a hunger dinner was raised and the idea of having the dining area decorated as a refugee camp was discussed. All at once I felt that these people who I was working with to help Haiti were trying to get my approval for something that would be another disaster. Asking me to support a hunger dinner that would portray all of Haiti as a refugee camp was ridiculous to me. I knew I had to speak up; I dismissed the idea of the refugee camp immediately. Even though I was not experiencing the trauma directly, I attempted to fathom the feelings felt and channeled them, along with my own, to be a fervent defender of the dignity of the Haitian people.

When I graduated in May that same grandmother who had found that cell phone was there to see me graduate as if nothing had happened, maybe slightly skinnier, with the rest of my family alongside her. Even though I told my parents I would have no problems driving alone from Yale to our home in Chicago, my grandmother scoffed and said of course she was going with me. As a teacher now, I draw from that example. Giving of myself in small ways so that others can stand on me and being an advocate for my Dominican immigrant students has been incredible. Teaching them how to advocate for themselves and navigate within a system that often misunderstands and disadvantages them has lead me beyond just being their “No Excuses” science teacher. I have had so many opportunities and support in my life and giving back seems like the only reasonable option. Being a voice for those who are voiceless is an axiom that I carry with me as I think about my role as a teacher and citizen. I am ready now to acquire the additional skills and knowledge necessary to support and provide access for those people.

Joshua: Campaign fundraiser with a future in policy

Q&A with Josh

“After three years of campaigning, I am ready to be part of governing. Politics is my passion, but I want to see the promises made on a campaign through to completion.”

When I landed my first job on a US Senate campaign, I had volunteered and interned on various political campaigns and was eager to work on messaging and communications. My days, however, were not spent writing speeches or forming strategy as I had hoped but instead repeating mundane tasks and aggressively seeking out donors. I found myself calling strangers for hours each day, soliciting them for campaign contributions. Naturally an introvert, calling strangers made me uncomfortable, asking them for money pushed me well out of my comfort zone. There were no breaks to look forward to, either: I spent my nights researching potential donors and my weekends knocking on doors and canvassing public events.

With a goal of raising $20 million by Election Day, I was also responsible for planning fundraisers with seemingly unrealistic goals. For my first event, I was expected to raise $10,000 despite a difficult host who refused to return my phone calls. I called everyone on the invitation list multiple times, pitching anyone who answered. The day of the event, I was hopeful that my hard work would pay off. Maybe the host had been working his own connections in the community, or maybe the messages I left were compelling. There were ultimately only five people in attendance. We raised $800 that day. Frustrated with the long hours and meager results, I wondered why I was working on this campaign.

During those first couple of weeks, only the knowledge that I was fighting for a cause I believed in kept me motivated. The choices in the race were stark, and the winner would shape national decisions that affected every American. Our opponent’s stances were so radically different from what I believed best that I knew I would regret having any other job. All the negative aspects seemed trivial when compared to the consequences at stake.

Eventually, after putting in the hours and showing my commitment, I was given new responsibilities and more interesting tasks. I staffed call time with the candidate and witnessed how he integrated my research about the donors into his pitch. My heart skipped as he transitioned from health care reform to the “ask” and I breathed relief when we had a new pledge. I began writing the weekly campaign newsletter that went to hundreds of opinion leaders and activists around the state. Injecting my creativity and style when commenting on the week’s happenings and our opponent’s missteps reminded me of the reasons I took the job in the first place.

I also began to see better results when managing fundraisers. My first event taught me to seek out more engaged hosts and to build a stronger invitation list. I still spent hours on the phone inviting guests, but these calls now energized me as I spoke about the latest headlines and why we needed their help. During events, I preoccupied myself collecting contact information and scouting the room for the next potential host. As soon as the event ended, I raced back to the office excited to count the night’s haul. I enjoyed writing the newsletters, but the best part of the job was seeing my hard work pay off in an immediate and tangible way. No other experience had challenged me the way this job had, and through that I learned how to adapt and overcome obstacles to achieve my goals.

After three years of campaigning, I am ready to be part of governing. Politics is my passion, but I want to see the promises made on a campaign through to completion. As a fundraiser, I frequently plan events hosted by law firms, and I have seen firsthand how often politicians rely on lawyers for help in implementing policy decisions. Recently, the Mayor of Providence stayed late to ask attorneys their opinions about how to resolve issues with public pension contracts for current retirees. An attorney by trade, the Mayor probed them on potential solutions while discussing his concerns with them. Similarly, many other issues that affect people in very real ways require legal expertise in order to develop sound, effective policy solutions.

Kathryn: Lifelong health care enthusiast determined to enact reform

Q&A with Kathryn

“Based on my experiences growing up, at the university, and now at work, I have come to the conclusion that a career in law is the single most effective way for me to help enact positive change and transform our fragmented health care delivery system.”

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted a career in health care (yes—I know I am applying to law school—please bear with me). However, my focus has changed as I have had the opportunity to take a variety of classes and gain work experience.

My parents were unwittingly responsible for my initial interest in health. They both work in the field, albeit indirectly, so I was immersed in a world full of doctors, nurses, and hospitals at a young age.

Years ago, when my father—a medical historian and ethicist—was invited to speak at a conference or university, my mother and I would go along for the ride. At the time, I had no interest in listening to the actual content of his talks. I viewed these trips more as an opportunity to miss school and to make fun of my father’s wild hand gestures—I even conceived the Kung Fu GevitzTM action doll, which karate-chopped a podium at the push of a button. I earnestly swore to his bemused colleagues that I would never grow up to be like him, but despite my greatest efforts (and perhaps as a result of listening to one too many of his speeches), I slowly found myself sharing many of his academic interests.

My mother’s domain—the hospital where she worked as a practice manager of a cardiac surgery office—was a much more fascinating playground growing up. Despite being sick during most of my visits, I preferred spending time at the hospital to attending any conference. Between napping on her floor and drawing pictures for everyone in the office, I would watch live feed of the surgeons operating on an exposed heart or take trips to the morgue to view hearts with congenital abnormalities.

Dismissing my father’s profession and familiar only with the glamorous side of medicine, I began college with one career in mind: physician. I dreamed of discovering the cure for AIDS, developing new treatments for cancer, and ridding the world of disease. However, early in my freshman year at the University of Pennsylvania, I found that the classes that piqued my interest and excited me the most were not biology lab or chemistry, but rather the classes I took through my major in health and societies; classes like American Health Policy, Biomedical Ethics, and Health Law. These courses opened my eyes to the realm of health care beyond patient diagnosis and treatment. For the first time, I became acutely aware of the millions of Americans who struggle to access or pay for basic health services. I was also introduced to the tremendous influence of law and policy in everyday medical issues. The breadth of topics in my health law class, as well as the law’s presence in my other courses, astounded me. Whether we were talking about patient consent in my bioethics class or insurance markets in Medical Economics, our discussion always circled back to the role of the law. What impressed me most, however, was the legal system’s potential to effect broad social change. Inspired, I started thinking that a career in health law would be the best way to impact not only my clients, but also my community, and even my country.

Gaining firsthand insight into real life health issues has only reaffirmed this belief. While I do not work directly with the underserved, I manage aggregate data that testifies just as strongly to the need for policy reform. Every week at the Philadelphia Department of Public Health, I pull data from the Communicable Disease Management System—a database of collected patient information—to generate a report summarizing weekly and monthly trends in disease incidence. Week after week, the same social and behavioral risk factors are associated with the same diseases. For example, Asians comprise the majority of hepatitis B reports, older individuals with smoking histories are most at risk for Legionnaires’ disease, and infants and the elderly are most susceptible to vaccine-preventable diseases such as H. influenzae . The targeted health education and vaccination efforts we provide are necessary, but clearly not sufficient, to reduce disease incidence in these groups.

