r/CollegeEssays • u/Upper_Efficiency8082 • 13h ago
Supplemental Essay Please review my college essay (2 Versions Choose whichever you like best rate and give feedback please)
Draft 1
A gun to my side on the bus. A break-in at my home, just me and my little brother inside. I still ask myself why those two men didn’t just pull the trigger if all they wanted was to leave me with memories that will traumatize me forever. Why leave me with the fear that follows me on my way home every day? Why make me feel unsafe in the one place that’s supposed to be my haven, my home?
They got to live their lives. And I was just a kid wondering if I’d live to see tomorrow. Wondering if my little brother would be okay. Wondering why me?
Maybe it was because I already lived with severe fear, anxiety, no confidence, this aching belief that I had no talent, no real purpose. Or maybe it was because this wasn’t the first time I had a gun pointed at me, not by strangers but by my mother.
Ever since I graduated 8th grade, she’s said it repeatedly: “You’re going to be the first of us to make it. You’ll go to college. Do this for your brothers. For me.” I didn’t understand the weight of those words until I was in high school, drowning in expectations. First-gen. College-bound. The one to break the cycle. I wasn’t just carrying books. I was carrying my whole family’s hope and it was heavy.
How could I be the one when all I saw in the mirror was someone who wasn’t enough? No confidence. No talent. Just constant self-doubt having the gun to my head whispering, “You’ll never make it.”
Then I found debate.
At first, I thought it’d be another thing I’d fail at. I started later than most. I only had two years to learn what others had been doing for years. I felt small. Unintelligent. But something was different this time.
I didn’t let go. Even when I wanted to, even when anxiety gripped me so tight I could barely breathe before rounds. I stayed. I pushed. My coaches and teammates believed in me when I couldn’t. Slowly, I started to believe in myself too. I went from feeling like an outsider to making out rounds, placing in the top 16, and eventually becoming state champion. In my second year, I became captain.
For once, I felt powerful. Like I’d taken that gun I’d been holding to my head and reloaded it — not with fear, but with passion, ambition, confidence. I pulled the trigger, and instead of destroying me, it awakened something new.
But even then, the pressure didn’t stop. My mom still held her gun to my head, threatening to take debate away if I didn’t do better in school. Pushing me, pressuring me, telling me I had to succeed because she never got the chance.
Eventually, I stopped letting her fear shape my future. I didn't wanna be shackled to school books, tests, and Lectures. I wanted to live and make the most of highschool, and debate was my way of doing that
I started living for myself. I picked up a new Gun. not of violence but of power: my voice. Debate gave me that. It gave me a future I couldn’t see before, a self I never thought I could become.
Maybe I’m just another statistic to you. Just another kid with a rough story.
But to me? I’ve changed everything. I may not have the perfect SAT score or GPA, but I’ve lived the hell out of high school. In my last few years. Traveling the world. Making friends from different states. Spending the summer on college campuses for debate camp, and making my coaches, teammates and even myself proud. I took my miserable life, and I’ve built something new out of pain. And now, I’m ready to take this version of me to Texas A&M.
Draft 2
Gun to my side on the bus. Break-in at my home, I still wonder why those men didn’t just pull the trigger if they were going to leave me scarred, afraid to ride the bus. Afraid to sleep in my house, why not just finish the job?
That’s the thing about guns. Sometimes they don’t go off but still strike something into you.
Ever since then, I’ve been trying to live with the sound of a silent shot. I ask myself, why me? Why was I the one left behind to carry this fear? Why did they get to walk away, while I was left stuck in that moment, body shaking, heart racing, wondering: Am I going to die? Why me?
Maybe because that wasn’t the first time I was held at gunpoint.
I’ve felt the cold press of the barrel before. Not made of metal, but pressure. Not from strangers, but from home. From the moment I graduated 8th grade, my mom loaded the chamber with expectations: “You’re going to be the first to make it out. You’re going to college. For your brothers. For me.”
I didn’t know that those words came with their own kind of trigger.
I didn’t understand that “making it” meant carrying the weight of being a first-gen student,. That I was supposed to aim higher than anyone before me but how? when I didn’t even believe in myself. I walked through HighSchool with a gun to my head every day, not from anyone else, but from within: You’re not good enough. You don’t matter. You’ll never make it. Click. Click. Click.
Every day, the pressure built inside and out. At home, at school, in my mind. It felt like I was constantly dodging bullets I couldn’t even see. Expectations. Doubts. Fears. I kept my head down, hoping to survive another day.
And then one day, I stumbled into the debate room.
I didn’t walk in thinking it would save me. Honestly, I thought it’d be another place where I wouldn’t measure up, where I’d hear more voices, and shrink back like always. I thought it was just another bullet, another chance to fail. I started late. I was lost. Everyone seemed smarter and faster. But debate didn’t give me a way to hide. It handed me a mic and dared me to speak.
Something about standing up, speaking out, and thinking hard and fast made it feel like grabbing the gun back, like maybe, for once, I could choose where to aim it.
I reloaded the clip not with fear, but with purpose. I pulled the trigger. And this time, the shot didn’t wound me, it woke me up.
I got Better with every round, loss, and shaky speech. My coaches and teammates saw something in me I didn’t, and eventually, I saw it, too. I made it to the out-rounds of almost every tournament, the top 16, state champion, and then captain.
For the first time, the gun wasn’t something I was running from, it was something I’d learned to carry. Not as a weapon to destroy myself, but a symbol of my power. My voice. My control.
But at home My mom still raised that same pressure cocked and loaded. “Do better or I’ll take debate away.” “Do better than I ever could”. The barrel was still against my head.
But something had changed.
I didn’t flinch this time. I stopped letting her fear pull the trigger on my future. I stopped being a target. I started being the one aiming not to hurt, but to build. To choose.
Now I’m the one holding it. And I’ve learned where to aim it. Not at my head but. Toward something better. Toward (Texas A&M), where I can keep building this version of myself: not a victim, not a statistic — but a survivor who finally took the safety off his potential.