When Capital Law Serra inspired me...

 

If I have ever felt inspired to put myself forward for a role, today is that day.

Like many students, I constantly feel that I know very little about anything. Law, in particular, has a remarkable ability to remind you of this on a daily basis. Just when you think you understand one concept, ten more appear, each more complex than the last. As a mature student, this feeling seems amplified. I sometimes sit in lectures surrounded by brilliant minds and wonder how on earth I ended up here, quietly hoping no one will realise I am still figuring everything out.

And yet, today, something shifted.

Today, sitting amongst my cohort, I felt that little me might actually have every chance to shine. That perhaps, one day, I could become part of one of the most sought after firms. Capital Law.

We have had guest speakers before, and I always enter these lectures slightly anxious, hoping to absorb some fragment of wisdom from those who have already crossed the bridge we are still carefully stepping onto.

Today we met Serra from Capital Law Cardiff and their HR manager.

Serra was beautiful, young, and, of course, the proud winner of what feels to us like the ultimate trophy: a trainee contract at Capital Law. The holy grail. The thing we all quietly hope for but rarely dare to fully imagine.

If I am completely honest, my first reaction was human. I assumed she must have always been exceptional. Effortlessly confident. Perhaps even a little aware of her own success. A small, insecure part of me wondered whether her appearance had smoothed her path in ways the rest of us could not replicate.

Within two minutes, every single one of those assumptions collapsed.

Her dream had never been to become a lawyer. She had wanted to be a pilot. She was half Turkish, had no legal connections, no insider advantages, no carefully mapped route. And yet, there she was, sitting in a position that many of us can only dream of, at least for now.

She had me completely captivated.

There was no arrogance. No performance. No subtle attempt to impress us. Instead, there was honesty. Vulnerability. And a genuine desire to share her journey, not to intimidate us, but to reassure us that it was possible.

She spoke openly about her doubts, her mistakes, and her learning. She answered questions with ease, but never with superiority. She spoke about law as something lived, not just studied. Something human.

She reminded us to be grateful to have made it this far, and that our humanity is not a weakness but our greatest strength as future lawyers.

She encouraged us to do uncomfortable things. To step into spaces that feel unfamiliar. To accept that growth rarely happens where comfort lives. She admitted that imposter syndrome had followed her too, which was both comforting and mildly inconvenient, as I had hoped it was something you outgrew once you became successful.

Apparently not.

Mistakes, she told us, are not failures. They are stepping stones. They are evidence of movement.

She spoke about time management, about understanding your own skills, and about the importance of staying true to who you are. Not who you think they want you to be. Who you actually are.

She spoke about the SQE with refreshing honesty. Difficult, yes. Impossible, no.

Most strikingly, she spoke about Capital Law itself. A firm that values people, not just grades. A place where hierarchy does not exist to intimidate but to support. Where trainees are trusted, guided, and valued.

She also gave one piece of advice that made the entire lecture theatre quietly shift in their seats.

Do not use AI to write your cover letters. They know.

As someone who regularly consults a small, imaginary robot assistant named Al, I suddenly felt very exposed.

The HR specialist present confirmed everything Serra said. They are not simply looking for perfect transcripts. They are looking for people. Real people. With experience, personality, resilience, and authenticity. And as I listened, I found myself drawn, unexpectedly, to her leopard print shoes. The only burst of colour in an otherwise entirely black outfit. Quietly bold. Confident without needing to shout.

And in that moment, something settled in me.

Perhaps this is where I belong.

A place that values you for who you are.

Not the finished version.

But the becoming.