Law School, Lying to Yourself, and Looking Inward

My first semester of law school was one of the most isolating experiences of my life. On paper, everything was going fine. Pretty well, even. I didn't have any egregiously bad cold calls, my peers were pretty easy to get along with, and I was actually interested in the course material. By early November, though, I genuinely believed that my failing out of school was not just a possibility but an inevitability. 

I thought I was missing something that everyone else had. Despite spending six to eight hours a night carefully briefing cases, I was lost in all of my classes. Nothing was clicking for me the way it seemed to be for my peers. I rarely raised my hand in class, certain I'd be wasting everyone's time if I did. I felt the same way about office hours, so I stopped going. I questioned my place and purpose in law school, especially after some demoralizing talks with career advisors and other mentor figures about my aspirations. 

I knew coming in that law school would be hard. I was (rightly) terrified of its workload and general rigor, but I woefully underestimated its capacity to shake the stable self-image I'd cultivated over many years. I believed my self-worth came from my own character traits and values rather than any academic accomplishments, so law school wouldn't be able to make me feel so bad about myself. That was a battle I'd won long ago, by the end of high school, I thought. Now, unlike back then, I was a reasonably well-adjusted adult who'd overcome obstacles much greater than some dense, convoluted reading assignments. To let academics dictate my self-worth again would undo years of personal growth, and, more importantly, it would betray my values. I firmly believe that, a lot of the time, markers of success such as LSAT score, school ranking, and employer are a product of some hard work and a lot of luck and privilege.  I don't say that to diminish my own or anyone else's accomplishments, but I do believe it to be true. 

Foolishly, I thought this worldview would inoculate me against the peer-to-peer comparison that's so deeply entrenched in the legal field. I resolved to keep to myself because I didn't want the drama of speculating who'd be at the top and bottom of the class or the added exhaustion of belaboring how stressed and sleep-deprived we all were in an echo chamber. I don't regret my approach, because I definitely did avoid some of the baseless comparison and unsolicited advice that I do think would've made things worse for me. Where I went wrong was believing that avoiding those things was enough to maintain equanimity and self-assuredness.

I realize now that my naivete was also its own kind of arrogance. Not wanting to expose myself as "stupid" in class or to feel inadequate around my peers with insanely impressive resumes all aligned with the belief that my academic accomplishments did define me. I'd never have admitted it out loud, so the realization shook me to my core. Was I a fraud, claiming to believe one thing but acting in line with another?

I like to think that I'm an adventurous, maybe even spontaneous person, but whenever I'm faced with unanticipated change, I'm reminded how vulnerable I really am. I can move cross-country as many times as I like without feeling truly uprooted, as long as I still feel in control. Assuring myself I was protected from feeling inferior, insecure, and anxious in law school was a crutch to avoid acknowledging the full scope of the challenges ahead of me. 

I'm trying to get over my need to psychically self-soothe that way, especially because it holds me back from going after the things I want. Maintaining control all the time is impossible, I've realized, if I want to feel fulfilled. Even though it's easier said than done, I have to leave myself room to grow. 

Funnily enough, I'm reminded of Shirley Jackson's apocalyptic novel, The Sundial. In one scene, a teenage character tries to convince a child that their lives will be better once the rest of humanity is wiped out and their family inherits everything that's left. "Who wants to be safe, for heaven's sakes?" says the child (165). The family looks down on the rest of society, pitying the villagers and insisting that nothing in the outside world is worthy of their attention because it's all fake. In the end, the world they've built up in their minds isn't enough to protect the adults from feeling scared and unsettled by the apocalypse. As macabre and twisted as this story is (in classic Jackson fashion, the creepy child ends up killing the family matriarch), I think it's a great illustration of how ridiculous the lies we tell ourselves will get if we prioritize our comfort over everything else in the world.

When all is said and done, I'm really proud of myself for getting through what most people consider to be the hardest part of all of law school. I'm endlessly grateful to my support system for dealing with my tearful rambles and consistently, gently reminding me that there's life outside law school --- always was and always will be. I'm not all the way there yet, but I'm getting more comfortable with the idea that there's always going to be discomfort coming down the pike, since that's what it means to really experience the world.

With teeth, love, and a bit of dread for grades to be posted,

Anika

P.S. - The songs that kept me going last semester:

1. "More Spell On You" by Eddie Johns

2. "Leaving on a Jet Plane" by Peter, Paul and Mary

3. "You've Got To Learn" by Nina Simone

4. "I Wouldn't Want to Be Like You" by The Alan Parsons Project

5. "Year of the Cat" by Al Stewart

6. "Everywhere" by Fleetwood Mac

7. "Only A Fool Would Say That" by Steely Dan

8. "Weather With You" by Crowded House

9. "I Get By" by Stealers Wheel

10. "The Turn Of A Friendly Card" by The Alan Parsons Project