The First Time the Mental Health Stigma Struck My Legal Career

How it Felt When My Professors Shamed Me for Having Anxiety

As I was preparing an article about progress I’ve noticed in relation to mental health in the legal industry, I interrupted my own writing process. The introduction took me back to an “embarrassing” mental health moment, an incident in law school that I now recognize as the first time the mental health stigma struck my legal career. Back in the “terrible 2Ls” (bad pun for the 2nd year of law school), when I confided in my law school teacher and member of the school’s academic support program about my anxiety, I got shamed, stigmatized, and discriminated against for it. 

Despite the indescribable impact this had on me and the important lessons I took from the experience, I never discussed this with anyone until right now. So now, I will divulge the details — and it will not embarrass me in the least — about the first time someone cast doubt on my chances of success as a lawyer for mental health related reasons. 

In my second year of law school, I took a negotiation course which was taught by two women; the assistant professor also worked in the school’s academic support program. Until I met her, I didn’t know much about the program, but I specifically recall feeling a sense of relief when I found out it existed. She initially mentioned it in passing during class once, encouraging students to feel free to come speak to her about issues that commonly come up in law school, like seemingly overwhelming stress.

Ironically, that particular class had become one of my most stressful classes; the other professor didn’t like me much and seemed to single me out when she called on me in class and when grading my assignments. I had struggled with anxiety and depression prior to law school and had quickly discovered that the atmosphere of law school could tend to exacerbate those issues. The way attorneys portray themselves with impossibly perfect personas, I had noticed students already behaving that way from the start. 

I knew comparing myself to others as a weakness of mine that sometimes worsened symptoms until I got it under control. Since I found a lot of my workload difficult and it seemed my peers all had a handle on everything class, outline, and exam related, I considered confiding in my professor at the academic support center. I figured she may have some methods I had not yet explored and perhaps some suggestions specific to law school. I spent considerable time thinking it through before eventually deciding to speak to her. 

I felt apprehensive about opening up to someone I didn’t know that well. I also worried what may happen if my peers found out about the discussion. I’ve reached a point now where I speak out about mental health issues despite the possible professional repercussions, because the issue matters enough to me to take that risk. Sadly, I had not come anywhere near that level as a law school student, and I still remember telling myself that if other students suspected anything, I could act like I had gone to discuss class related issues with the professor. I had a subconscious contingency plan for if my classmates investigated my secret quest to discuss my anxiety. As ridiculous as that may sound, people still feel that level of risk and apprehension when it comes to discussing mental health. Years ago, for myself and many others, that sentiment often prevailed. Many people kept difficult struggles to themselves, to their detriment. 

That’s precisely what I considered doing when I deliberated about whether divulging information about my mental health to the academic support staff. I never should have had to worry about this, nor should anyone else. But I agonized and debated until I decided it couldn’t hurt to give it a try, but that it may help me. Despite all of the thought I gave it, I somehow never considered that seeking anxiety advice at my school’s academic support center could actually disrupt my legal career and diminish my confidence. I had a short meeting with the professor and described my experience with law school related stress. The issues I expressed seemed rather standard to me and I doubted that the concept of a student starting her second year of law school experiencing anxiety would shock the academic support staff. 

However, after I briefly described emotional reactions to getting overwhelmed by the workload, I could feel the stigma in the room with us, an avid member of our conversation. I felt as welcome as an extra terrestrial being first informing these successful earthlings employed by the academic support center of the shocking news that law students and attorneys may encounter anxiety throughout their careers. It came off as though the staff would have been more surprised about the anxiety than if I had transferred to the school from planet Saturn. I knew that not many people openly talked about anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues, but the palpable nature of the judgment and stigma still shocked me. My professors shaming me for admitting I had anxiety changed the course of my life and my career.

In all fairness, nobody actually said anything mean to me. Nobody had to. I could tell how they felt by the way they gingerly handled the obligatory informative wellness pamphlets. I still remember the professor I spoke with picking the papers up as though she was fishing the information out of the toilet, and practically flinging the mental health pamphlets into my hands as quickly as possible as she might behave during a game of Hot Potato. Nobody said anything mean, but I certainly felt ashamed for disclosing my anxiety when I should have felt comfortable confiding in the academic support faculty. Nobody said anything mean, but I remember the remarks that if I felt stressed, perhaps I should consider a different career because it would only get worse when I was actually a lawyer, and struggling this early on was a bad sign. Nobody said anything mean, but the professor I spoke to definitely made her own silent assumptions and judgments about me during our conversation, and she definitely shared the contents of our discussion with the other professor of the course I had with her. That never sat well with me; we hadn’t signed a confidentiality agreement, but I had been told the conversation would stay between us, and I hadn’t discussed the course or made requests for any allowances or accommodations. 

However, a year later, that professor circulated an email that she was hiring a student for a legal research internship. I had worked hard mentally and academically. Also, unbeknownst to these two professors, throughout most of my time in law school, I also worked part time at a personal injury law firm. Still, the internship interested me, I enjoyed legal research, and it would look good on my resume. Most importantly to me, I felt brave applying even though I knew that I definitely was not among her favorite students. I will always remember feeling stunned by her curt, offensive reply to my application. She emailed that she strongly suggested I work through all my personal issues before even considering working professionally. I remember never wanting to talk about my mental health again. This professor wasn’t even the one I had spoken to, and I only spoke to anyone at the school about my mental health one time, during the aforementioned conversation. Yet here was this woman deeming me unfit for a legal career because I sought guidance for my anxiety a year earlier.

I regretted ever seeking assistance and felt worse a year after doing so, than I ever had from depression or anxiety, because of the stigmatizing and shame. For the first time, despite admittedly experiencing anxiety before this happened, I actually wondered if I should give up on law school and the idea of becoming an attorney. Then I reminded myself that if everyone who felt stressed or struggled with mental health just gave up, there would be no one left to succeed. Nobody should ever have to fear seeking support for mental health, and certainly no one should have to regret mustering up the courage to do so because of unacceptably judgmental outcomes from peers and superiors. 

We have made some progress in the way mental health is treated in the legal field since this happened, and people definitely circulate more helpful information and discuss mental health more frequently. Now that I’ve told this story, stay tuned to hear about a mental health related CLE that not only continued my legal education, but equipped me with some helpful life lessons too! Please don’t be discouraged by this story in any way or allow it to stop you from seeking any help you may need in relation to mental health. While we will always have some people who swear by the stigma and don’t understand or care to understand mental health, we also have the power to work on mental health while maintaining success in our professional careers. I’ve learned to no longer let those who refuse to acknowledge the importance of mental health stop me in any way, and I strive to help others do the same. Even though I’ll never forget this discouraging experience that felt debilitating at the time, I will also always proudly remember overcoming the major challenge presented by the stigma around mental health and refusing to give up.

By: Alyson Pi
 October 7, 2020