Because the admissions cycle is hard enough, here’s a little story of having hope during (and surviving) the process.

When the word “waitlist” appeared in bold on my decision portal, I slammed my laptop shut so fast it nearly caught my fingers. I had braced for rejection, prayed for acceptance, and instead landed in the purgatory no one prepares you for. I’m not a betting woman, but if you had asked me then whether I thought I’d get in, I would’ve said no. Still, seeing it stung.

I was flooded with emotions. Yes, I was sad I didn’t get into BC Law. But I was also weirdly content because I hadn’t expected much to begin with. My LSAT score was (and still is) nothing to brag about. I couldn’t say I was surprised. Yet disappointment, relief, shame, and confusion all hit at once: disappointed I didn’t make it, relieved it wasn’t a no, ashamed that classmates were admitted while I wasn’t, and confused about what the next three years might look like.

So, I did what most twenty-somethings do in a crisis: I called my parents. After explaining my waitlist status, my dad said words I’ll never forget:

“Did you think it was going to be that easy? Things like this you have to keep working at.”

At first, I rolled my eyes. Hadn’t I already worked hard enough? I took the LSAT three times. I self-studied for six months, then did a two-month class, then a three-month online course that ran late into the night during my senior fall. I applied to 12 schools, churned out countless drafts of personal statements and supplements, and worked at BC Law’s Career Services Office. All while leading clubs, working for a criminal defense attorney, and trying to keep my GPA (and sanity) intact. If effort alone earned admission, I figured I’d already paid my dues.

Still, I knew he was right. I had been denied by a good chunk of my schools, accepted into a few I’d predicted, and now BC had given me something rare: a second bite at the apple.

Although I had a competitive undergraduate GPA, the odds weren’t in my favor. My LSAT was… like I said…humble. I was applying as a K-JD, a comparatively smaller group in most entering classes. And the word on the street was that applications had hit record highs. But instead of folding, I decided to make it my mission to keep showing up.

This wasn’t my first brush with waitlists. Back in high school, I had stellar grades, a solid resume, and an SAT score that (like my LSAT) barely held me afloat. I was waitlisted almost everywhere, rejected from the schools I’d dreamed of, and accepted at the ones I expected. Then, somehow, I was surprisingly admitted to Boston College – where no one from my high school had gone in more than a decade. I didn’t ask questions; I just ran with it.

So when I was waitlisted at BC Law, it felt like déjà vu. Had my luck finally run out? Was I peaking at 21? Would I be the girl from Rhode Island whose professional ticket expired after undergrad? The imposter syndrome hit differently: less “I don’t belong here” and more “will I ever amount to anything?” to put it lightly.

But Dad’s advice stuck. A waitlist wasn’t the end; it was an opening. So I made a plan.

I wrote letters. In February, I updated BC about joining an honor society and becoming a TA for a Business Law professor (shoutout Professor Wesner, who also wrote me a recommendation). In May, I sent news about graduating with distinction, my summer job, and how transformative working at BC Law’s Career Services had been. In June, I told them about a scholarship I’d received, a criminal trial I was helping with, and, most importantly, reiterated my commitment to attending BC Law. Every step of the way, I wanted them to know I wasn’t just interested. I was all in.

Meanwhile, life went on. I committed to a law school in Pennsylvania, found roommates, and even sent in part of a rental application. I was preparing for a five-hour move to a city I’d never lived in, all while still clinging to the hope that I could stay in the place that already felt like home.

Then, on Thursday, June 26, at 9:53 a.m., the email landed. Laura Timmerman from BC Law Admissions asked me to call about my waitlist status. I dropped everything and dialed immediately. My heart pounded as she said the words I thought I’d never hear: “We’d like to offer you a seat.”

Tears, joy, glee, gratitude – all at once. I accepted on the spot. (And thank goodness I hadn’t signed that Pennsylvania lease yet.)

Getting off the waitlist wasn’t just an admissions win – it was a lesson. Writing letters, updating resumes, and staying persistent mattered, but what really carried me through was learning patience, practicing gratitude, and trusting the process. If I’d been admitted on the first try, I might never have learned those things.

I’m endlessly grateful for the people who kept me grounded – my parents, professors, friends, and family – each reminding me that things happen for a reason. Whether you find yourself on a waitlist, admitted on the first try, or facing a rejection, take the time to sit with it. Every outcome, no matter how it looks at first, holds space for growth, gratitude, and reflection.

Now, when I walk through the halls of Stuart and East Wing, I carry gratitude with me. Every class, every conversation, every late night of reading feels less like a grind and more like a privilege. And while I still don’t know what exactly got me off the waitlist – my letters, my timing, or just plain luck – I do know this: the experience made me appreciate being here more than I ever thought possible.

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Bella Calise is a first-year student at BC Law. Contact her at calisei@bc.edu.