Ok guys I have been putting the common app essay to the back burner for a very long time but tonight I have somewhat of a draft going on. What are your guy's thoughts> (Essay Down Below)

Learning to Be Seen

I stared at the clock, waiting for the bell to ring. I needed to use the bathroom, but I couldn't bring myself to raise my hand. I wasn't worried about my teacher saying no. I was worried about the eyes that might follow me across the classroom. What if someone laughed? What if somebody said something? Looking back, it's strange how much I overthought something so simple. But at the time, waiting for the bell seemed easier than risking another embarrassing moment.

Growing up, I was the short, overweight kid who always seemed to be the target of someone's jokes. "Stink Stink" and "Piggie" were nicknames I heard almost every day. Even when nobody said anything, I worried about what they might be thinking. I started avoiding situations where I might draw attention to myself. I hated being in pictures, worried about speaking up, and constantly wondered how others saw me. Eventually, I became more comfortable being unnoticed than being myself.

As I approached high school, I began changing physically. I grew taller, lost weight, and started spending more time at the gym. Slowly, something unexpected happened. The nicknames disappeared. Classmates who once made fun of me started talking to me normally. People who had barely acknowledged me before suddenly wanted to get to know me.

For years, I believed that changing my appearance would change how people treated me. In some ways, I was right. What I hadn't expected was how little my own mindset would change.

Despite looking different, I still carried the same insecurities. I could have a normal conversation with someone and still find myself wondering what they really thought of me. It confused me that people could change their opinions of me so quickly while I struggled to change my own.

One rainy afternoon, I was working out at my local recreation center. Between sets, I sat on a bench with my head down. When I looked up, I caught my reflection in the mirror across the room.

For a few seconds, I barely recognized myself.

I thought about the younger version of me who had spent years wishing he could look different. My first reaction was shock. I couldn't believe how much had changed. Then came a feeling of relief, like a weight I'd been carrying for years had finally been lifted off my shoulders.

That afternoon wasn't the moment every insecurity disappeared. But it gave me a chance to recognize how far I'd come. I began thinking about how much of my life I'd spent trying to become someone other people would approve of. I'd put so much energy into worrying about their opinions that I rarely stopped to ask what I actually wanted.

Over time, I started making choices for myself. I made more friends, became more comfortable expressing my personality, and stopped avoiding things simply because I might be judged. I even began feeling comfortable being in pictures, something I once dreaded. I wasn't suddenly the most confident person in the room, and I still have moments when I overthink things. But I was beginning to enjoy being myself rather than constantly worrying about how I appeared to everyone else.

Recently, I found myself in a familiar situation. I was sitting in class when I needed to use the bathroom. Without giving it much thought, I raised my hand, asked my teacher, and stood up. I walked out of the classroom without worrying about who might be looking.

Years ago, I would have sat there watching the clock, counting down the minutes until I could leave without anyone noticing. This time, I didn't even think about it.

Nobody else would have noticed the difference. But I did.

And for once, that was enough.

I stared at the lump of clay spinning in front of me and thought, I can fix this.

That was usually the beginning of the end.

One side of my bowl was slightly taller than the other, so I would press it down. Then the other side looked uneven, so I tried to fix that too. Suddenly, the bowl that had looked fine thirty seconds earlier was wobbling around the wheel. Still, I refused to leave it alone.

And there it went.

What was supposed to be a bowl collapsed into a sad lump of wet clay.

Ceramics can be chastening like that.

When I started throwing, I loved the idea that I could take a lump of clay and turn it into any creation I pictured in my head. The problem was that the clay rarely agreed.

I wanted to fix every uneven edge and tiny imperfection. Usually, the more I tried to correct something, the worse it became. Eventually, I realized that maybe the clay wasn't the problem.

I had to learn to be present with what was happening underneath my hands instead of only thinking about the final product. If a wall was getting thin, I couldn't keep pulling just because I wanted it taller, and squeezing harder wouldn't magically fix a wobble. Sometimes the best thing I could do was stop, adjust my original idea, or accept that a piece wasn't going to become exactly what I had imagined.

That last one took me a while.

But somewhere between the collapsed bowls and uneven walls, throwing stopped feeling like a battle between me and the clay. I became more comfortable not knowing exactly how a piece would turn out. Eventually, I trusted myself enough to take it outside the art room.

At ... , an art gathering in ..., I had the opportunity to throw clay during a live pottery demonstration. Sitting at the wheel, I suddenly became very aware of the people watching me. Normally, if I messed up, I could quietly reshape the piece. Here, whatever happened on that wheel was going to happen in front of everyone.