Examining emergency department chief complaint data reveals another set of problematic trends. Performing syndromic surveillance, I regularly see records of people who come to the emergency department with chronic conditions that they have had for years, but that have remained untreated because they cannot afford or access regular care. I also see how many individuals repeatedly misuse the emergency department as a resource. Rather than visiting a general practitioner, many poor and uninsured individuals come to the emergency department for primary care issues—colds, hangnails, back aches—because they cannot be denied treatment based on ability to pay. These are problems that cannot be fixed without a fundamental overhaul of our health care system.

Earning a law degree from Boston University with a specialty in health care law will give me the analytical tools to construct public policy that can address these issues and more. I would have the capacity to develop legislation and policies to decrease the incidence of Legionnaires’ disease (as well as lung cancer and heart disease) or advise on the legality of mandated vaccination. Alternatively, I could develop as well as defend policy and regulations that reduce emergency department misuse and promote greater access to more affordable and higher quality health care services. Based on my experiences growing up, at the university, and now at work, I have come to the conclusion that a career in law is the single most effective way for me to help enact positive change and transform our fragmented health care delivery system.

Kate: Immigrant advocate inspired by her clients to do more

Q&A with  Kate

“[My clients] have shown me how great an asset the immigrant community is to our country and left me convinced that I will find immigrant advocacy extremely rewarding.”

She sat opposite me at my desk to fill out a few forms. Fumbling her hands and laughing uncomfortably, it was obvious that she was nervous. Sandra was eighteen and her knowledge of English was limited to “yes” and “hello.” While translating the initial meeting between Sandra and her attorney, I learned of her reasons for leaving El Salvador. She had been in an abusive relationship, and though she wasn’t ready to go into detail just yet, it was clear from the conversation that her boyfriend had terrorized her and that the El Salvadoran police were of no help. Afraid for her life, Sandra left for the US to join her sister in Massachusetts. She had been in our country for all of eight weeks, five of which she spent in an Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention center in Texas. Eventually Sandra was given a credible fear interview. The interviewer believed that she had a real fear of returning to El Salvador, and Sandra was released from detention with an Immigration Court hearing notice in her hand. She had just retained our office to present her asylum case to the Immigration Judge.

I tried to imagine myself in Sandra’s shoes. She hadn’t finished high school, was in a completely new environment, and had almost no understanding of how things worked in the US. Even the harsh New England winter must have seemed unnatural to her. Having lived abroad for a couple of years, I could relate on some level; however, the circumstances of my stay overseas were completely different. I went to Spain after graduating from college to work in an elementary school, improve my Spanish skills, and see a bit of the world. Despite the different reasons for my move abroad, I do remember feeling completely overwhelmed by what would have been mindless tasks in a familiar environment—from opening a bank account to paying utility bills, nothing was intuitive anymore. I had to ask hundreds of questions and usually make a few attempts before actually accomplishing my goal. Frustrating though it was, I didn’t have so much riding on each of these endeavors. If I didn’t have all the necessary paperwork to open a bank account one day, I could just try again the next day. Sandra won’t be afforded the same flexibility in her immigration process, where so much depends on the ability to abide by inflexible deadlines and procedures. Without someone to guide her through the process, ensuring that all requirements are met and presenting her case as persuasively as possible, Sandra will have little chance of achieving legal status in the United States. Her case will likely take years to complete, but overlooking any details along the way could render Sandra ineligible to receive immigration benefits.

Before starting at my current position at Joyce & Associates, an immigration law firm in Boston, I had long considered a career in law. Growing up, I was engaged by family and school debates about public policy and government. In college, I found my constitutional law courses challenging and exciting. Nonetheless, it wasn’t until I began working with clients like Sandra that I became convinced that a career in law is the right choice for me. Playing my part as a legal assistant in various immigration cases, I have been able to witness how a career in immigration advocacy is both intellectually stimulating and personally fulfilling. I have seen the importance of well-articulated arguments and even creativity in arguing a client’s eligibility for an immigration benefit. I have learned that I excel in critical thinking and in examining detail, as I continually consider the consistency and possible implications of any documents that clients provide in support of their application. But most importantly, I have realized how deserving many of these immigrants are. Many of the clients I work with are among the most hardworking and patriotic people I have encountered. They have shown me how great an asset the immigrant community is to our country and left me convinced that I will find immigrant advocacy extremely rewarding.

I am equally confident that I would thrive as a student at Boston University, where I would be sure to take full advantage of the many opportunities available. The school’s Asylum and Human Rights Clinic and Immigration Detention Clinic would offer me invaluable experiences in various immigration settings. Likewise, by participating in the pro bono program’s Immigration/Asylum service trip in Texas, I could develop a better understanding of the challenges immigrants face upon crossing the Mexican border. Given my experiences in an immigration firm, I know that I would have much to offer while participating in these programs, but even more to learn. And while I find BU’s immigration programs to be especially appealing, I am equally drawn to the Boston University experience as a whole. The school’s diverse curriculum and highly-renowned academic programs would constantly challenge me and allow me to grow in ways I can’t yet imagine. I hope to have the opportunity to face those challenges, and to contribute my own experiences and drive to the Boston University community.

Eva: Czech native seizing the opportunity to pursue her dreams

Q&A with  Eva

“The experience of growing up surrounded by people whose lives and dreams were disrupted by the strict communist regime fills me with a great desire to take full advantage of the opportunities available to me.”

November 1989 saw the restoration of democracy in Czechoslovakia. Without knowing it at the time, my life would be forever changed by this moment in my country’s history. Not only did the Velvet Revolution expand the horizon of my opportunities beyond anything my parents and their whole generation could have ever imagined, but it also ultimately sparked my interest in law. It highlighted the importance of understanding how nations and their legislation can affect the lives of citizens and how international regulations influence transnational relations. From the example of my home country, which is still working on developing its young social and political framework, I can see how law is a crucial determinant in the formation of an environment under which business and culture can thrive. I see great purpose and personal fulfillment in pursuing a discipline which has the potential to positively affect social development.

The experience of growing up surrounded by people whose lives and dreams were disrupted by the strict communist regime fills me with a great desire to take full advantage of the opportunities available to me. I utilized the scholarship I received to attend an international school in Prague not only to study English, but also to learn as much as possible from my international classmates. This experience expanded my worldview and later prompted my decision to study abroad and travel. Continuously interacting with people from different cultures makes me an adaptive, confident, and effective communicator, and it helps me see any situation from various points of view. Being able to identify and evaluate possible options helps me find the right solutions to challenges and identify steps to fulfilling specific goals. It has also helped me find my own course to the study of law.

I transferred out of the undergraduate degree in law I was pursuing in the United Kingdom to gain the skills, and most importantly the experience, I felt I needed in order to reach a deeper understanding of law theory and its application. As an English major at Boston University I developed skills in writing, research, critical reading and analysis. My second major in economics provided a solid background into the business setting within which law firms operate and prompted my interest in business and finance law. Later on, internships and full-time work tested this knowledge in a corporate environment. It was important to learn to apply classroom skills creatively and within tight deadlines. For example, managing the creation and release of company press releases at my first job after graduation demanded particularly good organization and time management. I had to identify interesting points worthy of mention in international media, make sure I understood the scientific data I was writing about and schedule the release of articles on time, while coordinating requests from several company departments. This gave me a strong sense of responsibility, as my writing was the voice of the entire company. I believe that continuing to apply this same work ethic will help me manage the rigorous demands of law school.

Learning from experienced professionals at large international companies encourages me to take on increasingly challenging tasks. In my free time I manage the Czech branch of an international non-profit arts project related to theater. It gives students the opportunity to see theater performances for free, publish their reviews and articles on an international web portal, and receive guidance and feedback from experts and scholars in the field. I have now expanded the Prague team to include five reviewers, and I am always looking to involve more students in the project. I will continue to look for ways to provide learning opportunities and share knowledge with peers in order to contribute to the Boston University community.

