# Why I Kept Walking Away From Law School (And Why I Finally Stopped)
Nobody crosses into their 40s and suddenly decides to chase something as serious as law school. That decision gets built over years of life, pressure, responsibility, and a quiet voice inside you that never really goes away. By the time you are seriously thinking about law school later in life, you have lived enough to know what you want and what you are no longer willing to tolerate. You are not guessing anymore. You are not still searching for yourself. You are finally answering something that has been waiting on you for a long time.
If you are anything like me, there was always a part of you that knew you were supposed to be a lawyer. But for whatever reason, you either never let that dream grow or you shut it down completely. Maybe it was family. Maybe it was geography. Maybe the cost of more education felt impossible. For me, I simply never felt at peace with the timing. I used to tell myself it was fear or anxiety, but that was not it. Every single time I considered law school, something inside me would say not right now.
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## More Adults Are Coming to Law School Later in Life. Here Is Why.
More mature adults in their late 30s, 40s, and 50s are applying to law school than ever before. For some it is a career pivot. For others, a personal mission or an unfinished dream. But if you look closely at what actually drives this group, it is rarely prestige or salary. It is something harder to name.
It is what happens when decades of real work, real loss, and real stakes make the law feel personally relevant in ways it never could have at 22. People in this group have sat across from systems that failed them. They have managed teams, buried parents, fought for benefits, raised children, and survived things that never made it onto a resume. By the time law school enters the picture again, it is not about becoming something. It is about finally having the standing and the urgency to do something that matters.
Whatever the reason, we always ask ourselves the same question. Am I too old?
Personally, I think that is the wrong question. The real question is: how do I do this right?
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## My Education Background (So You Understand the Context)
When I was young, I wanted to move straight through school without stopping. I had already taken a big pause when I joined the military at 17, right out of high school. By the time I got out, I had my associate degree, but four years had passed. My peers were finishing their bachelor’s degrees while I was just starting mine. I felt behind, so I focused and got it done. I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in business administration with minors in psychology, sociology, and management.
Right after that, I enrolled in an MBA program I could finish in one year. Before I started, I seriously considered law school. I even looked at a JD/MBA. I bought an LSAT book. I registered for the test. Because my wife and I had very little money at the time, I qualified for financial assistance, so the LSAT would have been free. But I still did not take it. I told myself I was afraid or lazy or unmotivated. In reality, I just never felt at peace about it.
I finished the MBA in one year. During that time, I realized I might enjoy teaching at the college level, which pulled me toward a PhD. When I walked across the stage for my master’s degree, other people were thinking about how much money they would make with their new credential. I was thinking about whether I should go to law school or get a PhD.
You can probably guess which one I chose.
Three years later, I was in Southern California graduating from my PhD program after an exhausting dissertation process. I was 28. And once again, I briefly thought about law school. I even considered a second PhD in political science because of my interest in law and government. But once again, I said no.
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## The Day I Turned Around in the Parking Lot
About five years after my PhD, the idea came back again. I signed up for the LSAT. I told myself I would actually take it this time. I bought the book, studied very little, and showed up on test day believing my natural intelligence would carry me.
I drove into the parking lot of the community college where the test was being held. I parked, got out of the car, and walked toward the building.
Then it happened again.
I stopped. I stared at the door and told myself that this was not what I was supposed to do. I turned around, got back in my car, and left.
It took a full decade after that moment before I made the decision again.
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## What Was Actually Happening in My Life
Before I get to what finally changed, I need to fill in some gaps.
Throughout all of this, I was married. My wife and I met while I was in the military and got married three months later. That fact alone should make it clear that my avoidance of the LSAT had nothing to do with fear of commitment. During most of these years, we were raising three children. We started our family while we were undergraduates and finished having kids during our master’s programs. My wife, like me, went from a bachelor’s degree to a master’s degree and eventually to a PhD.
Why does that matter? Because although this story is about me, what surprises many people is that my wife also signed up for the LSAT later in life, only a year behind me.
I am a 100 percent disabled veteran. I was injured on active duty in the U.S. Navy, which left me with a range of health issues, including PTSD as well as chronic leg and back problems. Those disabilities stayed with me throughout my professional career and constantly challenged my ability to work. One day I felt capable and confident. The next, I knew I was not. The symptoms were unpredictable, intense, and often controlling.
My wife picked up the slack whenever she could and never stopped supporting me or the direction my life was taking. Over time, however, my struggle with PTSD led to legal trouble. I want to be clear that I take full responsibility for my actions, and those matters were fully resolved years ago. With treatment, discipline, and time, my symptoms became stable and manageable, and I have not had any issues since.
