Dear Law School: We’re Breaking Up
Dear Law School:
We’re breaking up. I’m done taking your shit.
How could you be so cruel after I dedicated my life to you? I bought my first LSAT book in high school and spent two years studying for the LSAT for you. I graduated from college with honors, two degrees, legal experience, and yet you told me I was only worthy of a conditional acceptance.
How many Cs can you hurl at a person before they start to believe that they’re internally mediocre, holistically unsatisfactory, and as predicted, unworthy of a seat in the class? I spent the past two years pleading for some concession of approval from you. My boyfriend dumped me, left me without a place to sleep in the middle of the semester because I obsessed over you! You pushed me into internal and external affliction — panic attacks, stress induced paralysis, and suicidal ideation.
You lied to me so many times! You told me I didn’t have the grades to get a job but I did. I actually earned my dream job and they want me to stay after graduation. You told me I couldn’t write, but now I’m getting offers to write, for money! You told me I couldn’t speak after I had been invited to give public speeches prior to meeting you. In fact, you robbed me of my joy when my friend and oral argument competitor was invited to a moot court team and I wasn’t. You laughed at me when I sulked in envy, trying to figure out how my friend won over the judges but I couldn’t win them with my poised nature and creative argument. You told me I didn’t have the credentials to get that scholarship to Japan but I did. A student at the bottom of her class granted the same scholarship as the student at the top of the same class. How ironic.
I admit to some wrongdoing in this relationship. I am guilty of giving up on you at times. Setback after setback despite giving you my all? It left me debilitated. I stopped trying to appease you, hoping that it would take the sting out of the unsavory grades on my transcript or the unsightly abundance of red ink scribbled on my drafts. When I tried my best, I lied to my honor roll friends and told them I didn’t try. When I didn’t try, my grade point average was essentially the same as when I did try. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
Why do I even have to waste my time with you? I learned more about the law sitting third chair on a murder trial than I ever did sitting in the confines of your four walls. I understand everything you require me to; I promise you, I get it. But something just doesn’t translate. Perhaps we’re just not compatible.
The reason I’m writing this letter is because I want you to know that I’m no longer taking your shit, your judgement, your lies. I rediscovered my self-worth and I am more confident than ever. I will no longer question my ability because of your opinion of me. I will no longer measure my self worth in units of grade point average, letters, or class ranks.
I know I’m going to be a dope ass lawyer and I know I’m going to save the world or die trying. So for professionalism’s sake let’s keep it cordial until May 2021. I’ll strut the halls with my newfound confidence unbothered by your patronization and you can sit back and watch me win. Over and over again.