The lessons I have received from my country’s recent history continue to provide me with strong motivation. I grew up listening to stories from the times of the occupation, and they were always about the limits and the restrictions that characterized the era. I am very thankful that this does not apply to me and that I can now take the next step to realizing my goal of becoming a lawyer. I will rely on my determination and the skills I have gained through education, work experience, and travel to help me through the challenges of law school. I believe that I have what it takes to be a valuable contribution to the Boston University Law School classroom and also the legal profession.

Eddie: Scientist with a passion for intellectual property law

Q&A with  Eddie

“I was motivated by a desire to pursue a career that would allow me to broaden the range of scientific issues I worked on, rather than the narrow field in which I had specialized.”

I am very passionate about science and spent much of my academic life in research laboratories studying parasites that cause human disease. Recently, as a technical specialist at an intellectual property law firm, I discovered that I could successfully utilize the creative-thinking and analytical skills that I acquired as a scientist to help clients in the biotechnology sector protect their intellectual property. My experiences have solidified my commitment to law school, and I therefore write this statement to convince you of my resolve to merge my passions for science and law by becoming an attorney-scientist.

I was raised in the mountainous interior of Puerto Rico by parents who emphasized the importance of obtaining the best education possible. I attended a public residential high school with a curriculum specializing in math and science, where I excelled at learning about a variety of scientific disciplines and developed my passion for science. At age fifteen, I was selected to begin working in a research laboratory at the University of Puerto Rico School of Medicine, as a participant in a summer program directed to motivating students to pursue careers in scientific research. My work focused on isolating and characterizing proteins that could be used for the diagnosis of, and vaccination against, two parasitic diseases. This transformative experience propelled my decision to pursue a career in scientific research. After high school, I continued working on the same research project while earning my Bachelor of Science degree in biology at the University of Puerto Rico-Rio Piedras. My undergraduate experience was enriched by my selection to participate in a scientific exchange program, sponsored by the US National Institutes of Health, which funded my training in research laboratories at three distinguished research institutions: the University of Edinburgh (Scotland), Monash University (Australia), and the University of Salamanca (Spain). These global experiences not only helped cultivate my scientific skills, they also allowed me to gain a unique understanding of different cultures, peoples, and belief systems.

At the University of Virginia, I earned a doctoral degree in microbiology studying the molecular mechanisms regulating how the parasite Entamoeba histolytica causes disease. I presented my doctoral research at multiple national and international scientific conferences and the results of my work were published in two peer-reviewed scientific articles. As my doctoral studies were concluding and job prospects loomed, however, the realization hit that I was motivated by a desire to pursue a career that would allow me to broaden the range of scientific issues I worked on, rather than the narrow field in which I had specialized. I had been exposed to intellectual property law while taking a technology transfer course taught by a law professor in college, and conducted several informational interviews with attorneys practicing intellectual property law to decide if I should explore a career in this field.

Working as a technical specialist in the biotechnology/chemical practice group of an intellectual property law firm in Washington, DC, for the past year and a half has afforded me the opportunity to gradually transition from the lab bench to the law firm under the mentorship of several attorney-scientists. I have been rewarded by the opportunity to work on a broad variety of biotechnology fields including pharmaceuticals, biofuels, vaccines and nutraceuticals, and enjoyed the intellectual challenge of understanding the technical issues of each case, analyzing the legal and strategic implications of the advice we give our clients, and developing writing skills to produce work products that can be understood by non-technical audiences. My responsibilities as a technical specialist include prosecuting patents in the US and abroad, developing opinions for clients regarding the invalidity and/or non-infringement of patent claims, and performing freedom-to-operate analyses for clients seeking to release new or modified products.

My experiences as a technical specialist have convinced me that I am committed to becoming an attorney specializing in intellectual property law. I have the technical aptitude and determination to succeed as an attorney and now seek the necessary formal legal education to become an effective advocate and trusted advisor. I believe that my background, professional experiences, and maturity will allow me to contribute a unique perspective to the student body at the Boston University School of Law.

Jacquelyn: Teach for America participant who learned to love home

Q&A with  Jackie

“Although my students may never know it, my time as their teacher has instilled in me a sense of urgency and purpose that fuels me to continue working for children and their families as long as I am able.”

When I applied for Teach for America in the winter of 2009, it was more for the opportunity to leave the Rio Grande Valley than to accomplish the movement’s real mission of bringing a quality education to low-income students. A predominantly Mexican area with most families living under the poverty line, the Valley represented, for me, a place where ignorance met apathy, a place where people got what they deserved, and above all else, a place I refused to spend any more time in. I applied for major cities around the nation, but Teach for America had different plans for me, and when notifications were sent out at the end of March, I was placed as an elementary special education teacher in the Rio Grande Valley. And in what I could only chalk up to be divine intervention, I was hired at the same elementary school that I had attended.

Two years and I will be done. I couldn’t shake that thought as I entered my classroom on the first day of school. Making a real difference seemed unlikely: my heart wasn’t into the work I was about to do. When the bell rang and I began picking up my students from their classes, life as I knew it ceased to exist.

That first day, I didn’t pick up a single child that wasn’t wearing dirty or ripped clothing. One was covered in bug bites. Another’s stomach growled as I walked the students through classroom rules and procedures. None smiled. I could not seem to wrap my mind around the fact that these students attended the same school that I so happily did not-so-many years before. By Thanksgiving, a brother and sister in my class scratched so hard at their wrists and fingers from poorly treated scabies that they’d return their assignments to me with small blood streaks staining the bottom. Stomachs still growled during my math lessons. But when a fifth-grade student told me she’d spent the night in a small bedroom closet, arms around her four younger siblings as her mother and father went at each other with broken bottles and angry fists, I could no longer stand it.

Something changed in me that day. I’m not quite sure if I finally grew up or realized the enormous responsibility my job had given me, but something changed. And for probably the first time in my life, I stopped thinking of only myself. Suddenly I was so ashamed of ever thinking negatively about being Mexican or growing up in the Valley—so embarrassed that I thought so little of the community that had given of their time to ensure that I would have all the opportunities in the world. It dawned on me that I was only able to have the strong opinions I did because countless individuals had made my success their mission. And it was time for me to do the same. It may have been pure chance that I ended up returning to the Valley where I was raised, but doing so gave me such an advantage over my Teach for America counterparts: Parents found me more trustworthy, my intentions and abilities as a teacher were rarely questioned, and my ability to speak Spanish comforted. My Valley roots made me an ally, and my children only benefited from this.

For the next three years, I poured my soul into my work and let my students have my heart. I organized community reading groups to get parents and neighbors involved in literacy. When parents began telling me that they wanted to help their children with math homework but didn’t understand the objectives, I requested my principal set up a family math night so that parents could come into my classroom and have me teach the concepts to them alongside their children. I watched as my community grew closer together and my students’ academic abilities blossomed. It didn’t matter if students had autism or Down Syndrome, learning disabilities or emotional disturbance. All my students were learning at a pace faster than expected. By the spring semester of my second year, I even dismissed two students from special education services entirely.

My time in the classroom has been a wonderful, challenging experience. I’ve seen children accomplish more than others thought possible; at times, certainly more than I thought possible. I’ve seen a real love of learning blossom in the children and the families I’ve served. These were my miracles—my proof that if you wanted something badly enough you could make it happen. My children made great gains. And I tried my hardest to do all the things I thought a great teacher needed to do. But at times, it still wasn’t enough. My children needed more. My classroom was a safe place for my students, but their time with me was limited. I could shelter them to my heart’s content during the day, but once that bell rang and I handed my children back to the outside world, all I could do was stand and watch as life’s circumstances tried and often did bring them down. That’s when I decided to apply for law school. I have enjoyed every moment in the classroom, but I want to help children and their families in ways I simply cannot as a teacher. I want to fight for them and their families in an effort to improve their lives as much as I possibly can. If I’ve learned anything from my time in the classroom, it is that even the smallest of changes in circumstance can make for the biggest changes in one’s quality of life.

