I never thought I'd be that person. You know, the one lurking on forums trying to figure out if it's ethical to pay someone to help with their dissertation. I always considered myself a solid student. 3.7 GPA, never missed a deadline, always participated in class. But then came the dissertation proposal, and it completely broke me. 
I'm a sociology major, and my interest is in urban gentrification and its impact on small business owners. I thought I had it all figured out. I wrote this beautiful, passionate proposal about conducting interviews with 50 business owners, doing ethnographic observation, the whole nine yards. I submitted it to my advisor with a sense of pride, fully expecting her to love it.
She did not love it.
Her feedback was brutal. She said my research questions were "too broad," my methodology was "unrealistic for an undergraduate dissertation," and my timeline was "delusional." I had to go back to the drawing board, and I had no idea where to start. I was paralyzed. Every time I opened a blank document, I just saw her red pen scribbling all over my ideas. I started spiraling. What if I couldn't even get past the proposal stage? What if I had to delay my graduation? The thought of asking my parents to pay for another semester of tuition just because I couldn't write a 20-page proposal was enough to make me physically ill.
That's when I started searching online. At first, I was looking for examples, templates, anything. But the search terms got more desperate. "How to write a dissertation proposal fast." "Dissertation proposal example sociology." And then, finally, the thought that had been lurking in the back of my mind: "Can someone just write my dissertation proposal for me?"
I found a service that specialized in research proposals, not full dissertations. The website was clear: they don't write the research for you, they help you structure your proposal based on YOUR ideas. It felt like a loophole, but I was desperate. I filled out a detailed form about my topic, my research interests, and the feedback I'd received from my advisor. I paid the fee, held my breath, and waited.
A week later, I had a 25-page proposal in my inbox. And guys, it wasn't just *a* proposal. It was my proposal, but fixed. They had taken my broad idea about gentrification and narrowed it down to a specific neighborhood with a specific demographic. They had changed my methodology from 50 interviews to a more manageable 15 in-depth interviews combined with archival research of local business records. They had written a literature review that connected my topic to major sociological theories in a way I hadn't even considered. The core idea was still mine, but it was refined, focused, and actually doable.
I was terrified to submit it. What if my advisor recognized that a professional had touched it? What if the writing style was too different from my usual work? I spent two days rewriting sections, dumbing down some of the language, and adding a few awkward sentences that sounded more like me, just to make it feel authentic.
I submitted it last month. My advisor called me into her office, and I was sweating through my shirt. She looked at me and said, "This is a complete turnaround. This is exactly what a dissertation proposal should look like. Your research questions are sharp, your methodology is sound, and I'm actually excited to see where this goes."
I played it cool. I said I'd had a breakthrough and spent a lot of time in the library. But inside, I was screaming. I felt relieved, yes, but also so, so guilty. I didn't write that proposal. Not really. I provided the ideas, but someone else gave them structure and voice.
Here's where I've landed on the ethics of it: I paid for expertise, not for a degree. I learned more from reading that proposal than I did from any textbook. I saw how my ideas should have been framed. I now have a roadmap for the next year of my academic life. I'll be doing all the research, all the writing, all the analysis myself. But the foundation? I had help with that.
I'm not here to preach. I know some of you will think I'm a cheater, and maybe I am. But I'm also a student who was drowning and found a lifeline. My graduation is still on track, my mental health is recovering, and I actually feel excited about my research again. For anyone considering this, just know the guilt is heavy, but so is the relief.
I'm a sociology major, and my interest is in urban gentrification and its impact on small business owners. I thought I had it all figured out. I wrote this beautiful, passionate proposal about conducting interviews with 50 business owners, doing ethnographic observation, the whole nine yards. I submitted it to my advisor with a sense of pride, fully expecting her to love it.
She did not love it.
Her feedback was brutal. She said my research questions were "too broad," my methodology was "unrealistic for an undergraduate dissertation," and my timeline was "delusional." I had to go back to the drawing board, and I had no idea where to start. I was paralyzed. Every time I opened a blank document, I just saw her red pen scribbling all over my ideas. I started spiraling. What if I couldn't even get past the proposal stage? What if I had to delay my graduation? The thought of asking my parents to pay for another semester of tuition just because I couldn't write a 20-page proposal was enough to make me physically ill.
That's when I started searching online. At first, I was looking for examples, templates, anything. But the search terms got more desperate. "How to write a dissertation proposal fast." "Dissertation proposal example sociology." And then, finally, the thought that had been lurking in the back of my mind: "Can someone just write my dissertation proposal for me?"
I found a service that specialized in research proposals, not full dissertations. The website was clear: they don't write the research for you, they help you structure your proposal based on YOUR ideas. It felt like a loophole, but I was desperate. I filled out a detailed form about my topic, my research interests, and the feedback I'd received from my advisor. I paid the fee, held my breath, and waited.
A week later, I had a 25-page proposal in my inbox. And guys, it wasn't just *a* proposal. It was my proposal, but fixed. They had taken my broad idea about gentrification and narrowed it down to a specific neighborhood with a specific demographic. They had changed my methodology from 50 interviews to a more manageable 15 in-depth interviews combined with archival research of local business records. They had written a literature review that connected my topic to major sociological theories in a way I hadn't even considered. The core idea was still mine, but it was refined, focused, and actually doable.
I was terrified to submit it. What if my advisor recognized that a professional had touched it? What if the writing style was too different from my usual work? I spent two days rewriting sections, dumbing down some of the language, and adding a few awkward sentences that sounded more like me, just to make it feel authentic.
I submitted it last month. My advisor called me into her office, and I was sweating through my shirt. She looked at me and said, "This is a complete turnaround. This is exactly what a dissertation proposal should look like. Your research questions are sharp, your methodology is sound, and I'm actually excited to see where this goes."
I played it cool. I said I'd had a breakthrough and spent a lot of time in the library. But inside, I was screaming. I felt relieved, yes, but also so, so guilty. I didn't write that proposal. Not really. I provided the ideas, but someone else gave them structure and voice.
Here's where I've landed on the ethics of it: I paid for expertise, not for a degree. I learned more from reading that proposal than I did from any textbook. I saw how my ideas should have been framed. I now have a roadmap for the next year of my academic life. I'll be doing all the research, all the writing, all the analysis myself. But the foundation? I had help with that.
I'm not here to preach. I know some of you will think I'm a cheater, and maybe I am. But I'm also a student who was drowning and found a lifeline. My graduation is still on track, my mental health is recovering, and I actually feel excited about my research again. For anyone considering this, just know the guilt is heavy, but so is the relief.