For roughly five years, my wife and I were buried in serious and deeply stressful legal matters, both criminal and civil. Every case eventually reached a final resolution, and the stability that followed became the foundation for the next chapter of our lives. If you have ever dealt with legal trouble, you know it is not just the financial cost that wears you down. It is the uncertainty, the constant pressure of doing and saying the right thing, and the feeling that a single mistake can make everything worse. On top of all of that, we spent more than fifty thousand dollars on legal representation.
Those years were dark. Even after the major cases ended, the next five years still required hiring attorneys for issues including sexual harassment, discrimination at work, car accidents, and professional licensing problems. For nearly a decade, we dealt with a lot of lawyers.
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## What All Those Years in the Legal System Taught Me
What I learned through those experiences is that lawyers enter people’s lives at their absolute worst moments. When people feel powerless, overwhelmed, and under attack. Every lawyer we worked with had the power to make our lives a little easier or significantly worse. We experienced both. Some were compassionate, respectful, and genuinely helpful. Others were dismissive, arrogant, and largely ineffective.
One lawyer stands out more than the rest. He failed to submit critical evidence to the court on time, then misrepresented what had occurred to cover his mistake. That single failure cost us more than five additional years in appeals and tens of thousands of dollars.
Even then, I never lost sight of my own responsibility in navigating the process. Those experiences ultimately deepened my respect for the legal profession and the standards it is meant to uphold. But that lawyer, more than anyone else, unknowingly pushed me back toward law school. Not out of spite or revenge. Because I realized that people like him were out there representing clients at the lowest moments of their lives.
I knew then that the legal profession needed another kind of lawyer. One who understands. One who cares. One who holds onto integrity, even when it would be easier not to.
As I began meeting other adults who entered law school later in life, I realized many of them were drawn there for similar reasons. Divorces, contract disputes, criminal charges, and other personal hardships forced them into close contact with the legal system. And those experiences, whether positive or negative, became the catalyst for their decision to pursue law themselves.
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## Was It Too Late for Me?
During that same period of deep involvement with the law, my wife and I were also focused on rebuilding our lives. By 2024, we had been married for two decades. My wife was working as a director at a midsize medical corporation. I had worked in politics, served for many years as a college professor, and spent time with the U.S. Department of Agriculture. I had been offered positions with the Office of Personnel Management and even the CIA. Ultimately, I settled into work as an adjunct professor at several institutions, teaching everything from business English and business math to marketing, management, leadership, and even business law. That role also allowed me to homeschool our children during the final stretch of their grade school years. We owned a beautiful home, had two reliable cars, and all three of our children were now in college. Life, for the first time in a long while, was stable and peaceful.
Then I felt a nudge to do more.
I did not know what it meant, but I knew I wanted to explore it. As a disabled veteran, I reached out to the VA to ask if I had any education benefits left. I did. Two more years. But because I already had a bachelor’s degree, a master’s degree, and a PhD, they were selective about what programs I could pursue. They told me I needed to find a program and be admitted within 30 days. That did not leave time to get into law school. But honestly, at that moment, I still was not sure law school was the right path.
I explored many programs: business, technology, healthcare. I applied to multiple schools across Southern California. I even applied to a law program that could be completed in two years at a school in Malibu. When I told the VA, they said no. They would not approve law school, not within that program.
Still believing that if it was meant for me it would work out, I applied to even more programs. That year, I was admitted to only one school. And the rejection that stung most? The school that employed me to teach their students would not allow me to join their law program. They trusted me to educate their students but decided my application was not good enough to sit in their classrooms.
That rejection from my own employer was a small but telling preview of how law school operates as an institution. It does not reward loyalty or relationships. It rewards metrics. Your LSAT score, your GPA, your application package. The school that paid me to teach their students evaluated my file like anyone else’s and decided it fell short. There is no bitterness in saying that. It is just useful to understand early that legal education runs on its own logic, and that logic does not account for who you are outside the numbers.
I went back to the VA hoping they would reconsider. They did not. They told me again that they would not approve law school, especially one costing over one hundred thousand dollars per year. I know many people would have accepted the offer anyway. But I had promised myself and God that if law school was meant to happen, it would not destroy my family’s finances. So I turned the school down.
I am so glad I did.