This past year was my third working with students from my own community. And although my students may never know it, my time as their teacher has instilled in me a sense of urgency and purpose that fuels me to continue working for children and their families as long as I am able. Working as a special education teacher in my own community has taught me humility and respect. It has taught me that, for many children, the need is great, the time is short, and I have an obligation to do whatever I can to help. I now believe that those with special talents, extraordinary abilities, or just a moment of free time have a responsibility to help those around them in every way possible. I have learned that in helping others achieve even the smallest of victories, I have not only made new opportunities possible for them but also contributed to the content of my own character. A life of service is a noble one that I hope to achieve. A life where I can inspire as I have been inspired and offer hope when hope seems most unlikely.

I laugh a little now when I think about how a group of disabled children helped me find my home again and gave me a place in the world. They showed me that being from the Valley is something to cheer about. I am now so proud to be a Mexican-American woman with a rich culture and language who had the opportunity to learn from and be embraced by the community I spent a lifetime criticizing. I am so honored and humbled to have been a special education teacher for my little ones, showing them that education, opportunities, and justice are for everyone, regardless of life’s circumstances and arrogant opinions. As a law student, you will find few more passionate than I; as an attorney, few who work harder and demand greater of themselves. For three years, my students and their families have allowed me to work for them, trusting my judgment and welcoming my help. But I can do more. I am ready to do more.

Sign up to our Newsletter

Cornell law personal statement: how to write + examples.

Reviewed by:

David Merson

Former Head of Pre-Law Office, Northeastern University, & Admissions Officer, Brown University

Reviewed: 03/03/23

Getting ready to write your Cornell Law personal statement? Unsure of where to begin or what to share? This guide has got you covered!

Cornell is a T14 , Ivy League law school that aspiring lawyers dream of attending. With such high rankings and prestige, it takes a lot to impress Cornell ’s admissions committee.

Aside from a stellar LSAT score and GPA, you’ll have to showcase your impeccable writing skills by writing a personal statement that shares a compelling narrative that showcases your potential as a future legal leader. 

This personal statement will give you a chance to demonstrate your individuality and commitment to law, so it’s essential you craft it with care! Read on to learn how to write a winning Cornell Law School personal statement and to see a few examples to draw inspiration from!

Cornell Law School Personal Statement Requirements

There aren’t any strict requirements when it comes to the Cornell Law personal statement . In an attempt to give students the opportunity to express themselves as they see fit, Cornell urges students to write about any topic they believe will present the most valuable personal information.

Your personal statement may address your intellectual interests, significant accomplishments, obstacles overcome, personal or professional goals, educational achievements, or any way in which your perspective, viewpoint, or experiences will add to the richness of the educational environment of Cornell. 

The length of the statement is also left to your discretion; however, you’re reminded that the admissions committee reviews thousands of applications! So, it’s best if you keep it short and sweet! It’s suggested your personal statement does not exceed two pages.

How to Write Your Cornell Law Personal Statement

Now that you’re familiar with the basic Cornell Law personal statement requirements, let’s delve deeper into how to write a statement that resonates with the judges and maximizes your chances of acceptance!

Step One: Research

You want to clearly prove your dedication to Cornell in your personal statement. To do this, your statement cannot be generic. Familiarize yourself with Cornell Law School’s missions, values, programs, and history.

Step Two: Reflect on Your Experiences

Before you write your first sentence, take time to reflect on your personal, academic, and professional experiences that have shaped your interest in law. Consider significant challenges, achievements, or moments of inspiration that have influenced your decision to pursue a legal education at Cornell. 

Step Three: Define Your Narrative

Once you’ve brainstormed all of the key experiences that define your identity, develop a central theme or narrative that connects these experiences and motivations. This could be a personal story, a passion for a specific area of law, or a desire to make a difference in the legal field. 

This narrative will give your personal statement coherence and help the admissions committee understand your unique perspective. You should use this narrative as your hook as well! Consider setting the scene for the readers with vivid descriptions or starting mise-en-scene at the climax of your story. 

Step Four: Brag a Little

You’ve accomplished a lot to get to where you are right now, and you should tell the admissions committee about it! While you don’t want to rehash your resume , you should highlight your key strengths, skills, experiences, and attributes that make you a strong candidate. 

Some traits Cornell values in its applicants are problem-solving, leadership, and a commitment to social justice and service. Provide concrete examples to support these strengths and share how they will contribute to your success as a law student and lawyer.

That said, make sure to provide examples of your prowess in context, don’t simply list your accomplishments and avoid arrogance. You’ve learned a lot- but not everything! You should be proud and honest while also highlighting your eagerness to learn and grow moving forward.

Step Five: Focus on Flow

Ensure your essay flows as you move through different experiences. Make use of transition words and phrases, maintain your tone, provide logical connections, and engage your reader throughout. 

Step Six: Include Your Research

Remember that research you conducted about Cornell? Now’s the time to show you did your homework. Students typically include their specific reasons for applying to Cornell near the end of their personal statement. 

Mention any relevant courses, clinics, or professors that align with your academic and career goals. Prove that you have carefully considered why Cornell is the right fit for you!

Step Seven: End With a Bang

Don’t neglect your conclusion! You want to leave a lasting impression on the admissions committee, so pay attention to your final sentences. 

You can either summarize your reasons for attending law school, and your hopes for the future, or refer back to the story shared in your introduction and provide deeper reflections on it. However you choose to end your Cornell Law personal statement, ensure it leaves your readers satisfied!

Step Eight: Be Authentic and Concise

Write in your own voice and be true to yourself. Admissions committees appreciate authenticity and want to understand who you are as an individual. Avoid clichés, unnecessary jargon, and only use language you feel comfortable with.

Step Nine: Edit and Revise

After finishing your first draft, edit and revise it until it is free of grammar and spelling errors. Ensure it flows, is clear, and impactful. Seek feedback from others to gain different perspectives on your statement and do not submit it until you’re completely satisfied with it!

Cornell Law School Personal Statement Examples

Here are two Cornell Law School personal statement examples that allow you to see these steps in action!

Growing up in a small town, my perspective on the world was limited. Opportunities to witness the challenges faced by marginalized communities were rare, and my understanding of human rights was confined to textbooks and news headlines. It wasn't until a life-changing experience during my college years that my passion for human rights was ignited.

It all started when I stumbled upon a documentary about a grassroots organization working tirelessly to combat child labor in Southeast Asia. The film featured brave individuals who risked their lives to fight for the rights of children subjected to exploitation and abuse. I was struck by their unwavering determination and the impact they were making in their communities.

Intrigued and inspired, I immersed myself in the subject, delving into academic research, volunteering at local NGOs, and engaging in eye-opening conversations with activists. Each encounter further deepened my understanding of the intricate web of social, political, and economic factors that perpetuate human rights violations.

During a summer internship at an international human rights organization, I witnessed firsthand the harsh realities faced by refugees fleeing persecution. I listened to their stories of despair, resilience, and hope. It was in those moments of empathy that I realized the power of the law in safeguarding human dignity and fostering social change.

Motivated by this newfound purpose, I dedicated myself to the study of human rights law, pursuing coursework and research projects that explored the intersection of legal frameworks and social justice. I eagerly engaged with professors, attending guest lectures and seminars to deepen my knowledge and broaden my perspective.

My passion for human rights also compelled me to take action beyond the classroom. I co-founded a student organization focused on raising awareness and advocating for human rights issues on campus. We organized events, hosted panel discussions, and collaborated with local organizations, striving to ignite a sense of responsibility and action within our community.

Through these experiences, I have come to appreciate the immense challenges inherent in protecting and promoting human rights. Yet, I firmly believe that change is possible, and it starts with each individual who refuses to be silent in the face of injustice.

It is my profound desire to further my education at Cornell Law School, renowned for its commitment to social justice and its distinguished faculty in human rights law. I am inspired by the opportunity to learn from leading scholars, collaborate with passionate peers, and immerse myself in an environment that nurtures both academic excellence and practical application.

Ultimately, my aspiration is to become an advocate for those whose voices have been stifled and rights have been trampled upon. I strive to dedicate my legal career to the pursuit of justice, working tirelessly to ensure that human rights are upheld and protected for all.

