The thought of writing my college essay gave me such anxiety, and not in a way most of my high school friends have it but in a way of being worried about the admission staff thinking I was stupid. I spent multiple sleepless nights trying to figure out how to tell my own mother I didn’t get into any colleges because I’m simply just stupid. I talked a lot but once the topic of college essays came up all I could do was keep my mouth shut and bite the inside of my cheek until it went numb. I was ashamed of the way I wrote and my thought process behind writing, because I would never be able to articulate my words into sentences I could write on paper. 

When colleges came to visit my school, I dreaded it. I would try to find the furthest seat from the front of the auditorium and tune out the admissions representatives, but it was a lost cause. Trying to tune them out only made them louder in my head. Every minute that went by I’d slowly sink into my seat increasingly, as if quicksand was engulfing my body, suffocating me. In moments of anxiety, I relied on my ADHD to distract myself, but this was something I couldn’t escape.

During the assembly’s there was constant flashback replaying of me trying to answer the common app questions over the summer. Having to sit in my room and google translate a fourth of the words was defeating. I never struggled to do anything alone, I was used to doing anything involving English alone, but this was the first time I had no clue on what I was doing. I never asked for help. I never needed help. 

In the beginning of my senior year my favorite faculty member Ms. Knowles offered to help me with my essay. At first, I was skeptical because in my head I believed no one could help my horrible writing but I still took the help. I wrote a couple drafts, showing Ms. Knowles, but there was a lot to work on. I didn’t just simply know that, because she had to fix them, but because I didn’t try my best, I thought my fate was already set. A sense of guilt washed over me as my mom started asking how the process of the college essay was going. That night I spent three hours completely rewriting my essay, I felt confident in what I wrote before going to bed, but the next morning I started doubting myself once again since I had to actually show Ms. Knowles what I wrote.

We were in the library when I admitted to her for the fifth time that I rewrote my essay and she asked to see it, never complaining about my change of plans. Trying to hide my shaky hands, I shared to her my google doc so she could read it at home. The next time we met to work on my essay she told me she had goosebumps reading my intro. All the sudden my eyes started burning and tears welled up in the corners of them, ignoring that feeling I tried to change the topic by asking her what I did wrong, but this time there was only a few comments on the document. I thought she was just being nice because I’ve been trying to write the essay for two months. 

She proceeded to tell me how much I have improved in my drafts, and for the first time ever I wasn’t so conscious, I started to become proud of myself. Within two days of me writing the last draft I had finished my essay completely. I even got the courage to read it to my mother, although she didn’t understand some of it, she sat through all of it and even clapped for me at the end. “Neni, you sound so smart in English, you are so lucky”, my mother remarked. The same burning feeling that was in the library happened again, but this time I didn’t swat it away, I embraced it. I was crying happy tears, in that moment I stopped being so angry at myself.

Although the essay was done, I still had the supplements I had to do, but this time I wasn’t afraid. I let Ms. Knowles help me again, not being worried that I would be judged, or that I was a lost cause. We sat in the library together, going through each college I applied to and seeing which needed supplements. I had 16 supplements to do, which caused my anxiety to peek through again, once I started writing, it disappeared realizing to myself that I got this.

As the days got closer to the deadlines to apply, being worried faded away. In each application I embraced the fact that I knew three languages, and that I wasn’t born in New York. I stopped victimizing myself, using what I thought were weaknesses, as strengths. I explained all my hardships as lessons that improved my skills that I gained in life. 

Getting my first acceptance email solidified that what I worried about was not true, that I’m not stupid. Calling my mother and telling her I got accepted into my first college is a feeling I could never explain. The acceptance to the City College of New York was just the start of my acceptances. Email after email I was getting accepted into most of the colleges I applied for, making me think it can’t get better than this. 

On Wednesday March 26, 2025, I received a letter that completely changed all the doubts I had about myself. Not only did I receive an acceptance letter from Wheaton College in Massachusetts, but I also received a 38-thousand-dollar scholarship. Even getting a handwritten letter from a staff member expressing their excitement on the diverse background I had. 

Although I didn’t attend Wheaton, I proved my doubts wrong. It wasn’t the way I wrote that limited me, it was me. Learning that what I have gone through wasn’t my weakness was the hardest lesson I have ever learned. I began to love the quirks in my writing, because they make me who I am. How I write shows the story of who I am, the beauty of all that I’ve experienced.