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If this was my final note to the world, I would say this: in a world full of darkness, be light, and in a world that is unkind, be kind, writes an anonymous Australian lawyer. (Content warning: This story contains content that deals with significant mental health distress and suicide ideation. Discretion is advised. Helplines are available below.)
I could never.
I would never.
And yet, I have thought about it.
Indeed, I have thought about it at an increasingly alarming rate in the last 18 months.
What would the world be like if I was no longer in it?
If I didn’t wake up tomorrow, would that be the most terrible thing?
Would anyone even notice if I was gone?
If you told me over a decade ago, as a bright law student full of life and hope for the future, that over 10 years later I would find myself in such a dark place, that law student may not have believed you.
I knew about the alarming rates of mental ill-health among the legal profession. I knew that lawyers suffered psychological distress. I knew the statistics. I just didn’t know that one day, I would be a statistic.
I have any number of reasons why I would want it all to end: a highly pressured and demanding job. An unrealistic workload. Vicarious trauma, as well as complex trauma from my own lived experiences. But for every reason that would justify my ending, there are 100 reasons for why I must stay. So how did I get into such a dark place, and how do I find my way out?
On the days that the thoughts have grown louder, my partner has pleaded with me to leave my job. He insists that if it is causing this much pain, how can it be worth it? But how can he say that to me? The law has never been just a job to me; it has been and is my calling. So, I bury those thoughts deep down, and I put on a smile and keep showing up even on the days when showing up feels like the hardest thing I can do.
Incredibly, in the same period of time that these thoughts grew louder, my career has been at its peak. I am achieving more than I ever have. I continue to get promotions or acknowledgments or invitations to occupy powerful spaces – and yet, at the same time, those achievements or accolades haven’t felt as rewarding as they once did. Indeed, never did I realise that going into management would bring on so much mental anguish.
For example, I quickly learned as a manager that it didn’t matter if, individually, I had been a star performer; it was no longer about me. Indeed, no one prepared me for how isolating it would be. Instead, I learned that managers are expected to absorb all of the pain, with very little recognition or acknowledgment, but keep showing up even when it hurts to do so.
If I were to disappear, I could imagine that so many would say “we had no idea”: because why would they? I continued to deliver results. I continued to show up. I continued to lead. Yet in those private moments alone, I thought about what it would look like if I were no longer showing up. I wonder if anyone would even care to notice.
Rationally, I know that to end it is not necessarily to end the pain; it is simply to transfer it elsewhere. It is in those moments that I realise that it isn’t the law that is keeping me alive: it is the thought that I could never transfer that pain to my loved ones which forces me to get up for a new day, every day.
Sure, some colleagues will shed a few tears. I may even be the subject line of an organisation-wide email. But that would be it. The systems would still run without me. Clients would still be represented. Junior solicitors would still be supervised. The world would keep going, and I would just be a memory. But, would I be someone who was remembered?
I lost a dear friend from law school a few years ago.
I am not sure what the cause of her death was, but her passing was and still is a tragedy. She will forever be an ‘under 30’.
I remember sitting at her funeral and hearing about all her achievements. All her accolades. All the jobs she had and high marks she received. Yet that was not what I remembered about my friend. I remembered how kind she was. I remembered all of the times that she checked in on me. I remembered the long discussions we had about our future as human rights lawyers. I remembered how hard she fought for vulnerable clients and how self-deprecating she was, despite being incredibly bright and intelligent. I remembered that whatever darkness she was feeling, she never failed to hold space for those around her.
So, if this was my final note to the world, I would say this:
In a world full of darkness, be light.
In a world that is unkind, be kind.
Be kind to your clients: whether you’re a commercial lawyer or a criminal lawyer or any lawyer in between, more often than not, clients have come to us during some of their darkest or hardest moments. I know we are busy. I know we are stressed. But take the time to be kind to your clients. Sometimes your act of kindness is what they’ll remember for the rest of their day, week and in some rare cases, they’ll remember it for life.
Be kind to your colleagues: they’re carrying heavy loads that you may not even know. I often think about the iceberg analogy and how we only see the tip of the iceberg but genuinely have no idea what is underneath. Give your colleague the benefit of the doubt and take the time to acknowledge them where you can. A compliment about a great meeting they ran, or how helpful a report they wrote was or how well they spoke in court. Sometimes that acknowledgment or show of kindness can make their day. It doesn’t take much out of your day to acknowledge your colleagues – because on some days, you have no idea what it took for them to even show up.
Be kind to your managers: perhaps it took me being a manager to realise how thankless a role it is, and how grateful I now am to all the managers I have had before who empowered me to get where I am today. Your managers are rehearsing difficult conversations in the shower, they are planning team meetings before bed, and they’re carrying or absorbing internal team conflicts when they go home to their loved ones. They’re held to a high standard – as they should – but you should also consider giving them the benefit of the doubt. Not every decision your manager makes will be perfect, and a good manager will take on your feedback if delivered well. If you’re feeling extra kind, let your managers know when they’ve done something right. Believe it or not, that may be the nicest thing they hear all week.
Be kind to your “adversaries”: this is a hard one. They are literally called adversaries or the “other side”, and so naturally it’s so easy to pile on with your colleagues in dehumanising those who are working on a side that you’re not on. But take a moment to remember that they also have a job to do. Sometimes their job is harder than yours, and sometimes it’s not. I’ve found the hardest and heaviest cases I’ve had in the last decade were the ones where there was so much tension with the other side, everything felt like a battle. I’ve equally had delightful experiences where I know I can pick up the phone and call my “adversary” and give them a heads up about a difficult email I need to send them, or a court deadline that I won’t make. The sooner we realise that fundamentally we’re all just doing our job, the sooner our commonalities will bring us closer than our differences.
Perhaps that’s where we are most in need of change in the world. That where the world invites us to “other” and to divide, that we push against this and we choose kindness. Where the world chooses to dehumanise, we remember how beautifully human everyone we meet or know is.
Lastly and truly most importantly, be kind to yourself: This is perhaps the hardest one of all. In my darkest moments, I am often reminded of all the good I put out in the world. I remember how my act of humanising my client in custody made them feel worthy. I remember how my acknowledgement of my colleague made them feel valued. I remember how my gentle nature with my adversaries made them feel safe.
If I can do all this, then perhaps there is still room in this world for me, and maybe, just maybe, I’m not ready for this to be my final note.
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