Cornell Law School represents the ideal platform to nurture my passion, provide me with the tools and knowledge necessary to effect change, and equip me with the skills to make a meaningful impact in the field of human rights. I am ready to embark on this transformative journey, committed to the pursuit of justice and the relentless pursuit of a world where human rights are not just lofty ideals or headlines, but tangible realities for all.

Why It Works

This statement is successful because it effectively captures the reader's attention with a personal narrative and engages them in the journey of the writer's discovery and passion for human rights. 

The writer demonstrates a clear understanding of the complexities surrounding human rights issues and their commitment to making a difference. They showcase their academic pursuits, practical experiences, and leadership initiatives, all while highlighting their desire to contribute to real-world human rights initiatives. 

The statement also effectively connects the writer's experiences and aspirations to Cornell Law School's reputation and resources, demonstrating a genuine interest in the institution. Their essay flows well, it is easy to follow, and it leaves the reader with a deeper understanding of who this student is and what they value. 

Jane Mendez, aged 13 years, a devoted daughter, loving sister, and cherished friend, passed away Saturday, March 17, 2018. 

As I sat, re-reading my sister’s obituary, I couldn’t help but wonder how she could be reduced to a one-page statement. A statement that seemed so matter-of-fact, that left out all her little quirks that I took for granted, like the way she still slept with her broken blue night light that buzzed when it was plugged in, or how she only ate her pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries because she hated the taste of maple syrup. 

This obituary wasn’t my sister, but it was all she was remembered as. The poor 13-year old with so much life yet to live, tragically killed by a drunk driver. The pain and grief from her loss were indescribable. I found myself grappling with questions of justice and accountability. 

Driven by a desire to transform my personal tragedy into a force for change, I embarked on a journey that intertwined my grief with a passion to do more. Through tireless research, I educated myself about the legal intricacies surrounding drunk driving and the devastating consequences it inflicts upon society.

Empowered by my knowledge, I actively engaged with local organizations dedicated to combating drunk driving. Collaborating with legal advocates, I participated in awareness campaigns, organized fundraisers, and lobbied for stricter legislation. Witnessing the impact of my efforts, I realized that the law possessed the potential to save lives and provide solace to those affected by tragedy.

This awakening fueled my academic pursuits as I immersed myself in legal studies, devouring courses on criminal law, torts, and public policy. In classrooms and debates, I sought to unravel the complexities of our justice system, exploring the nuances of accountability, rehabilitation, and victim advocacy.

In my journey, I discovered the powerful intersection between law and advocacy. Through internships at law firms and victim support organizations, I worked diligently to provide compassionate legal assistance to those navigating the aftermath of traumatic events. Assisting survivors in court hearings, I witnessed firsthand the pivotal role attorneys play in giving voice to the voiceless and restoring faith in a broken system.

I found solace in channeling my grief into compassionate action. I became determined to contribute to a legal system that prioritizes the rights of victims and ensures that justice prevails, even in the face of unspeakable tragedy.

Cornell Law School, with its unwavering commitment to social justice and academic excellence, stands as the beacon of hope for realizing my aspirations. The opportunity to learn from distinguished faculty members renowned for their expertise in criminal law and victim advocacy is a privilege I deeply covet.

My sweet sister’s untimely death forever altered the trajectory of my life. Her memory propels me to pursue justice, inspire change, and ensure that no other family experiences the pain I endured. Guided by my sister’s legacy and with her broken blue night light in hand, I emerge through the darkest period of my life with resilience, empathy, and an unwavering commitment to the pursuit of justice. I stand ready to make a lasting impact at Cornell Law School and in the broader realm of law.

This is an emotionally charged personal statement that does an excellent job of engaging the reader. They add personal touches, like the blue night light, that further immerse the readers into the narrative. Readers can sympathize with the reader, feel their sense of loss, and feel inspired by their resilience. 

They demonstrate they have clear ambitions and goals for the future, showcase their research, advocacy, and legal involvement in combating drunk driving, and determination to do more as a lawyer. They also tie their ambitions back to Cornell, showing their genuine interest in this school!

FAQs: Personal Statement for Cornell Law School

For any remaining questions about how to write your Cornell Law personal statement, read on!

1. How Long Is the Cornell Law School Personal Statement?

While there is no formal word count for the Cornell Law personal statement, it’s suggested your statement does not exceed two pages.

2. What Should Be Included In the Cornell Law School Personal Statement?

Students are encouraged to share whatever they feel is most important for the admissions committee to know and what is otherwise missing from their application. 

Most successful personal statements will include meaningful experiences that motivated students to join the legal field, experiences that shaped their values, and their future aspirations. You should also highlight the strengths and qualities that make you a strong Cornell candidate.

3. How Important Is the Cornell Law School Personal Statement In the Admissions Process?

While it is just one component among several that are considered, the personal statement offers applicants a valuable opportunity to showcase their unique qualities, experiences, and aspirations to the admissions committee.

Admissions committees carefully review personal statements to gain a deeper understanding of applicants' personal narratives, their passion for law, and their alignment with the values and mission of Cornell Law School.

4. Are There Any Formatting Guidelines for the Cornell Law School Personal Statement?

Cornell Law School does not provide specific formatting guidelines for the personal statement. However, it’s generally advised students use a standard format, such as Arial, Times New Roman, or Calibri, and size 11 or 12 point font.

Final Thoughts

As you begin your own Cornell Law personal statement, ensure you strive for authenticity, reflect on your personal and academic journey, and use your own voice! Craft a statement you’re proud of and feel connected to and embrace this opportunity to stand out and make a memorable impression on the admissions committee!

Schedule A Free Consultation

You may also like.

Top Law Schools in Maine

How to Get Into Stanford Law School - Acceptance Rates + Tips

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 initial consultation 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.

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 . 

Want more free tips? Subscribe to our channels for more free and useful content!

Apple Podcasts

Like our blog? Write for us ! >>

Have a question ask our admissions experts below and we'll answer your questions, get started now.

Talk to one of our admissions experts

Our site uses cookies. By using our website, you agree with our cookie policy .

FREE Training Webinar:

How to make your law school application stand out, (and avoid the top 5 mistakes that get most rejected).

Spivey Consulting Sample Personal Statements

Below are several sample law school personal statements. Each of them helped their writers achieve results superior to those their numbers might predict, but they are very different statements. Some are the sort that end up being among the most memorable essays admissions officers read throughout the cycle or even their career — truly unique experiences — while others are examples of clear, effective statements about the writers' life paths and goals in the absence of unusual or extraordinary life experiences. Please note, though, that personal statements are not read in a vacuum, and though these essays were all extremely successful, the strategy behind them involved not just a personal statement, but a full, well-rounded application. For example, a personal statement that does not address the applicant's interest in law in any way may have been accompanied by an application that otherwise showcased or made apparent their legal interests. A personal statement that was very lighthearted and casual in nature might have been accompanied by other essays or application components that were quite serious and dealt with extremely grave matters. Etc. Personal statements are one part of a full application package, and a topic that works for one applicant would not necessarily work for other applicants.

When reading these essays, also please keep in mind that admissions officers are individuals, and what may stand out to one person may not stand out to all. That said, our team has over 250 years of collective experience reading and making decisions on law school applications, and these are essays that we feel represent excellent examples of different types of personal statements.

Personal Statement Example #1

This is one of Derek Meeker's top 3 favorite personal statements ever in 17 years of working in law school admissions, including his time as Dean of Admissions at Penn Law. This applicant's results were also phenomenal.

The Bow is a traditional cattle ranch in a remote section of Montana’s Rocky Mountains. Each spring the snows retreat, and life—wild and domesticated—returns from the lower valleys to its rich pastures. During summers in college, I would leave my studies of early-modern philosophy on the east coast and return there as well, together with two middle-aged cowboys, Luis and Manuel, who came from a small town in western Mexico. As the ranch’s sole human inhabitants and proprietors, we worked 4,800 acres and tended 850 cattle. Through this experience, I forged a bond with the Bow’s land and way of life, a bond that inspired my first photographs.

