Notes from the New Generation: October Edition

Dear Counsel,

Two years ago, I stood in front of Judge Kevin Enright in the San Diego Hall of Justice, raised my right hand, and took an oath that would change my life. At the same time, I was also twelve weeks into my first pregnancy. Carrying not only the weight of becoming an attorney, but also my first born that would change my life for the better. Not many people knew at the moment that I was pregnant, which made that moment feel almost private in a very special way. 

I remember looking around the room and feeling overwhelmed by the people who had supported me up to this point. My parents, who had left behind their homes and everything they knew when they fled Iraq to build a life in the United States. My husband, Ryan, who had known me since we were children, long before there was his last name attached to mine and long before “Esq.” ever followed it. He had watched the dream take shape from the beginning and, through law school and bar prep, gave me the space to study, supported our family financially, listened to me talk through the hardest moments, and reminded me I could keep going even when I was not so sure.

My siblings, in-laws, coworkers, mentors and above all of them, there was God. Looking around that room, I did not feel like I had arrived anywhere on my own. I felt like I was standing on the shoulders of giants to finally get where I was and to be able to “see further”.

What I did not feel at the time was ready.

If you had told September 2024 Stephanie that she would soon be appearing before judges, defending depositions, handling cases, answering questions from support staff, and walking into courtrooms as the attorney responsible for what happened next, she would have been more than terrified.

I had spent years working in a law firm before becoming an attorney, but crossing from legal assistant to attorney was a much bigger transition than I expected. Before, I was often the person asking the questions. Then suddenly, people were asking me. There is something humbling about realizing that your title changes overnight, but your knowledge does not magically expand with it.

For a while, I thought being a good attorney meant having the answer. Now I think it means knowing when you do not.

One of the most important things I learned in these first two years was how to say, “I don’t know the answer to that, but I’ll find out.” That took more confidence than pretending ever could. Funny enough, that is when some of the fear started to fade. I stopped being terrified of being wrong and stopped assuming judges expected perfection. I began to understand that the courtroom was not a stage where one wrong move would expose me as someone who did not belong. It was simply another place where I had a job to do.

There is also something wonderfully full-circle about the fact that Judge Enright, the same judge who administered my oath, is now a judge I have appeared before on numerous minor’s compromises. The person who watched me become an attorney has now watched me practice as one. I do not think I could have appreciated that symmetry two years ago.

Becoming a mother at almost the same time changed the way I practiced too. Motherhood made me more empathetic with clients and more conscious of what people are carrying with them when they walk into our office. It also made me fiercely protective of my time. As much as I love being an attorney, and as much as this profession is something I wanted for so long, I am “Mom” first.

I still struggle with the balance. I want to be a great attorney, be present for my clients, contribute to the profession, and keep growing. I also want to be a great mother. I do not think those roles compete with each other as much as I once feared they would. If anything, I hope my daughter grows up watching me and learns that showing up matters, that caring deeply matters, and that being strong does not mean being fearless. It means moving forward while you are still afraid.

Once you become an attorney, you are always an attorney, in almost every aspect of your life. You carry your clients with you. You think about how something could have been handled differently and how the profession can improve. You start asking how you can bring more justice into the spaces around you.

Two years later, I still do not have all the answers, but quite honestly I thank God for that. I think one of the biggest mistakes we make as new attorneys is believing that there will be some magical point where we stop feeling new. But in reality, I feel the more we’re worried about making mistakes the more likely we will be to search for correct answers. There probably will not be a time where we automatically know everything. But the fear gets quieter. The courtroom becomes familiar. The questions become less intimidating. You start trusting your judgment, you realize you are allowed to ask for help, and you realize you are allowed to be wrong.

Then one day, without noticing exactly when it happened, you realize you are no longer pretending to be a lawyer. You are one.

If I could speak to September 2024 Stephanie right before she raised her hand, I would tell her that the oath she is about to take is going to change her life for the better. It will challenge her in the best ways, humble her, and make her care more deeply than she expected. It will consume her mind in ways she cannot yet understand.

But I would also tell her not to be afraid.

What I would share with any new attorney, you do not need to know everything the day you become an attorney or even two years after. Above all we must keep learning, keep showing up, and keep taking care of what has already been placed in your hands.

The rest will come.

Until next time,

Steph, Esq.