A competent adult professional who happens to have a mental illness (see my story as I summarized it in a recent article here).
I've done some pretty okay things in my life. I graduated from high school at the top of my class (not relevant to anything whatsoever--I just never find any reason to share it). I earned a 4 year BA(Hon.) in 3.5 years, then got my MA in Philosophy.
I then got full funding to attend a PhD program at Northwestern University (and got admitted with funding into every other program to which I applied, except for one where I was wait-listed). That program was derailed for me because of the severity of my trauma-related suffering, but rather than give up, I wrote the February LSAT, got an excellent score, applied to the law school of my choice, was awarded an entrance scholarship, and attended there in September. I would have been permitted to return to my PhD program had I wished to, but I chose law school instead.
Despite my continued suffering, I also then earned a law degree (which included taking an extra semester of co-op education), got called to the bar, became a lawyer, and have practiced for 15 years (at both the trial and appellate level). No big deal, right?
So why all the icky bragging? I usually try not to do that, I swear Why do I feel this need to preemptively assert my competence like some kind of insecure teenager?
It doesn't come naturally to me to have to put my "competence" on display like this. When I first started as a lawyer, especially when I was a young female criminal defence lawyer, I loved to be underestimated and found ways for it to work well for me. I knew that if I did my work, I would be able to show how competent I was rather than having to strut around demanding it to be acknowledged. Being understated worked for me.
Yet now it feels unsafe not to find ways to hold up my "competence" like a shield.
Because now I'm someone with a mental illness.
Now there are stigmatizing assumptions and outright discrimination to deal with. And it's not just hidden discrimination--it's discrimination that's still openly preached and perpetuated by powerful, perfectly mainstream, people and organizations. It's discrimination that could result in a loss of my career, my opportunities for professional advancement, and even the loss of my liberty and right to make personal treatment decisions for myself.
Sometimes it feels like my only defence is my competence. So I find myself waving it around in an awkward unaccustomed way like the only self-protective tool at my disposal. "Respect my competence, please...."
Yet it's weird because I know that I'm the same me I've always been. The same me that has--successfully--been a member of this profession for a decade and a half. I shouldn't have to prove myself again just because of my diagnosis.
But the stakes are high, and the threats are real.
Even as I know I have to protect myself in this manner, I also realize that asserting my competence makes me uncomfortable for another reason. It feels like having to straddle a question rooted in an unfair dichotomy: Which is it? Are you competent and worthy of respect? Or are you vulnerable and in need of accommodation/protection?
Any move I make in either direction threatens to tear me apart, and also undermine the interests of others like me who may be differently situated at the moment. I fear that by making a display of my competence ("Oh hey, look at me, continuing to practice with serious health issues--so there's no problem that needs to be accommodated here!"), I may be undermining the very legitimate interests of others who, understandably, just couldn't remain competent under those same pressures: whose vulnerability asserted itself; who need support and accommodation to take time off and then return, or need to be supported in deciding whether this profession is even healthy for them. I never want to suggest in asserting my competence that there is anything wrong with vulnerability or those who succumb to it, temporarily or permanently.
And even for me: I succeeded in maintaining my professional competence. But the cost was extremely high for my well-being. It shouldn't have needed to be that high. There were times when I wondered if it was too high and if I should step away. If this profession had greater sensitivity to vulnerability, it could have substantially reduced the toll on me of maintaining my competence all those years. I will never get back what I lost. It's not okay. My continued competence doesn't mean there was never a problem.
So here's my bottom line message: Drop the dichotomy and stop making us choose between your respect for our competence and your support for the ways in which we are vulnerable.
If we want diversity, inclusion, wisdom, insight, and strength in our profession, we need to stop reinforcing the distinction between competence and vulnerability. It is absolute nonsense. We are all human and therefore can become vulnerable at any moment. We need to stop acting like vulnerability is some kind of aberrant ticking time bomb that we can weed out, rather than a basic feature of our shared human condition that we all need strategies to face, manage, and eventually gracefully yield to. We don't do the profession or public any favors by reinforcing the myth that only some of us are vulnerable. It's dangerous and inaccurate, and leads us to avoid the real issue of how we *all* need to face the prospect of our collective and individual vulnerabilities throughout the lifespan of our careers, relationships, and lives.
As I emphasized in one of my uncharacteristically (😄) optimistic posts, "We Can Be Heroes," it is absurd for us to weed out those we identify as vulnerable on the unfounded assumption that their vulnerability makes them a liability. The vulnerable are the ones who have made it to this level despite facing hurdles many others could never even imagine let alone endure: they are the battle-tested, bad-assed warriors that this profession should welcome, embrace, and learn from. The idea that vulnerability should be equated with diminished competence is therefore laughable (or at least would be if the potential consequences of having our competence questioned in that manner weren't so severe).
Moreover, since the already-vulnerable are also the ones who have had to face the reality of the human condition in the most profound ways, they have the insight, wisdom, empathy and understanding this profession needs in facing the very difficult issues being adjudicated before us. We should be doing everything in our power to recruit, elevate and support them.
So, yes, I am declaring my competence and insisting that no one reduce me to just my vulnerabilities. Nothing about the ways in which I'm vulnerable permit the assumption that I'm less competent than those around me. Only my actual performance can tell you anything about my competence. But I'm also not allowing my vulnerability to be ignored any longer just to maintain my shield of competence. I deserve support for the ways in which I'm vulnerable (as do we all), and I deserve credit for the ways in which I've persisted despite those challenges, which is why going forward, I insist that any assessment of me (and others) look at me in my wholeness. Listen to me and learn from me, and I promise to do the same for you.
And if we can all start seeing and listening to each other that way, we'll be so much the better for it--and, with that enhanced understanding of what it means to be humans who can simultaneously be vulnerable and strong, worthy of both respect and support, at the very same time, we will be better-equipped to serve the very human ideals, individuals and organizations to which we have dedicated our careers.
As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here
I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/
For some of my external writing on this topic, see:
- https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166
- https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health
- https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation
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