Although I had no prior experience with cows, my youth in rural Montana spawned an interest in cattle ranching. It also gave me an adeptness for riding horses and doing manual labor, something I reinforced with my high school construction job. But, most importantly, I went to the Bow because it allowed me to engage a different way of life and to do so from the inside. I lived, socialized, and worked with Luis and Manuel, all in Spanish. Their traditions as migrant cowboys shaped every aspect of our lives on the ranch. In the spirit of the Mexican rodeo, or charreada, we focused on elegance of technique in our riding, often competing with one another to see who could extract a sick cow from the herd with the least disturbance. On Sundays, our one day of rest, we rose early and made the three-hour trip down to a small, Latino Catholic parish. There we attended mass, ate, and socialized with other migrant workers.

Jumping into this new world demanded significant personal growth. Most basically, I had to learn and adapt to the practice of cattle ranching at the Bow. As a philosophy major who made the persistent search for explanations a habit of mind, I copied Luis and Manuel’s methods and sought to grasp the reasons behind them, so that I could apply them on my own initiative and in novel situations. I also toughened myself to the physical intensity and unpredictability of the work. Laboring ten hours a day, we fixed miles of barbed-wire fences; irrigated huge pastures with nothing but gravity, ditches, and shovels; tended, moved, and medicated cattle; and made roughly 3,000 bales of hay. Every day we endured the capriciousness of ranching in a remote alpine environment. Sunny weather could quickly darken into sleet. A falling tree could break a fence in a remote corner of the ranch, allowing fifty cows to disappear into a dense, unbounded pine forest from which we had to locate and extract them one by one.

More abstractly, I had to learn how to forge a friendship with Luis and Manuel, which required opening myself up amidst cultural differences. I initially tailored my behavior to what I thought would fit into my colleagues’ worldview. As a young American from a small, conservative town who now studied Descartes and Hume in college, I worried my life beyond the Bow would alienate them. By contrast, I discovered they held no similar worries towards me. They treated me like they treated each other, speaking of their lives back in Mexico; of their wives, children, houses, and land, and how they missed them; of their previous jobs, rodeo triumphs, and brushes with death; all interspersed with dirty jokes they had been collecting for years. Much of their experience was difficult for me to imagine. Yet their openness allowed me to connect with them as individuals, and I realized I needed to repay their honesty in kind. I had to respect them enough to trust in their ability to form a bond of friendship across a cultural divide. When I did, the distance my reticence had created disappeared, and our differences made the relationship more fulfilling.

By labor, I gave myself to the Bow’s land. By responding to my toil, the land gave itself to me. And by cultivating a friendship, Luis, Manuel, and I gave ourselves to one another. As time passed, I began to express this bond in black and white photographs.

The light was best in the mornings—pale and glittering. After we would wake and feed the horses, I’d often set up my camera and tripod outside the old barn. From there, I could comprehend the entire ranch. Rolling pastures fall away on all sides, their tall grasses blown about in gentle waves and dotted with cows of black and brown. Further out, dark forests of aspen and pine run to high peaks jutting up into a huge blue sky. Bright white cowboy hats shade Luis and Manuel’s weathered faces. They methodically tack up their horses for another day. Looking out over this expansive sweep, carried in uncountable rays to the surface of my lens, I would open the shutter.

Personal Statement Example #2

This one produced some of the best results we have seen, and accomplished so much. It's also in Karen's top 3 all time, and Karen spent 12 years at Harvard Law, so that is high praise. Note that this applicant's other essays highlighted their specific legal interests and goals.

My feet skid on the ground, one after the other. It was clumsy, but it succeeded in stopping the bike. As I craned my neck to look behind me at the long, tree-lined road, the helmet I had haphazardly buckled fell to the right side of my face, letting the breeze pass through what felt like a heat wave just north of my forehead. I had covered maybe 250 feet, roughly the length of a city block, in a mere 30 seconds. It wasn’t quite a success, but it was progress. I picked up the bike and repositioned it so that it faced the abandoned road that had become my training ground for the day I spent teaching myself how to ride a bike, and I embarked down it again. This isn’t a tale from my childhood; this was a little over a year ago. At 22 years old, I taught myself how to ride a bike.

When I was seven, I asked for my first bike for Christmas. On Christmas morning, my dad rolled in a pink bicycle with a white basket and shiny bell. Five years later, he rolled that very same never-been-ridden bike out the front door, and into the Goodwill store. At 12 years old, I begged for another bike, and my parents begrudgingly gave me an all-black roadster they had intended me to grow into. I just gave that bike away last week, the tags and plastic casing still intact. That I asked for bikes but never asked to learn how to ride them, and that my parents gave me bikes but never taught me how to ride them, can be explained by one simple fact: I lived on a hill, one of San Francisco’s famous seven hills no less; riding a bike outside just wasn’t appealing. As active as my family was growing up, bike riding had simply never been a part of my childhood.

It was not until the week before my first day as a legal assistant at Google when I committed once and for all to finally learn how to ride that baffling apparatus. Having just graduated from college and returned from a post-grad travel excursion, I began to prepare for my first day. While daydreams of meeting my team drifted through my mind, I realized that I hadn’t considered one important thing: the Google bikes. With a campus that spreads over a mile, the Google bikes are the primary mode of transportation on campus. When I interviewed, I remember seeing dozens of Googlers perched on these bikes, breezing down Charleston Avenue with their laptops occupying the basket in front.

With a pit in my stomach, I decided to no longer just accept what I had once thought to be my non-cycling fate. I got in my car, and drove up to Sonoma County, to a town with which I was very familiar but where no one would recognize me. When I arrived, I rented a bike from the nearest bike shop and walked it two blocks away to a quiet road deeply hidden within a surrounding vineyard, strapped on my helmet, and kicked off.

For those first few pedals, I played it safe. My palms were already sweaty from nerves and as soon as I felt myself gaining speed, I immediately put my feet on the ground. After thirty minutes of this, I was flustered. Learning to ride a bike was harder than I expected; I was frustrated with my lack of any real gains, and I was embarrassed to be in this position in the first place. Up until this moment, I had succeeded in accomplishing practically anything I set my mind to with relative ease. Riding a bike presented a challenge that was going to take considerable effort, and I’d have to keep at it long after that day ended. This was almost enough to get me to quit right there, but I contemplated what it would mean if I went home: further evidence that I wasn’t capable of something I desperately wanted to learn.

From that point on, my attitude changed. I grew more patient, acknowledging that each unsteady pedal was progress. The intuitions I lacked for how to balance began to come together as I learned that speed actually increased stability; a common understanding for most, but an intuition I had to develop. I found myself a little more fearless with each pedal, trusting my body to keep me upright just a little longer each time. The result was a few pedals at a time, then a few more, until finally I was able to take what I considered my first bike ride.

Riding down that tree-lined street felt exhilarating, and I savored both the sense of accomplishment and sense of freedom I felt on the bike. I’m sure that whatever image I had of myself in those moments, riding through the wind, effortlessly peddling on the bike, more closely resembled someone attempting to bike after a day of wine tasting. Nevertheless, it felt good. After a few hours and more than a few scrapes, I wheeled the bike back to the shop and proudly reported that I had actually learned. I drove back to San Francisco feeling ready to face my first day, knowing that even though it would take time before I felt truly confident on a bike, I had proven to myself that I was capable of something that I never thought possible.

Personal Statement Example #3

This personal statement is from an applicant whose results were exceptional for his numbers!

“Miss, if I do my work, can I have a Snickers bar?” It was my first day of school as an 8th grade English and Language Arts student teacher, and Manuel was looking up at me from his computer with a mischievous grin on his face. I made the classic rookie educator mistake of responding to his bargain with, “I’ll think about it.” He giggled with his friends for a moment, then returned his attention to his online reading assignment. Before I knew it, the dismissal bell sounded, the kids stampeded out the door, and I had survived Day One.

