Within the first week of senior year, my English teacher gave my class a small but critical piece of advice: Don’t let a million people read your college essay. When I first heard this advice from Mrs. Kimball, I thought, “Yeah, that makes sense.” So why didn’t I listen?
It began with Mrs. Chevan’s opinion on a topic, which was, of course, biased toward the theme of theater. Her enthusiasm was contagious as I began to write my journey to the world of theater, naming this “Weird Theater Kid”.
Then my mother came in. Her passion for my future (college) was much appreciated, except when it came to her criticizing my experiences written on that trauma-inducing Google Doc. She read the first sentence of that essay and declared, “Well, this certainly isn’t your best work, Grace.” Thanks, Mom! Her next piece of advice? To start over, and write about the summer vacations she took me on. What??
Next I approached Mrs. Hulse with a new idea: “What if I wrote a story about how I came to want to be a nurse?” This became my “Empathy Born From Death” essay. She loved it. It took me a day to write a rough draft- remarkable considering my theater essay took 3. But this new essay had become over 800 words and that was a problem.
I decided to head to Mrs. Kimball next. This being the first essay I had showed her I was expecting a lot of criticism. Yet, when she read it, she simply said she liked it. How could that be? Did she even read it thoroughly? I couldn’t shake the feeling that something must be wrong.
Doubting myself, I returned to the library and found Mr. Clark. After reading both essays, he said, “’Empathy Born From Death’ is a bit too dramatic.” I asked about the theater piece. He acknowledged it was a good idea, but it just wasn’t well written.
Feeling disheartened and considering giving up on even submitting an essay, I went back to my mom, hoping for some encouragement. When she read “Empathy Born From Death,” she cried—probably because it was about her—but she liked it. Surprisingly, she also enjoyed the theater essay. Her feedback? To rewrite the whole thing while keeping the core idea. And thus, “The Dimensions of Me” was born.
After countless hours spent with Thesaurus, Grammarly, and even a literal dictionary, I finally crafted what I thought was a masterpiece. Nervously, I showed it to my mom, and this time, she loved it. She praised my writing skills and the personal touch of my experiences.
Feeling proud, I shared “The Dimensions of Me” with everyone: Mrs. Chevan, Mrs. Hulse, Mr. Clark, Mrs. Kimball, and even my dad. You’d think I’d learned my lesson by now, but I hadn’t. Each person had varied opinions.
Mrs. Chevan loved it, while Mrs. Hulse and Mr. Clark had a few suggestions. My dad, of course, had some rather critical thoughts. But it was Mrs. Kimball’s words that resonated the most. She told me, “This doesn’t sound like you. You don’t need to research artwork or use big words. You are enough.”
This story isn’t just about the warning about letting too many people read your essay; it’s about understanding that whatever you choose to write about is your decision and that you are enough.