Page 6 - Pierce County Lawyer - September October 2025

PRESIDENT'S PAGE
Even when you’re
exhausted. Even when
your light is dim.
Even when you feel
invisible in the crowd
of polished resumes
and crisp headshots.
You don’t have to be
perfect—or even put
together—to belong
here.
The Hidden Side of Lawyering
It’s October—and the Perfect Time to Talk About Zombies!
Not the kind that shuffle through horror
movies, but the kind we sometimes feel
like: numb, depleted, moving through
motions without much left inside. The
zombie version of lawyering shows up
more often than we admit—sitting in
the car after court, staring at the steering
wheel, wondering how to keep doing this
work another day.
October is also National Depression
and Mental Health Screening Awareness
Month, which makes it the perfect season
to say this clearly: you are wanted. Even
when you’re exhausted. Even when your
light is dim. Even when you feel invisible
in the crowd of polished resumes and
crisp headshots. You don’t have to be
perfect—or even put together—to belong
here.
THE STORIES WE CARRY
This year, as Bar President, I’ve had the
privilege of connecting with lawyers
across Pierce County—through
Tacomaprobono clinics, law schools,
affinity bar associations, and gatherings
with attorneys whose experiences
range from brand-new to decades deep.
The stories have been both joyful and
sobering.
Some of you are thriving, invigorated by
community and meaningful work. But
I also met attorneys who never found
their place among peers, and others
who have practiced for years but still
wonder if they’re truly accepted. And
across generations, I heard the same quiet
echoes: Am I enough? Do I matter here?
Lawyers are good at carrying things. We
carry client stories long after the case
closes—into our kitchens, into sleepless
nights, even into the quiet moments with
family. That kind of care makes us good
at what we do, but, if buried too long, it
can hollow us out.
Attorney wellness can’t be a footnote.
Imposter syndrome, burnout, anxiety—
these don’t mean you’re broken. They
mean you’re human in a profession that
often pretends otherwise.
Some days we show up with cotton-candy
kindness, other days with razor-sharp
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