It is trite that law is a tough industry to be in. Success is often counted by billable hours clocked, fees brought in, complex deals closed, and suits won. All of these require hard work, an often-minute attention to detail, and the management of competing (and large) personalities.
These are useful skills to be celebrated; but to bring them to bear for extended periods, without pause or rest, is also demanding. Doing so requires us to push into our energy reserves, balance multiple stressful demands, and maintain emotional capacity after lengthy unbroken periods of high stress.
Our energy and emotional reserves are finite, and need to be replenished by proper rest, relaxation, and fulfilment outside the office. The consequences when we can’t rest and pursue other passions are rather less than pleasant: constant exhaustion, social withdrawal and isolation, apathy, and frustration – which often result in legal professionals either leaving the profession or becoming the angry, unfulfilled stereotype projecting their unhappiness onto their colleagues.
We simply can’t neglect our mental and emotional wellbeing without incurring significant suffering for ourselves and for those who must deal with us. This is even more true for those of us who juggle mental illnesses, whether chronic or acute, alongside the everyday stress of life in an increasingly complicated and rapid world.
When I experienced severe depression in high school, it was hard to feel that any kind of effort was worthwhile or possible – let alone the kind of effort I now put in every day at work and at home. It would have been simply inconceivable then, for me to function as I do now.
A different set of challenges arose in university, when I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. Groups of people were frequently overwhelming; certain topics, sounds, or scents triggered intense and uncontrollable flashbacks; and my sleep was restless, leaving me constantly exhausted, on edge and unable to concentrate.
Both of those experiences limited the ease with which I could simply get on with things. They limited my potential and made everyday activities harder than I had ever previously imagined they could be. I was forced to learn how to work within those limitations – to figure out what I could and couldn’t do, what I needed to achieve what I set out to achieve, and how to get back up again each time I failed.
I am immensely thankful for that time of my life: it taught me that we all need to learn to listen to our bodies and minds, to know when we need rest, when we need support, when we need to lie down on the floor in a dark room for a few hours (maybe that one is just me, but I suspect not).
Even now that I am not debilitated by mental illness, I still need those skills. I know when I can bill twelve hours in a day, and when I need to log off early and go to the beach. I hear myself when I start to become irritated with people around me, and I know I need to take a few deep breaths and start over. I know that, even now, if a friend touches me without warning, I need to go away and settle myself and feel safe again. I know that I can’t be perfect all the time, and that if I try, I will hurt myself and those I care about.
This World Mental Health Day, I invite you to do the same. Whether you experience mental illness or not affects only the nature and extent of your mental and emotional limitations. That those limitations exist is true for all of us, as is the fact that we need to listen to them and care for ourselves accordingly.
The final (and possibly most important) thing I have learned is this: you cannot and should not have to do it on your own.
In high school, I had the support of my family and my therapist. In university, the same – along with a firm in Norton Rose Fulbright that told me I had a job regardless of the impact of my PTSD on my grades.
You need people to love you, support you, and believe in you... Let one of those people be you. Be that person for others, and you will find that community and fulfilment (and rest!) will follow.