But once it started spinning, I did what I had learned to do. I wet my hands, centered the clay, and focused on the pressure underneath my palms.

I realized I wasn't worried about making a perfect piece.

I trusted myself.

Not because I suddenly had complete control over the clay, but because I didn't need it anymore. I knew how to respond: ease the pressure, slow the wheel, or let the shape become something different from what I had planned.

That confidence followed me beyond my own work. Now, as president of my school's Ceramics Club, I recognize the frustration on someone's face when their piece collapses and they immediately say, “I'm so bad at this.” Instead of fixing it for them, I'll show them where to place their hands or how to change their pressure. Sometimes I just remind them that I've collapsed more pieces than I could ever count. Then we scrape up the clay and try again.

Those moments remind me how many uneven bowls, accidental shapes, and messy hands can exist between “I'm bad at this” and confidently sitting behind a pottery wheel in front of strangers.

I still notice when one side of my bowl is slightly taller than the other. I still see the uneven edge, and sometimes that familiar thought appears: I can fix this.

But now, I pause.

I feel the clay underneath my hands. I decide whether it actually needs fixing or whether I am simply trying to force it into the picture in my head. Sometimes I adjust it. Sometimes I change my plan. Sometimes I leave the uneven edge exactly where it is.

The previous version of me would have kept pushing until the whole thing collapsed.

Now, I know when to let the clay become what it is becoming.

And then I keep the wheel spinning.

i’ve literally had no idea what to write about for months now but ive kind of settled on one topic. I’m writing about how people who don’t know me may view me as someone who’s constantly occupying themself with activites or things to do to keep them busy, which is true, but using my giant stuffed animal (who’s a sloth) represent a slower paced, isolated side of me that i also enjoy.

Ryan was only eight years old, and I’d just made him cry. With his chin buried in the collar of his sweatshirt, he peered up at me, and I had never seen eyes so magnified by tears. 

I had just handed Ryan his graded multiplication worksheet. I had explained the method clearly, twice. First do this, then that, and carry this over. It seemed simple enough to me. Yet he looked at me with eyes so blank, so blue, and so bashful, every single time. Perhaps the third time would be the charm? So, I did what seemed logical; I explained it again. His frustrated erasing had made a crater in the paper. Ryan put down his pencil, and that evening we both raised a white flag.

At fifteen, I was new to tutoring, but I considered myself fairly confident. Math had always seemed easy to me; if a student didn’t understand something, I assumed my job was to explain it. Ryan exposed a serious flaw in that assumption – I knew how I understood multiplication, but I had no idea how he did. I hesitated before asking questions because my confidence rested on what I could verify, and questions invited the unknown.  

The following evening, instead of repeating the steps, I started asking Ryan questions. I wanted to understand where I was losing him. As he answered, I began to see that I had been focusing more on perfecting my explanation than on understanding how Ryan approached the problem. Something landed for him that evening, though I can’t recall exactly what I said. What I do remember is realizing that I’d spent most of our earlier session hearing only my own voice.  

This wasn’t exclusively a tutoring problem. At fifteen, I was much better at speaking when I was already familiar with the players and the script. Put me in front of a math problem, and I was at ease. Put me in a room full of strangers, and I suddenly became deeply interested in my phone. 

My mother had noticed it too. She practically pushed me through the door to join Future Business Leaders of America (FBLA) during my freshman year. The other students chatted with ease, while I stood alone, unable to participate in their banter.  

I started watching how my friends eased into a group and how my mother engaged in conversation so effortlessly. I began testing a new approach. Some attempts failed almost immediately. Others worked better when I stopped planning my next line and became curious about the person in front of me. I realized that it was not about saying the right words, it was about being personable, adaptable, and attentive. I needed to make the same adjustment with Ryan. I couldn’t decide in advance what another person needed from me; I had to pay attention to their cues. 

Becoming comfortable with the unknown transformed the rooms I was once afraid to enter into rooms I knew I belonged in. I started competing in public speaking events, learned to answer questions I hadn’t prepared for, and ultimately served as FBLA’s vice president.

It surprised me when others noticed my newfound confidence. A freshman recently asked for my help preparing for a regional leadership conference. The look of helplessness on her face reminded me of Ryan, and her fear of appearing foolish mirrored mine. Rather than another explanation, she needed someone to remind her that confidence doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from staying curious.  

