Last October I found myself googling those exact words while sitting in a small studio apartment I was renting for the weekend in Studio City. It was midnight, the street outside my window was surprisingly quiet, and I was curled in a ball on the mattress, scrolling through blog posts about failing the bar, tears still pouring out of my eyes.
I have cried very hard for a myriad of reasons throughout my life, but I’m still convinced I have never cried as hard as I did that night. I could barely catch my breath and I wanted answers. I wanted someone who’d experienced this to tell me it was okay. I wanted one blog to confirm that someone else had gone through this, survived, chosen not to take it again and their life had turned out perfectly. But there were none.
All of my sadness and frustration with failing boiled down to one thought: I have to take it again.