After years of working with high school students on college and career planning, there is one part of the college application process that has caused me—and our essay coach—more heartache than almost anything else:

Not because students aren’t capable of writing. They are.
Not because they don’t have stories to tell. They do.
And certainly not because they aren’t interesting. They are.

The problem is that students spend years learning how to write one kind of essay in school, and then, suddenly, the college application asks them to do something very different.

And nobody has really explained the difference.

So I have spent years watching the same thing happen.
A student writes an essay. They love it. Their parents love it. It sounds polished. It tells a great story. It highlights something impressive.

And I have to sit there and say: “We’re going to have to take this apart.”

Cue the heartbreak.

I understand why parents want their student’s essay to be perfect.
You’ve watched your child work hard for years.
You’ve seen the late nights, the activities, the accomplishments, the disappointments and the growth.
You know how competitive college admissions can be.

So naturally, when it’s time to write the personal statement, the instinct is: “Let’s make sure they look really good.”

Let’s highlight their accomplishments.
Let’s demonstrate their character.
Let’s make them sound mature.
Let’s make sure there are no mistakes.
Let’s make sure the writing is sophisticated.
Let’s make sure the admissions officer sees what an incredible student this is.

And I get it. But here’s the problem:
The personal statement isn’t supposed to prove that your student is perfect.

In fact, trying too hard to make a student look perfect can make the essay feel less authentic.

Admissions officers aren’t expecting a finished adult. They’re looking at a teenager who is about to enter adulthood. They know students are still figuring things out. They know students make mistakes. They know students have insecurities. They know students don’t have life completely figured out.

And that’s actually good news. Because your student doesn’t have to present a perfect version of themselves. They need to present an honest one.

This is the distinction I wish I could put on a giant billboard outside every high school:

High school essays often ask, “WHAT do you think?”
College personal statements are much more interested in “HOW do you think?”

Those are two very different questions. Think about the essays students have been writing throughout high school. They are often given a topic. Research it. Develop a position. Explain what you think. Support your answer. Get to the conclusion. Students become very good at doing this.

So when they sit down to write a college essay, what happens?

They naturally do what they’ve been trained to do. They tell us what happened. They tell us what they accomplished. They tell us what they learned. They tell us what kind of person they are. They tell us they are resilient. They tell us they are compassionate. They tell us they are hardworking. They tell us they are leaders. They tell us about the championship. The mission trip. The internship. The volunteer experience. The family vacation. The difficult class. The job.

And then they wonder why I’m asking them: “Okay…but who are YOU?”

This is the concept I have struggled for years to communicate clearly.

And I’ve finally found the simplest way to say it: The event is the vehicle. You are the story.

This is exactly why I created my College Essay Workbook.

After years of watching students write an essay they loved—only to discover we had to dismantle it and dig deeper—I wanted to create a process that helped students get there right away, rather than after they’ve already fallen in love with the wrong story.