How I Learned to Value Mental Health from a Law Job that Could’ve Taught Me Nothing

“FINE!” my boss hung the phone up on me. I cringed. I knew I shouldn’t have tried asking. I knew after my LONG court appearance – 2 hour drive each way – for which I’d spent weeks preparing, alone, (opposing counsel had a full team’s support), he’d want me at my desk. Even though it would be after 4 pm by the time I arrived, because the firm’s new office was nearly an hour from my apartment. The office they all knew they were moving to when I took the job, but didn’t tell me; it didn’t come up when they were assuring me they had no problem with remote flexibility. “No problem” was supposed to mean I didn’t have to beg for permission and feel guilty if my employer reluctantly granted it. Instead, it seemed to mean “no” to my desires, because they weren’t the firm’s “problem.” My eyes welled up with tears, but I felt like I didn’t have time to cry. Maybe good attorneys had time to cry. Or maybe they were happy. The latter concept had become difficult to imagine. I had been up all night doing my best on unrealistic requirements for yet another case the firm took and mishandled before I ever worked there. I spent all day working with opposing counsel on MORE changes required by the judge. I finally had made it back home and thought maybe my boss wouldn’t get overly angry if I finished the work day from home.

 Throughout the day, opposing counsel kept checking in with his team and delegating assignments. I checked in and filled my boss in on what was going on too. So he had already had multiple opportunities to hang up on me in disgust that day.

“Stop wasting everyone’s time and get him to settle. NONE OF THIS MATTERS otherwise!”

“But…”

Of course he hung up before I could say “Since this is a breach of contract case and we can’t prove there was a contract, they’re still not settling.”

But it wouldn’t have mattered. I was worthless to my boss unless I was settling cases where settlements weren’t feasible. I remembered his answer the first time I told him about this issue with the contract (or lack of the contract), a good attorney would settle the case anyway. I had tried multiple times. I asked for tips on how to do a better job and was ignored. I purchased and read books with more techniques. None of them helped me settle cases where there was no evidence of a contract ever existing in breach of contract cases. And 99% of the firms cases had issues like that. And I was the only attorney making appearances. It was me or a per diem.  And I wasn’t settling. So I wasn’t a good attorney, so I wasn’t worth making allowances. I wasn’t worth a pleasant work atmosphere. I wasn’t worth flexibility even if it meant I’d get more done. It didn’t matter if I got more done; all my work “should’ve already been done” when I should’ve settled the case. And I didn’t realize at the time the damage that line of thinking could cause. We had worked so hard that day, the judge joked that our bosses should give us the rest of the day off. Well, the judge was being serious, but I knew it was a joke. “He’s not the one paying you!” my employer shot back when I mentioned this. 

… and you’re not paying me enough to drag my mental health and wellbeing through the mud and do nothing helpful for my career, I realized. Too many law firm careers consist almost exclusively of days like this… days like mine when I used to try to please employees like this while constantly researching to teach myself everything I knew, because there was no real training and I still had learning to do, and apparently that was embarrassing. I still have learning to do. I demand way better than this, and I’m not embarrassed. I’ve proven myself in so many ways, especially in my most recent work, and I will not accept the various explanations as to why I must agree to be miserable before succeeding as a lawyer. You shouldn’t either. It’s time to change the way “we’ve always done things” so more of us can actually get things done.