By: Vinayak (Mama) D. Porob
In the tough world of high-stakes criminal law, a lawyer’s reputation is a fragile thing. It is often judged only by their most recent case. I have learned that a lifetime of winning cases doesn’t protect you when you lose a major one. The public and even colleagues tend to remember one failure more than a hundred successes. This creates a constant underlying anxiety, making you feel that you are only as good as your last verdict.
Dealing with the dark side of human behavior takes a heavy physical and mental toll. Even when I try to remain professional and detached, reading through case files slowly wears me down. The mind does not just process evidence; it absorbs the pain of ruined lives and the harsh reality of violence. Over time, this exposure leads to emotional numbness. To protect our minds, our hearts harden, but this also makes it difficult to feel true joy in private life.
Standing alone between an accused and the full power of the State is a lonely task. When a case is unpopular, the lawyer often becomes the target of public anger. We must navigate a difficult path where professional duty clashes with personal feelings. We stay committed to the law, even while carrying the heavy weight of accusations. This creates a loneliness of the defender, a state where only your own conscience knows your integrity, while the public remains indifferent.
Adding to this mental weight is the constant pressure to survive financially. One cannot forget that an advocate’s life is never fully secure, as there is neither a pension nor personal insurance coverage. Building a top-tier law practice requires a huge investment, from buying legal books to maintaining a modern office. A lawyer must balance these high business costs with family expenses, all while working in a profession where income can be as unpredictable as a verdict. This need to maintain a successful image becomes a heavy burden, forcing us to chase the next case even when exhausted.
Furthermore, the fast pace of the court schedule means a lawyer is never truly free. Even at night, the mind is busy planning strategies and arguments. While we fight for the freedom of our clients, we often lose our own freedom to the demands of our work, sacrificing peace of mind for the sake of professional excellence.
The saddest part of this job is the emotional distance it creates at home. I have often sat at the dinner table with my family while my mind was still stuck in a courtroom or a jail cell. This mental distraction leaves little energy for the people I love. The patience and presence my spouse, parents, and child deserve are often used up at work. I carry a deep guilt for being an emotional ghost to my family, giving them only the tired leftovers of my day.
Despite these struggles, the legal profession expects us to be perfectly stoic. Admitting to mental or emotional strain is often seen as a sign of weakness. We are trained to hide our humanity to serve our clients better, but this silence leads to burnout. Acknowledging the human cost of being a lawyer isn’t a confession of weakness; it is an admission that the professional armor we wear cannot fully protect us from the weight of the tragedies we handle every day.
