Washington State Association for Justice Trial News, December 2025
efore I became a mother, I thought I understood balance. I was working on building my law practice from the ground up, managing high-stakes cases, and thriving in the demanding pace of litigation and trial work. But nothing prepared me for the profound shift that motherhood brought, not just in my schedule, but in how I saw people, purpose, and the profession itself.
Like many new mothers, I found myself trying to reconcile two worlds that often feel at odds: the unrelenting rhythm of litigation and the unpredictable needs of a newborn. For the first time, I experienced the invisible weight so many working parents carry. The exhaustion, the guilt, and the constant recalibration of priorities. I saw how little space the legal world often leaves for life’s realities. How was I going to pump during a deposition or court day and all the logistics that go along with that? How many other moms have been through this struggle, or a different struggle of their own?
Motherhood opened my eyes to the quiet struggles that so often go unseen in our profession. The colleague who steps out during a deposition to take a call from a child’s school. The paralegal caring for an aging parent after hours. The young associate quietly managing chronic illness. The new parent running on little to no sleep but still showing up each day and doing the best they can. The trial lawyer who looks “distracted” in court but is navigating a crisis at home. We are all human, yet our profession too often rewards those who appear tireless and penalizes those who reveal the fullness of their lives. None of us can pour from an empty cup, but we often try to seem superhuman and bury whatever is going on in our lives beyond our legal practice.
Running a plaintiff’s practice through early motherhood taught me the value of compassion on a deeper level. It is usually the clients who we can easily empathize with in this line of work, but may not always extend the same toward colleagues, staff, and even opposing counsel. It reminded me that empathy is not a distraction from excellence, but rather an essential component of it. When we see each other as whole people, we communicate more honestly, collaborate more effectively, and advocate with greater integrity.
True inclusion in our profession requires cultural change, not just policy change. It is not enough to talk about flexible schedules or parental leave (though those are essential); we need to normalize humanity in the practice of law. We can respect deadlines and still respect each other’s lives. We can expect professionalism without demanding perfection. And we can build practices that make room for real people with real challenges without questioning their commitment or capability.
Motherhood has made me a better trial lawyer because it has made me a more patient, empathetic human being. It has given me perspective: that our cases are important, but so are the people behind every case file. As trial lawyers, we champion the stories of others. But we also need to honor our own. We cannot advocate for justice in the world if we do not practice it within our own ranks. Compassion, after all, is one of the most powerful tools of persuasion we have and one of the truest marks of leadership. To all of the lawyer moms out there, your relentless dedication, resilience, and grace under pressure remind us that balancing the scales of justice and family is nothing short of superhuman.
As we move into the holiday season, a time which can be full of joy for many but also come with heavy silence for others, I challenge all of us to practice a little more compassion. Compassion for the colleague balancing deadlines with their kids on break from school while preparing for the holidays. Compassion for our staff members whose lives extend far beyond the office. And most importantly, compassion for ourselves. Our work demands mental toughness and strength, but strength is not the absence of struggle. It is the willingness to keep showing up with integrity, humanity and care. If we choose to offer even a little more grace to one another, we can create a profession that is better not only for us, but for everyone whose lives our work reaches.
