Six weeks ago, I stood in the shower, watching the water drain at my feet, wondering what it would mean if being a lawyer wasn’t for me.
A training contract is so often sold as the golden ticket, and somehow four years ago, I had managed to get my hands on it. A solid, covetable career, that I had always thought was out of reach for me as a school drop out from an unconventional background.
I hadn’t intended to be a lawyer. I hadn’t even intended to go to university. I took my A Levels off the back of working as a nanny in Spain when I was 17, so when I found out I had got high enough grades to go to university, I was surprised.
I was even more surprised when I found out that I had won a legal work placement as a prize for entering a national essay competition on EU migrant law. That placement opened up a world that I never thought I would step foot in, and I secured my training contract later that same year. I was so happy, and I wanted to demonstrate to others that you could make it into law without having the stellar, glow in the dark resume and background that many think makes law inaccessible.
I was excited to start the job, and my first few weeks were filled with the normal ´new job´ nerves, where you’re trying to suss out where you fit in with a new team, work out how your computer monitor turns on, and take on work you have never done before. I assured myself that the lack of enjoyment and fulfilment I felt already was probably just a case of me taking a little bit to settle in.
However as the months passed, those feelings never changed. I got tired of constantly cancelling on seeing friends due to work. I got tired of everyone constantly needing things done now. I got tired of constantly checking my phone in the evening in case an urgent task came through. One night, I logged off to make dinner in the evening and left my phone on loud in case anyone needed me. Unfortunately, the sound didn’t go off and I missed someone wanting something done urgently. It’s fair to say that wasn’t a good night.
After this, I got more and more wrapped in to the ‘always on’ culture, and found myself thinking about work constantly, checking my emails constantly. At an anniversary dinner with my boyfriend. On a Sunday visit to my mum. On holiday in Paris. All the moments I wanted to be fully present, but was preoccupied with the intensity, the all-encompassing nature of this job I had chosen. I was so busy and so tired that I stopped doing the things I loved – reading, writing, illustrating, exercising, even seeing friends and family.
And what was probably the most difficult part of realising the job wasn’t for me is that I didn’t go into law under any false pretences. I knew the work was intense. I knew I would be expected to work hard. And whilst some of the work is drab and draining (I spent a large amount of time as an invoice machine helping with billing – an unglamorous side that trainees definitely aren’t warned about but are told is a great opportunity for ‘business understanding’!), there was a variety of more interesting work available too. I was involved in a number of highly technical (and juicy!) employment litigation cases, and got to use my Spanish skills to pitch the business to a client in Spain.
The realisation, that day, stepping out of the shower to face the world, was that I know myself. And I ought to be brave enough to say that I know what I want and it is not this. And that’s okay. It’s never too late or too early to be whoever you want to be. It’s never too late or too early to find – and re-find – what brings you joy. Law can be such a rewarding career – but I felt I was compromising too much on my values, on the fact that I wanted more time to do things that bring me joy and meaning, to make it worthwhile. Since I publicly acknowledged that and got over my fear of being perceived as a failure, I’ve had responses from many people who want to do the same but don’t know how; from some who are staying in law, but understand the overwhelming nature of the job; and of course, a few who think I am absolutely crazy for giving it up.
Rumi wrote ‘and you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?’. People are asking what I’m doing now, and that’s what I’m doing. Beginning that long journey into myself. Sometimes starting again to find yourself and what brings you purpose is the most courageous thing you can do. If there’s one thing I want anyone in a similar position to know, and more importantly to believe, it’s that.
Lucie Cruz was a trainee at an international firm in London