My mentor teacher and I lingered in the library to debrief. I was hesitant to reward Manuel for meeting what I deemed to be bare minimum expectations; nevertheless, I asked Ms. P about the school policy on candy. She acknowledged that sugary incentives were permissible, but not without a notable eye roll. “I wouldn’t spend my money on that kid . He never does his work.” It astonished me that in just the third week of school, she had already formed pervasive negative judgments of this child. Apprehension knotted in my stomach as I realized I was being challenged to do exactly what drove me into education in the first place: fight for a challenging student who was so often dismissed by other educators.

On Day Two, Manuel sauntered into our classroom at the beginning of 8th period with a smirk and a “Miss, where’s my Snickers bar?” I regretfully informed him that I had forgotten to go to the store. Disappointed, Manuel took his seat at the back of the room and promptly went right to sleep. Despite my unskilled but earnest efforts to get him on task, he napped all 50 minutes of class. Again, the bell buzzed, the students bounded out and down the hall, and I sank into a chair, exhaling my frustration into the empty room. Ms. P’s expression was smug as we made eye contact. I could practically hear her eyes screaming, “I told you so!”

That gaze lit a fire in me. Here is the thing: Manuel is not dumb, lazy, or any other negative trait so often unfairly ascribed to him. He is just far too accustomed to adults whose promises constantly fall through. Weeks passed as I watched him wear the same clothes to school every day and heard “this phone number has been disconnected” every time we tried to call his family. Why did this 12-year old have no adults looking out for him the way parents and teachers should? I committed to changing this cycle. From then on, every day I camped out at his desk, perpetually challenging and encouraging him. I spent every last ounce of patience I had until his grades, slowly but steadily, trended upward. On Halloween, he finally worked hard enough to earn his Snickers bar from me; his face lit up with pride like a Christmas tree.

My experiences this semester reminded me why I decided last year to pursue law school instead of a career in teaching. While I entered education to be an agent of opportunity for disadvantaged students like Manuel, during my student teaching, I have been increasingly frustrated by the limits of my ability as an educator to make the difference that I desired. Through studying education law in my coursework and working for a local attorney, I realized the power lawyers hold to further educational equity by creating better legal outcomes for children whose lives have been destabilized by crime and disruption of the family. Instability at home stunts students’ abilities to learn effectively before they even walk through the schoolhouse doors, exemplified by how the unreliable nature of Manuel’s home life influenced him to be skeptical of teachers and quick to give up on himself. Teachers can only do their best to repair the damage done, but attorneys are capable of addressing these problems at their roots by ardently representing children and families embroiled in legal conflict.

I believe that my passion for government, dedication to child welfare, and natural intellectual curiosity will be better used to serve vulnerable children and families as an advocate in the courtroom than as a classroom teacher. Our justice system needs attorneys who not only relish in the philosophical challenge of the law, but are driven by the real, diverse individuals whom it serves. I was attracted to the (Redacted) Law School while visiting last January because I believe it shares this perspective, and I look forward to the opportunity to continue my education in (Redacted) at a school whose values I cherish.

Personal Statement Example #4

“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 job site. 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 job site 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 #5

This personal statement, from an international student applying to U.S. law schools, helped the applicant overperform their numbers.

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 #6

This personal statement starts with a common theme in law school personal statements then takes it in a different direction.

“I will never be a lawyer.” I held this conviction at a very young age, although I understood little of what a lawyer was or did. As a child, unable to grasp the complexities of a messy divorce, I believed lawyers were soldiers enlisted to torment my mom. I associated her perfectly pressed navy or black outfits with her spending all day in court and returning dejected and exhausted. I thought the litany of process servers that continually rang our doorbell were lawyers badgering my mom and often bringing her to tears. I was not yet able to recognize that the “bad guys” I learned of in Disney movies were not the lawyers I was so quick to assign blame, but instead my father. He held my mom hostage through the court system for twelve years, with over 700 court filings pursued against her.

One day in high school, in an earnest attempt to decipher my childhood, I pored over the hundreds of legal documents my mom had kept from the many years of legal battles with my father. I had the serendipitous experience of viewing my life from outside myself. In scouring cabinets full of papers, I learned the positive role the court system had played in my life. Lawyers worked tirelessly to safeguard my siblings and me from the tumult while trying to free my mother from a maniacal man. Ultimately, the Judge’s court-appointed psychologists would help release me, my mom, and my siblings from an emotionally abusive father, and I realized I had misjudged those associated with the law from my childhood entirely. It made me wonder: Could I be one of the “good” ones?

My piqued, but not sealed, interest in law led me to an internship with a real estate attorney and a probate judge. Typically, I spent my summers surrounded by piles of paper and a team of probate clerks. But one day, the Judge offered me a different scenery: an involuntary commitment hearing at the local hospital. I sat across from a woman in a hospital gown flanked by two lawyers. Teary-eyed, she pleaded to the Judge to release her from the hospital. She claimed her early morning kayaking accident had been just that: an accident. Yet, there was a police report establishing attempted drowning, her doctors’ testimony, and a voicemail she had left for her boyfriend that outlined her plan. As I listened, the realization that she was alone saddened me. She could not be much older than me, maybe 30. So, where was her family? It shocked me that the only people looking out for her were the people in this conference room, all strangers to her. And yet, maybe these lawyers were just enough to save a life.

I could feel the gravity of the Judge’s decision in the silence of our drive back to the office. I saw his profound respect for life and the duty to protect etched on his face. For the first time in my life, I witnessed the sincere emotion of a lawyer and a judge grappling with how to restore someone’s life. The considerate lawyer beside me sat in stark contrast to what I believed lawyers to be as a child. Given the severity of the moment, I felt guilty for the excitement that bubbled inside me. Yet, I could not help but be invigorated by my new understanding and appreciation for the law; it was a system that could defend and protect the vulnerable if wielded thoughtfully. I felt reaffirmed that I could be a positive force of justice.

I am now proud to say I aspire to be a lawyer. My desire to be a lawyer is to recognize that the legal field is complex and equally delicate. Lawyers can be both good and evil, depending on what part they play in everyone’s distinct story. My initial perception that lawyers are an exploitative power able to embolden an abuser was not misplaced; however, I was naive to the profound and positive effect lawyers can have in many people’s lives. The Judge taught me that society could trust lawyers to be stewards in times of crisis, where the vulnerable need a skilled advocate and those around them need systemized support. Therefore, I hope to pair the necessary legal training with my unique personal experiences to become a thoughtful representative of others and provide individuals with aid in the most pivotal moments of their lives.

Personal Statement Example #7

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 Marco Russo, 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. Marco 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. Marco 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 Marco'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. Marco 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 Marco 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 Marco 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 #8

This essay is an outstanding example of discussing one's path to law school in a way that is neither cliché nor generic. Through the use of metaphor and descriptive details regarding her background and identity, the writer takes us on her academic journey with a genuine and conversational tone that keeps us engaged. We get a clear sense of who she is, why she is going to law school, and what her goals are. A K-JD splitter, she rose above "the pack" with multiple offers from T-14 schools.

Growing up, I loved playing the Game of Life. I delighted in driving around the game board in a little plastic car, the steps neatly laid out in front of me: go to college, get a job, get married, have kids. Although I could choose the path to “Start Career” instead of “Start College,” I always chose college because, even at a young age, I knew that it made the rest of your “life” more successful. After all, my parents had built their lives in America from two suitcases and $200—working tirelessly in menial jobs to put themselves through school. They followed the same step-by-step process that I mirrored with my plastic car and miniature peg people in the game, patiently moving one step at a time towards their goals. As I grew older, I wanted to build my future in this same straight-and-narrow path.