I still like having the answer, and I still enjoy approaching a problem knowing I can solve it. But I no longer cower when I cannot. My experience with Ryan taught me that knowing the answer is not where the work ends. Whether I’m explaining multiplication to a student or walking into a room full of strangers, I’ve learned to pay closer attention to how people respond. 

it's rlly the last thing I need to look over and I'm also not the best when it comes to rereading my work. The paragraph on music is really where I'm worried the most but I wanted to include it as it's a big thing on my application as well as something in my life

For years, three strands of hair defeated me. 
Every YouTube tutorial had made it seem simple: divide the hair into three sections, cross one strand over another, and repeat. They were basic instructions that anyone should be able to follow. Yet, when ten-year-old me sat on the cold tile floor, my arms wobbled like jello from being raised above my head, and my fingers seemed entirely incapable of cooperation. The black, frizzy strands slipped apart. Three sections multiplied into six, tangling together, and refusing to resemble the neat braids I admired on my peers.
Most young girls learn how to do their hair from their moms. I didn't. My mother has sleek, silky, black hair that seemed to obey every brushstroke, while mine had other plans. The New York summer heat made my long, thick waves expand with the sticky humidity, knotting overnight into a ball of waves. Because my hair texture was entirely different from her own, my mother simply didn’t know how to handle it, and eventually she stopped trying to learn. Navigating my hair became a solo mission inside a home where everyone else seemed to fit a specific mold. I became used to my Vietnamese relatives making comments about my hair, and over time I became accustomed to their teasing. They would affectionately call my kinky mess tóc như cái tổ chim (bird’s nest) or tóc dựng ngược  (bedhead), followed by some lighthearted laughter. I began to believe that there was something fundamentally wrong with my hair, and by extension—with me as well. 
Braiding seemed to be the solution to my unmanageable chaos, a way to hide my texture and avoid comments. So I tried for a while, sitting on the same cold tile floor, bingeing beginner tutorials, hoping one would just click. Every attempt ended the same way: loose sections, escaped strands, snapped hair ties, and cramped hands. Eventually, I stopped trying altogether.
At fifteen, however, I picked up the hairbrush once again, tired of trying to fit into someone else’s standards. I was back on the bathroom floor; my first attempts were still atrocious. My shoulders ached while the familiar urge to quit rushed back in. 
A braid finally held, but it was far from perfect: the tension was uneven, and wavy strands stuck out at odd angles. Yet, looking in the mirror, I felt a new sense of pride. 
For years, I believed that success came from natural talent, that if something did not come easily, it was not meant for me. I fell into a trap of perfectionism, looking at others and only seeing their results. However, it was through music that I quickly learned that the performance people saw on stage was built on a foundation of mistakes that they never heard. The audience never saw the unglamorous side of performing: the countless hours of practicing the same measure until my embouchure ached, or the metronome repeating the same beat constantly. I wasn’t born with talent; I had to earn it through hours of slow practice, sore fingers, cracked notes, and the patience to keep trying when things fell apart. Even then, I am still not perfect. 
 For a long time, I thought I had failed at learning how to braid my hair. The braid was never waiting for me to become more talented, more coordinated, or more confident. It was waiting for me to become patient with myself. 
Now, when I stand in front of the mirror, my hands move automatically. Three strands. Cross. Repeat. 
Sometimes I think about the ten-year-old girl sitting on the bathroom floor, surrounded by broken hair ties and half-finished tutorials, convinced she just wasn’t capable of doing it.
I wish I could tell her to keep going. 
But then again, I guess she did.

PLEASE JUST DM ME I WANT FEEDBACK AND ITS DUE TMRW

Hey guys.. I am an international student.. I am worried and getting paranoid that my essay isn't good enough or sounds not human.. Could anybody please give it a read and tell me what I can change??

If anybody is willing to read it please comment on the post and I will send it to you dm.

Thanks

Just looking for some extra help regarding the supplementals for UT Austin before the deadline this week, reach out through DMS if you're willing to help. Thank you! :)

Hey everyone, can someone please kindly read my essay? Thank you in advance

Hi there. I’m applying for the Astrobiology and Planetary Sciences Master’s program at Edinburgh, aiming to start in September 2027. I’ve never been so sure about wanting something, not even when I chose my undergraduate major. That’s also why I’ve never been so afraid of not getting in.

I’ll be an international student; since I’m from Mexico, it’s important for me to apply during this admission cycle so I have enough time to apply for all the scholarships I need to help fund my studies in the UK (I’ll end up in debt regardless, but the goal is to minimize it a bit).

