Before and after taking the bar examination, I wrote on multiple sticky notes: “I will pass the July 2026 Georgia Bar Exam on my first try” over and over. Unfortunately, the manifestation did not work.
Was it a confidence issue? Did I study too little? Did I misquote the law? So many people said, “If I could pass, then you’ll surely pass,” so what does failing the bar exam say about me? Am I suddenly unworthy of being a lawyer? Are all those lessons I learned over the past three years moot because I failed a test for the first time in my life?
No.
I was confident during testing and throughout most of the waiting period for score release. Then, about two weeks before scores were due to come out, I suddenly had trouble sleeping. I woke up every hour hoping that it was already Friday, September 18 so that I could be free from the limbo. I felt like Schrödinger’s cat; I both passed and failed until scores were released to determine my fate.
I saw on LinkedIn last year that Georgia’s letter to passing bar takers began with, “Congratulations! You passed,” in bold letters. I chanted the words to myself, willing it to be my destiny. At 8:12 AM on Friday, I sat in my mother’s room while my dear friend called in on FaceTime; both were excited for me and had no doubts that I would pass on my first try. I opened the letter and searched and searched, but I did not see those beautiful, bolded words. In fact, the only bold letters read, “If you would like to sit for the February 2027 Bar Exam…” I immediately stopped reading. Because why on earth would those words be in bold if I passed the July exam already?
I had to tell my mother and friend that I did not pass. Their faces fell even further than my own. I was simply in shock. This could not be happening. My mother repeatedly asserted that I must be joking. It stung even worse that I was being the most serious that I had ever been.
When I was alone in my room, I cried. And when a law school friend, out of the blue, texted me, “I’m here for you, friend,” I cried even harder, embarrassed after remembering that Georgia publicly posts the list of passing test takers at noon. My name obviously was not on that list.
Embarrassment.
My mother told so many people that I would be a lawyer in September. Her friends said I should not be nervous because they knew I already passed. My friends said my hard work would obviously pay off. My family reminded me that I had never failed a test before, so I would not fail this one. I was the very vocal cheerleader for myself and my friends on the testing days of the bar. So many things that once brought positive attention now reminded me that I created an expectation of passing this test. I was embarrassed because so many people knew how hard I tried, and those same people now knew that my effort resulted in failure.
I cried some more, logged into my Georgia Bar Exam applicant portal, ignored the letter showing my exam results, and requested eligibility to take the February 2027 exam. Then I listened to my “crying playlist,” which included songs like “I Say So” by Chloe x Halle, “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley, and “Joy” by RAYE. These songs are on my crying playlist because of their shared theme: it cannot always be night. Things might be bad right now, but they will get better.
In the span of three days, I called and met with friends, ate delicious tacos, got angry while looking at my bar prep textbooks, paid for the bar exam, and created a diagnostic and study schedule in preparation for the February bar exam. I was the vision of productivity! I spoke with my cousin who failed the bar exam twice, and he reminded me that I should be present with the emotions without letting them overwhelm me. He gave me pause as I realized that some of my productivity was me running from the grief.
In addition to being sad and embarrassed, I was also grieving my plans that once seemed so concrete. On Friday afternoon, six hours after I learned that I did not pass the bar exam, I had an informational interview with an employer I was interested in. At the end of the call, the interviewer said I sounded like the perfect candidate for hire if only I had not failed the bar exam, as the employer needed an associate who could immediately work. That stung. I mostly applied for associate positions, so I know there will be many employers that feel the same. I was realizing that failing the bar exam had external repercussions, too.
I am writing this on Monday, September 21, three days after finding out that I did not pass the July 2026 Georgia Bar Exam on my first try. I am still grieving, much less embarrassed, ready to take on the studying again, and positive that it cannot always be night. I will not stop applying to jobs. I will not let my emotions overwhelm me, but I will not neglect them either. I will not stop being hopeful.
I will pass the February 2027 Georgia Bar Exam on my second try.
When applying to law school, I agonized for weeks about the hook for my personal statement. One of the ideas that I had—and ultimately did not choose—was to write about taking control and refusing to be a passenger in my own life. I was going to use song lyrics to tell my story. “Long Live the Chief” by Jidenna sat with me: “You can either sink, swim or be the captain.” The lyrics did not fit my personal statement, but I think they fit this new reality. I failed the bar exam. But I will not sink. I will swim like I learned last year. And I will be the captain of my narrative.
P.S. Thank you, my dear Gelato!