Exam Day and My Experience

I come from a traditional, career-focused family. Growing up, my parents made it very clear: there would be no marriage, no engagement, no progression of my relationship unless my bar exams were cleared. No pass = no ring. My life was in limbo. Marriage? Kids? Off the table. These exams weren’t just exams—they were the terms and conditions for my future. So when exam day finally came around, it not only carried the weight of determining when my legal career would start, but it also carried the emotional weight of determining when I could think about my wedding and be able to openly discuss a future with my partner.

Let me tell you about my first barrister exam sitting—also known as the day my soul briefly left my body. The exam hall looked like a legal dystopian society. I arrived and found my seat at Table 456. I laid out my material like I was preparing for battle: 13 booklets of material, each one thicker than the last. It felt like I had printed the Magna Carta, the Constitution, the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, and every other Canadian law written in the history of mankind. I gave up trying to study in that last hour because, honestly, what was I going to absorb? Instead, I did my favourite pastime activity, people-watching.

I people-watched like I was going to be tested on human behaviour in high-pressure environments. I looked around and saw a rather puzzling variety of candidates—some people brought in two pages or resources total; others had what looked like every book in the Toronto Public Library printed out. Cue: full-blown panic. Did I bring in too much? Too little? Am I already doomed? I told myself, “Breathe in. Breathe out. You prepared for this.” (Spoiler: I had prepared. However, I did not prepare for panic-based memory loss.) Fifteen minutes before the start of the exam, my heartbeat began to pick up the pace, and my feet started to perform under the table—I'm sure the proctors thought my anxiety tap dance was good enough to be a Broadway number.

Before you know it, it was go time. Within minutes, my logic and time management skills left the building. I clung to questions like a shipwreck survivor clings to their lifejacket. I refused to move on to the next questions until I found the answer, even though the exam had many other questions waiting to be tackled. I looked up to give my eyes a quick break … that was NOT the move. To my right: a guy staring blankly, hands cupping his face, in full existential surrender. To my left: someone crying and praying. I tried to send them a telepathic message saying ‘Please pray for me too,’ but they didn’t (hinting at the outcome here…). In front of me: my reflection in my water bottle saying, This is fine. This is totally fine. Everything sucks, but it’s fine. I ran out of time. Family Law and Public Law remained untouched in their entirety.

After the exam, I went home and sobbed. Not the cute, cinematic kind of crying. Like the ugly crying while clutching my pink highlighter kind of crying. At the height of my emotions, I made the ultimate mistake: I opened Reddit. (Note to future test-takers: DO. NOT. DO. THIS.) People were posting things like, “That exam was so easy!”. I died a little inside, not going to lie. I prayed harder than I ever had in my life. But when results dropped, there it was: “Fail.” Even though I saw it coming, it crushed me. It was my first real failure. And it took a long time to sit with that.

But I didn’t quit. I printed all my materials again. Took the exam again. Improved a lot. But still—another fail. Was I discouraged? Of course. Did I crawl into a pit of self-doubt? Yessir. But did I give up? Absolutely not. I sat the exam a third and final time. This time, I had tools—not just booklets and charts, but better anxiety management, better pacing, and a better mindset. I walked in with fear, but also determination. I walked out with no solid idea of how it went, but one solid truth: I did my best.

Exam day is wild. It’s unpredictable. It’ll make you doubt yourself, compare yourself, and wonder if everyone else somehow knew a secret you didn’t. It will shake you. But it doesn’t have to break you. Whether you're underprepared, overprepared, or just very caffeinated and hoping for the best—know that you’re not alone. You got this. And as I wait for my third set of results, all I can do is hope that “third time’s the charm” isn’t just a cliché... but my actual bar experience motto.

Sincerely,

Ms. Overprepared Yet Somehow Still Underprepared