OliviaJames
New member
- Joined
- Feb 24, 2026
- Messages
- 8
I've been scrolling through this forum for a while, and I see so much shame and guilt around using writing services. People calling it cheating. People saying you don't deserve your acceptance. People acting like it's a moral failing. And I need to offer a different perspective. Because I'm a first-generation college student, I paid someone to help me with my essay, and I don't regret it at all. 
My background: My parents immigrated here before I was born. They work manual labor jobs. They speak English, but not fluently. They love me more than anything, but they couldn't help me with my college applications. They didn't know how. They didn't know what a personal statement was. They didn't know what colleges were looking for. They just kept saying, "Study hard, get good grades, you'll get in." But it's not that simple, is it?
The struggle: I go to a large public high school with one counselor for every 500 students. I couldn't get an appointment to save my life. My teachers were nice, but they were overwhelmed. I had no one to read my drafts, no one to give me feedback, no one to tell me if I was on the right track. I wrote draft after draft, and they were all terrible. Not because I'm a bad writer—I get A's in English—but because I had no idea what a college essay was supposed to be. I'd never seen one. I didn't know the format, the tone, the expectations. I was flying blind.
The decision: A friend from my debate team told me about a service she used. She said, "It's not cheating. It's leveling the playing field. Rich kids have consultants. We have this." I thought about it for weeks. I felt guilty. I felt like I should be able to do it myself. But then I thought about all the advantages other kids have that I don't—private tutors, parents who went to college, connections, legacy status. Was it really wrong to use one tool to even things out?
The process: I found a service that matched me with a writer who specialized in first-gen students. We had a long video call where I told her about my life. About my parents' sacrifices. About working at my uncle's restaurant. About being the translator for my family since I was eight. About the pressure of being the first one to do this. She listened. She asked questions. She took notes. Then she wrote a draft that made me cry.
Why it wasn't cheating: The essay was MY story. MY words (mostly). MY voice. She just helped me structure it, helped me find the thread, helped me express things I didn't know how to say. She was like a coach, not a replacement. I spent hours revising her draft, changing sentences, adding details, making sure it sounded like me. By the end, it was mine. But I couldn't have gotten there without her.
The result: I got into a top liberal arts college with a full ride. Full ride. I'm here now, typing this from my dorm room. And I know, I absolutely KNOW, that I belong here. My grades prove it. My hard work proves it. My story proves it. The essay just helped them see what I already knew.
The guilt: Sometimes I read threads like this and feel a twinge of doubt. Did I cheat? Am I a fraud? But then I look around at my classmates, many of whom had private consultants, expensive prep courses, parents who edited their essays. And I realize: I just played the same game, with the tools I had. The system wasn't built for kids like me. I had to find my own way in. And I did.
To other first-gen students: If you're struggling, if you feel alone, if you don't know how to do this—get help. Any help you can. From a teacher, a counselor, a friend, a paid service. You are not cheating. You are surviving. And your story deserves to be told, even if you need help telling it.
Anyone else out there navigating this as a first-gen?
My background: My parents immigrated here before I was born. They work manual labor jobs. They speak English, but not fluently. They love me more than anything, but they couldn't help me with my college applications. They didn't know how. They didn't know what a personal statement was. They didn't know what colleges were looking for. They just kept saying, "Study hard, get good grades, you'll get in." But it's not that simple, is it?
The struggle: I go to a large public high school with one counselor for every 500 students. I couldn't get an appointment to save my life. My teachers were nice, but they were overwhelmed. I had no one to read my drafts, no one to give me feedback, no one to tell me if I was on the right track. I wrote draft after draft, and they were all terrible. Not because I'm a bad writer—I get A's in English—but because I had no idea what a college essay was supposed to be. I'd never seen one. I didn't know the format, the tone, the expectations. I was flying blind.
The decision: A friend from my debate team told me about a service she used. She said, "It's not cheating. It's leveling the playing field. Rich kids have consultants. We have this." I thought about it for weeks. I felt guilty. I felt like I should be able to do it myself. But then I thought about all the advantages other kids have that I don't—private tutors, parents who went to college, connections, legacy status. Was it really wrong to use one tool to even things out?
The process: I found a service that matched me with a writer who specialized in first-gen students. We had a long video call where I told her about my life. About my parents' sacrifices. About working at my uncle's restaurant. About being the translator for my family since I was eight. About the pressure of being the first one to do this. She listened. She asked questions. She took notes. Then she wrote a draft that made me cry.
Why it wasn't cheating: The essay was MY story. MY words (mostly). MY voice. She just helped me structure it, helped me find the thread, helped me express things I didn't know how to say. She was like a coach, not a replacement. I spent hours revising her draft, changing sentences, adding details, making sure it sounded like me. By the end, it was mine. But I couldn't have gotten there without her.
The result: I got into a top liberal arts college with a full ride. Full ride. I'm here now, typing this from my dorm room. And I know, I absolutely KNOW, that I belong here. My grades prove it. My hard work proves it. My story proves it. The essay just helped them see what I already knew.
The guilt: Sometimes I read threads like this and feel a twinge of doubt. Did I cheat? Am I a fraud? But then I look around at my classmates, many of whom had private consultants, expensive prep courses, parents who edited their essays. And I realize: I just played the same game, with the tools I had. The system wasn't built for kids like me. I had to find my own way in. And I did.
To other first-gen students: If you're struggling, if you feel alone, if you don't know how to do this—get help. Any help you can. From a teacher, a counselor, a friend, a paid service. You are not cheating. You are surviving. And your story deserves to be told, even if you need help telling it.
Anyone else out there navigating this as a first-gen?
