Sometimes, the bravest thing you’ll ever do is quietly decide: I’m going to build something of my own and I’m not giving up until I do, writes Sepi Agahi.
I think every lawyer, at some point, has that night.
The one where you stare at your laptop, half a dozen coffees deep, trying to finish one more thing while the rest of the world sleeps.
It’s quiet, but your mind isn’t.
You wonder if you’re doing enough.
If you’ll ever feel like you’re “caught up”.
If you can keep giving so much of yourself to a career you love without losing the parts of you that exist outside of it.
For me, those nights became more frequent after returning to law while raising a young family. I was working part-time, managing everything and everyone, but there was always that whisper in my head: there’s more you could build.
That whisper stayed, through the exhaustion, through the childcare drop-offs, through the mornings when I’d leave with a smile, then cry in the car all the way to work. Through the sleepless nights when I was too wired to rest, too tired to stop. Through every “Are you sure you can do all this?” and every moment I wasn’t sure myself.
And somewhere between all that noise, I realised: I didn’t want my dream to die just because it was easier to choose comfort over effort.
Because while the world was telling me, “Slow down. Play with your kids. You don’t need to work so hard; they grow up fast,” I couldn’t ignore the truth I knew deep down: enjoyment isn’t just about rest.
It’s about meaning.
It’s about my children watching me build something, seeing that their mother had the courage to chase something difficult, not because it was easy, but because it mattered.
People reminded me to take it easy, to enjoy life while I could.
But this isn’t something I do to myself. It’s something I do for them, and for others.
For the people who will one day need guidance, for the clients whose stories deserve care, and for the community that shaped me and the one I hope to give back to.
Because the lesson I want my children to learn isn’t just that their mother worked hard, it’s that purpose matters, and that what you build should help others stand taller too.
I didn’t leave the profession. I built deeper into it, creating a practice that allowed me to lead, serve, and live in a way that made sense for me.
It wasn’t a dramatic leap. It was a series of small, relentless steps, one long night after another, one risk at a time.
People imagine courage as loud and fearless. But real courage is quieter.
It’s showing up when you’re tired.
It’s believing in something before anyone else does.
It’s deciding that “one day” starts tonight.
There’s a quote I’ve held close: “Discipline is doing what needs to be done, even when you don’t feel like doing it.”
That’s the reality behind every story of success. Not luck, not confidence, just persistence, repeated until it looks like purpose.
Building a practice meant learning more than law. It meant wearing every hat: principal, planner, problem-solver, and, occasionally, my own cheerleader.
It was hard. But what made it bearable, what made it beautiful, were the people who reached out along the way.
The mentor who took my call when I had more questions than answers.
The friend who reminded me that I was doing better than I thought.
The client who said, “Thank you – you made a difference.”
Those moments mattered more than any milestone. They reminded me that success doesn’t always shout; sometimes, it simply nods back at you quietly and says: keep going.
The truth is, law can be heavy. It asks a lot of us: our time, our energy, our presence. But it also gives us something powerful in return: the chance to rebuild, to serve, to make something better for someone else.
That’s what keeps me here. That’s what I want my children to see: that dreams are worth the sleepless nights they demand.
I don’t do this instead of being a mother.
I do it because I want them to know that hard things are still worth doing. That you can build a life that’s both demanding and meaningful. That courage doesn’t come when everything’s easy; it comes when you choose to try anyway.
So, if you’re reading this, maybe late at night like I used to, wondering whether you should take that step, whatever it is, this is your sign.
Start.
It won’t be perfect, but it will be worth it.
Comfort never created history. Courage did.
And sometimes, the bravest thing you’ll ever do is quietly decide: I’m going to build something of my own and I’m not giving up until I do.
Sepi Agahi is the principal and founder of Agahi Lawyers.