That year, my daughter faced a frightening health issue. If I had been in law school, I would have failed my classes or had to withdraw. We spent six months helping her through that situation. When it was over, I wondered whether I should pursue law school again. So I applied for the 2025 cycle. I told myself that if that same school accepted me, I would attend and figure it out. They denied me a second time. Many other schools denied me as well.
It hurt. But it was a blessing.
After the denial, I spoke with admissions to understand what went wrong. She explained that law school applications were up significantly across the country and competition was tough. She advised me strongly to take the LSAT before applying again.
The dreaded test. The same one I had walked away from twice.
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## Fine. I’ll Take the LSAT.
I told myself: if I am going to take this test, I am giving it my absolute best effort. I will take it one time. If I get into school, I will go. If I do not, I will walk away from this idea forever.
I studied for two to three months using a mix of different methods. I was genuinely surprised to learn that even if you start off poorly, the skills sharpen quickly with focused work. I took the exam from home in November 2025. I had been out of school for a long time. I was not chasing a perfect score. I simply wanted a 160. Based on my practice tests, I was averaging between 155 and 160.
When the results came back, I had scored a 165. That placed me in the 86th percentile.
I used that score to build a full admissions plan. I applied to more than twenty schools, fully expecting rejections again. What matters here is that I was admitted to multiple schools, and every school that accepted me offered a scholarship. One even offered a full ride. For the first time, law school was something I could pursue without putting my family at financial risk.
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## What I Now Understand About Timing
Here is the point. Every time it felt right to apply or take the LSAT, it was because I was aligned with my purpose. What I have learned, though, is that timing matters just as much as purpose.
I did not go to law school during those earlier attempts because I was not supposed to. The timing was intentional. The acceptances were intentional. The scholarships were intentional.
Think about what would have happened if the timing had been different.
If I had become a lawyer in 2008, when I finished my master’s degree, I likely would have lost my bar license during my legal process and never practiced at all. If I had gone in 2014, my legal troubles would have begun just a year later. If I had gone in 2024, I would have been in law school during my daughter’s health crisis.
Everything happened when it needed to happen. By the time I reached this point, I had years of stability, treatment, and personal growth behind me. I was entering the profession with clarity, discipline, and readiness that I simply did not have before.
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## If You Are Starting Later in Life, You Are Not Alone
If you are here, deciding whether to pursue law school as a second career, I believe you are right where you are supposed to be. Everything that makes you who you are today, the good and the bad, your education, your experiences, your mistakes, your victories, all of it will shape you into a lawyer with integrity, empathy, and appreciation.
Law school later in life is about timing, purpose, and alignment. At this stage, it is not just a job. We are not chasing approval or validation. We are looking to fulfill something deeper. After decades of life, alignment becomes clearer. And if you are truly contemplating law school as a mature applicant, take a step back and look at how your life experiences line up. You will know if it is your time.
People come to law school later for many reasons. A career change. Career advancement. Financial stability that finally makes school possible. A desire for advocacy, social impact, or public service. A personal mission that has been burning for years. A chance to use real-world experience in a meaningful way. Whatever the reason, one thing I heard repeatedly during my preparation is that second-career students often outperform younger ones because of their maturity, discipline, and purpose.
You probably have a lot of questions. Am I too old to compete academically? Will employers hire me? Can I manage the workload with kids, work, or health concerns? Is the debt worth it? Will I fit in? Can I return to academic writing? What about mental and physical adjustments? What admission strategy should I use? Is my past relevant?
My goal is to answer every one of those questions through my own experience.
But I also want to be honest about something that many people writing for this audience will not tell you. Law school was not built with you in mind. It was built for students who arrive at 22 with nothing else competing for their attention. No mortgage. No children. No career to pause. No medical history. No complicated past. The curriculum, the culture, the grading systems, and even career services largely assume that student as the default.
That does not mean you cannot thrive. It means you must enter with clear eyes, understanding the commitment for what it actually is: a serious, multi-year engagement with an institution that will not adjust itself to your life. You must adjust to it, strategically and deliberately, while protecting everything you have already built.
So if you are standing at the edge of this decision, wondering whether this is finally your time, my hope is to walk that road with you. From the first quiet spark of the idea to the moment you take your seat as a 1L, and then forward into the early years of your legal career. I will do that openly and honestly, through a series of writings and videos that reflect my own journey as it unfolds.
If you are late to this path, uncertain, or carrying more history than most, you are not alone. And if you choose to step forward, you deserve to do it informed, prepared, and on your own terms.
For more tips on navigating law school as a nontraditional student, follow me on LinkedIn, Instagram, and YouTube.