My undergraduate degree is in Biotechnology. Right now, my personal statement is a bit longer than necessary, so I’ll obviously be trimming it down. Even so, every time I read it, it seems worse than the last time. I would be truly grateful for some outside feedback. I also need to write the "Relevant Knowledge and Training Skills" section, and I’d appreciate any advice on that as well.

Before you mentioned it, yes I will also ask my lab director since I trust her and she has a lot od experience, but she is always busy and I would like to have something more solid and know if I'm in the right track before bothering her. I can't really ask friends an family since most don't speak English nor have any experience on this (Just like me!)

To be honest, I feel like I’m generally bad at this sort of thing; most universities in Mexico don’t ask for a personal statement. The idea that my admission hinges on an essay where I have to prove my worth feels crazy and terrifying to me, simply because I never learned how to "sell myself."

So, I anyone is willing to give it a read, I would be so grateful. If you are interested please send a DM!

I just the rough draft of my college essay that is due soon and I was hoping that someone could read it and give me constructive criticism. I know it isn't the best but I want others opinions on things I need to work on. Thanks!

Hello everyone! 👋🏽

My name is Nchukie Divine Delon Ntohnui, an African student from Cameroon navigating the college application process. I’ve just finished writing my personal statement, and I would really appreciate it if anyone with some free time and an interest in helping could review it. I’m open to honest feedback, suggestions, and constructive criticism that could help me improve my essay. If you’re willing to spare a little time to help me out, I’d be incredibly grateful. Every bit of feedback would mean a lot to me as I continue this journey.

Thank you!

Would love to hear everyone’s thoughts on this one. What’s the general consensus on opening a college essay with a really compelling childhood memory?
The story would be from when the student was quite young and obviously isn’t part of the high school or even middle school experience, but it’s a memorable, interesting hook that connects directly to who he is today and creates a theme that can be carried throughout the essay.
Our college application specialist strongly disagrees with using a childhood memory and feels the essay should focus on more recent experiences.
For those who have been through this process, have you heard similar advice? Do you think a strong childhood story works if it quickly connects to the student’s present-day interests, growth, and goals, or is it better to stick with something more recent?

Hi can someone review my college essays I'm applying to mostly t20-t40 schools so please be harsh about it and please don't steal it or anything. don't dm me if you're in high school

One of my UC piqs is based on me confronting someone (peacefully and verbally dw lol) who stole money from my company (it was like a loan given to them to have them run an errand/buy something for us, and they just ran off with the money) and my college counselor wants me to switch my topic into some other company dispute (like project conflicts or communication issues, etc. which I think is boring…) because she thinks the a topic around a “legal dispute” isn’t a good topic for a college essay.
I personally disagree as I feel this is a much more interesting event than like other common issues that many others may write about. I just kinda need some second opinions before I decide to keep or scrap this theme entirely. Thanks guys 🙏

Hello, I’m looking for people to read my personal essay (the general Common App one). Any help is greatly appreciated.

I think I've finished the very rough draft of my college essay,and I need feedback on what I could add or anything.

Please keep in mind this is my very first draft and I am going to edit it in the future, so it dosent look all that polished.

Here's the link if your interested:

DM me if your interested in seeing the draft!

Hi I would love some real feedback because I asked my English teacher and she sent me back a chat gpt edited version 💀. Looking for some real feedback and also willing to rewrite my essay if the topic is bad/too generic. Please comment if youre willing!

Can someone please review my rough draft of my personal statement and offer feedback? It’s slightly over the word limit and not formatted into the proper paragraphs yet. I recognize that the conclusion is not as effective as it could be, but I honestly don’t know how to move forward as it took me a while to even write it.

Please reply if willing to read and I’ll send in dms!!

So baiscally I'm writing my college essay about my journaling hobby. My hook is basically me throwing paper into the trash b/c I'm unsatisfied. Next paragraph I jump to when I was 14 baking cookies and how I liked making them symmetrical (but i'm thinking about cutting this part-not sure). Next I go back to journaling and basically how much I love do calligraphy with it and stuff. Then I talk about my note taking, and that's basically the realization that I'm like going overboard with making things 'look pretty'. The last few paragraphs basically talk about how this taught me the importance of doing things in moderation and always looking at the bigger picture. Basically I'm trying to use the journaling as a metaphor. Please give me advice on this

hi! would anyone be willing to take a look at my first draft of my personal statement. it is on service and humility and how it can often be misconstrued in my own life. it is still definitely a work in progress but i just want to get some insight on how effective it is at portraying what i am trying to say.