Bar Grit: A Journey of Faith, Fear, and Fighting Through

 

They say prayers move mountains—but only when matched with hard work and grit. God does miracles, yes—but often for those who show up with unwavering faith and quiet perseverance.

 

With the 2025 Bar exams drawing near, I want to share my journey—from knowing almost nothing about the legal profession to finally earning the hard-won title of “Attorney.” This isn’t a story of brilliance, but of endurance. And if you’re struggling with life while chasing your dream, maybe this is for you.

 

I’ve mentioned in previous blogs that becoming a lawyer wasn’t really my dream at first. Nobody in my family or circle was a lawyer. We were far from financially secure. My parents did what they could to make ends meet. I knew from the start that going to law school would be a stretch—for them and for me.

 

There were days I felt torn. Should I find a job to help support my family? Or should I study full-time to keep up with the demands of law school? I had no idea what was ahead. Coming from the province, I wasn’t even used to commuting in the city, let alone navigating Makati’s fast-paced life.

 

Law school was a world of its own. Professors didn’t go easy. Once, I was told bluntly, “Wala ka sa palengke,” and I stood almost the whole class while reciting. There were more nerve-wracking days than wins. I often felt like throwing up before class or skipping it altogether—but I showed up. I reminded myself: My parents are sacrificing so much for me to be here. I had to endure.

 

Eventually, I found my rhythm. I joined a sorority (secretly), which became a source of support—notes, reviewers, and advice from upperclassmen. By third year, I landed a part-time job with flexible hours. Many of my colleagues were also law students or bar reviewers, so I didn’t feel alone. I still worked hard—determined not to waste a single cent my parents earned.

 

But behind the scenes, life was difficult. I remember one painful time when a family argument got out of hand and I ended up with a bruise near my eye. I covered it with concealer and told my classmates I had an eye infection. I kept showing up for class despite everything because missing a recitation wasn’t an option. Home wasn’t always a peaceful place to study, but I learned to focus even amid chaos. That, too, was part of my training.

 

I also had a classmate who frequently checked in to ask how far along I was with readings. It was thoughtful, but sometimes overwhelming. I couldn’t always talk, especially when things were noisy at home. I’d make excuses or cut the call short. It wasn’t easy balancing external noise with internal pressure—but I tried.

 

Then came bar review.

 

I first rented a dorm near the review center. The pressure there was intense—everyone seemed ahead, reading more, knowing more. My review buddy and I created a rigid plan: first reading, second reading, pre-week memorization. We gave up lectures just to have time to study on our own. It felt like a gamble, but we were desperate to make the most of our time.

 

Somewhere along the way, I hit a wall. Anxiety crept in. I missed home. I moved back—but home wasn’t conducive for studying. Eventually, I found myself staying in one of my aunt’s apartment units, with only a mattress and a fan. My mom would bring food. But just a month before the bar, things got complicated again, and I had to leave.

 

Thankfully, a kind-hearted family took me in. No conditions. No expectations. Just a quiet place to study, free of charge. I had to swallow my pride—but I was grateful beyond words.

 

The Bar exams came. The first Sunday was a nightmare. Political Law was unlike anything I expected. Most questions were unfamiliar. I cried after that exam. But I had to compose myself and face Labor Law next. One Sunday at a time, I fought through the anxiety and exhaustion. By the fourth Sunday, I was running on fumes—physically, emotionally, mentally.

 

After the exams, I threw away most of my reviewers. I couldn’t even bring myself to read suggested answers. I needed space to breathe, to heal. While waiting for the results, I tried to move forward and focus on getting a job. But one thing never changed: my devotion to God.

 

In those uncertain months, I prayed like never before. I was honest with God—even desperate. “Lord, if I don’t pass, I don’t know how I’ll survive.” Still, I prayed not just to pass, but to top. That was something our professor—now the Chief Justice—taught us: always aim high. Even if you fall short, you land somewhere better than where you started.

 

And when the results were released—I made it. I passed. Miraculously.

God didn’t fail me. He carried me through. That moment changed my life, not just professionally but spiritually. It taught me humility, faith, and the power of not giving up when everything tells you to.

 

But more than anything, I’m deeply thankful to my parents. They were the first ones who believed I could make it—even when I didn’t fully believe in myself. Their sacrifices, big and small, kept me going. I know I’ve made them proud, and I’m still striving every day to make them prouder. No words will ever be enough to repay that kind of love and faith—but I hope my life becomes proof that it wasn’t in vain.

 

I share this story for anyone who feels they’re at the edge—those studying for the Bar, or board exams, or just battling personal storms. Maybe your struggles are heavier than mine. Maybe you’ve thought of giving up. If so, please hold on. Trust that your hard work, your tears, your sleepless nights—they all mean something. And in time, they will bear fruit.

 

And when that day comes—when you finally get what you prayed for—don’t forget to give thanks, pay it forward, stay grounded, and live a life worthy of the blessing.

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