For me, this path meant becoming a doctor. As an American-born Chinese kid, or “ABC” as we were called, I felt compelled to choose a career considered to be safe. And as a Chinese American girl, especially, I was supposed to choose a job that values technical skills over assertiveness. Doctor, yes. Engineer, yes. Lawyer, no. These preconceived notions of the Chinese American community followed me through my adolescence; any time I brought up the possibility of choosing a different career path, I was immediately shut down with an air of disapproval: “Why don’t you want to become a doctor like so-and-so’s son?” Thus, I constantly heard a voice inside my head, reminding me that I couldn’t be the disappointment of the group—the one who wasted my parents’ sacrifices. This voice, along with a natural affinity towards science and medicine, led me to choose a pre-med path at the start of college.

My decision did not turn out quite like the straightforward course on the Life game board. My pre-med courses lacked the type of intellectual stimulation I desired, and I became increasingly disenchanted with them. An academic advisor suggested I switch my major to undeclared after my first semester so I could explore the array of majors available at the university. But in my mind, undeclared equated to unmotivated and confused, so I staunchly refused. As I continued to struggle through my pre-med courses into my sophomore year, I learned of an opportunity to travel to Honduras with Global Medical Brigades, an organization that brings basic healthcare services to underserved areas of the world. I signed up the next day.

We spent eight days in Honduras over Christmas vacation, doling out over-the-counter medicines to villagers who stood in the rain for hours each morning, anxiously awaiting our arrival. I learned that our trip, and others like it, provided the sole source of healthcare for the majority of people we met. They viewed traveling to the hospital or regular pain management as a hopeless fantasy. The nonchalant way in which they discussed pain and illness as an accepted part of life shocked me. For the Hondurans we met, access to healthcare was a luxury, and they found it easier to accept this fate as truth than to waste time and energy fighting an impossible battle. I left Honduras with a sense of hopelessness, feeling the fleeting nature of our efforts as inconsequential to those we had treated. I began to realize that the traditional study of medicine could not adequately address what I already understood to be a complex health crisis.

The desire to understand the disparities in access to healthcare brought me to work with the Institute for Global Health the following semester, while simultaneously switching my major to Global Health. As I reviewed policy proposals and planned events to bring awareness to international health issues, I immersed in a curriculum that illuminated a tangle of economic challenges and political corruption, all of which is rooted in inequality. It is this last issue that gnaws at me; in a world of brilliant legal and scientific minds, why have we not reached equality in global health? A basic covenant of human rights is to recognize the inherent dignity of all, and the right to a standard of living adequate for health and well-being. And yet in Honduras, I saw a mother who accepted the congenital heart defect of her baby as a guaranteed death sentence, because she did not have bus fare for the daylong journey to the nearest hospital. I saw a man who cried out of gratitude when we gave him ibuprofen, because his 78-year-old bones ached from working in a field all day. That is not living with dignity.

Unification between health policy, human rights, and ethics is needed to solve these issues. In an increasingly interconnected world, global health issues transcend borders and affect lives on both an individual and communal level. The lingering health inequalities between rich and poor raise fundamental questions of social justice and define the need for effective global governance for health. Only the law can create a cohesive solution by taking into account all of the seemingly disparate, but equally influential factors.

Last year, a Chinese family friend warned me about the difficulties of finding a job after law school, and praised her son, who was finishing his medical residency. I proudly told her that through my choice of a “risky” career, I will be working to address the health issues that flood the news regularly—the same issues that her son will also face. Law school will provide me with the knowledge and experience to tackle these challenges as I forge my own path in the game of life.

Personal Statement Example #9

Not many applicants have such an incredibly gripping experience to convey, but everyone has their own emotionally important event. Put the reader in your story, just like this client of ours did.

The door slammed shut and now, it was just me, three other guys, and one dead man in the room. None of us—that is, the four of us who were alive—had ever washed a dead body before, but the phone call I received the day before would soon change that. A congregant from my mosque wanted to know if I could personally help with the funerary body-wash of a man who was hours away from death. Knowing that at least someone had to discharge the religious rites for this soon-to-be-deceased man, and I had the added responsibility of being a religious services coordinator, I agreed. But it was only after I had sent out several mass-texts searching for friends naive enough to volunteer did I realize why this intricate religious ritual had fallen on the shoulders of a funerary novice like myself. The dying man had been convicted for the rape and murder of a young girl and her mother two decades ago and was being lethally executed by the State of Texas.

Here I was, moments away from personally conferring upon a rapist and murderer the dignity of a sacred rite. Wondering if the latex that covered my hand was enough of a psychological barrier between myself and the murderer's body, I paused. A rush of anger flooded me: why had I volunteered to confer the dignity of a ritual washing for this rapist's corpse? My stomach tightened and I looked around to see my partners having tilted the corpse and waiting for me. With each second of introspection, my repulse and reluctance to continue grew, but being aware that the body had to be shrouded and transported to the mosque before the noon prayer, I knew the group couldn't afford to lose these precious minutes. I stepped back from the autopsy table and told the guys to give me a few moments pause. Meditation is seldom done with a three men and one dead one waiting for you in the backroom of funeral home, but then and there, I began breathing exercises, waiting for my emotions to subside. Eyes closed, I decided to approach the ritual cleanse as simply a trickier car-wash with the added burden of some strict religious guidelines.

When we prepped to wash the corpse’s lower half, my hands brushed over several stripes of protruding flesh. Vaguely recalling the biographical details in the man's court record I had glanced at the night before, I immediately realized from the location of the scar tissue that these marks were the result of childhood abuse. While I prepped to wash the posterior bottom half, it was clear that this was not an indefinite corpse, but one that had engraved within it countless personal narratives. Like any other kid, decades ago, he too, must have quipped 'recess' as his favorite subject in elementary school, and similarly, it was doubtful that this body had been spared the tremors that adolescents of all backgrounds have suffered at their first date. In speaking just one dark detail from his childhood, the fleshy Braille reminded me that the man's entire life couldn't be reduced to his worst moments.

By the time we finished the washing and had taken the body to the cemetery, my earlier self-doubts had dissipated. At the cemetery, the other volunteers were surprised to see me stepping into the burial pit alongside the deceased's siblings to help lower the body into the tomb. This time, my resolve came not from an energizing meditation session but from the realization that the differences between the deceased man and myself, however stark in legal records, paled in comparison to the ups and downs of life we shared as members of the same species—of the genus Homo Sapiens.

Whether it was trying to host a Quran-burning pastor for an interfaith dinner discussion at my mosque or, as in this case, helping perform the ritual bath of an executed felon, I have always been drawn to exploring and understanding the deeper narratives of unseemly people. This capacity to carefully listen to the backstories and motivations of individuals, even those whose ideologies or behavior profoundly disturb me, is what attracts me to the law. At its core, our legal system succeeds when participants’ complexities are fully appreciated and their stories are heard. In employing my drive for unraveling the perplexities of each individual, and lending a voice to those understandable slices of humanity contained in each viewpoint, I hope that I can play a part in advocating not just for the rights of the conferred, but also of the condemned.

Get the Reddit app

The Reddit Law School Admissions Forum. The best place on Reddit for admissions advice. Check out the sidebar for intro guides. Post any questions you have, there are lots of redditors with admissions knowledge waiting to help.

Personal Statement HELP

Hi everyone,

I'm really struggling with my personal statement (didn't expect it to be this difficult) and could really use some help. Seems like everyone in this chat is aiming for T14 schools or have already submitted apps, I'm planning on attending in FL and I'm not really interested in big law. Is anyone willing to give pointers? Also first gen and literally just winging everything with my fingers crossed.

By continuing, you agree to our User Agreement and acknowledge that you understand the Privacy Policy .

Enter the 6-digit code from your authenticator app

You’ve set up two-factor authentication for this account.

Enter a 6-digit backup code

Create your username and password.

Reddit is anonymous, so your username is what you’ll go by here. Choose wisely—because once you get a name, you can’t change it.

Reset your password

Enter your email address or username and we’ll send you a link to reset your password

Check your inbox

An email with a link to reset your password was sent to the email address associated with your account

Choose a Reddit account to continue