Law Professors, Law Students and Depression . . . Coming Out (Part 3)

At long last, we have arrived at the third and final post of my “Coming Out Trilogy.” 

As promised, I want to focus this post on the role my struggles with depression and anxiety have played and continue to play in my interactions with my students, both in and out of the classroom.    

My prior posts have covered the bleak statistics regarding depression and suicide rates among lawyers (nearly four times more likely to be depressed and six times more likely to commit suicide than the general public).  Further, I also mentioned that many of our students are suffering from depression (32% by second semester first year and 40% by graduation).  Although I have not found any specific data to support it, my guess is that an equal or (more likely) higher percentage of our students are also suffering from significant levels of anxiety. 

In short, a third or more of our students are struggling with mental illnesses that are exacerbated (or triggered or caused or whatever word you most prefer) by the significant stresses of law school (and the various issues surrounding it, including -- to be frank – the cost, debt loads, and job prospects).*  According to the research, if a person suffers a single incident of clinical depression, he has a 50% chance of experiencing another even if he takes antidepressant medication.  After 3 incidents, there is a 90% chance of recurrance.**  [I, for example, had my first (undiagnosed) bout of clinical depression in college and my first bout of anxiety (diagnosed) my first year of law school.]  So, there is a very good chance that the depressed law students of today will be the depressed lawyers of tomorrow. 

Our students need help to better understand the challenges of the profession they are entering:  the potential for dissatisfaction, disillusionment, mental illness (including depression, anxiety and substance abuse), burnout, and more.  When I left practice and started teaching, I promised myself that I would be open and honest with my students about my struggles and about the realities of law practice. 

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I love the Law and there were many, many aspects of practicing law that I loved (and at which I excelled).  There were also aspects that I did not love (and tried my best to tolerate, sometimes less than successfully).  I know, without reservation or qualification, that being a lawyer can be a highly rewarding career: emotionally, intellectually, and financially.  If I was not honest with my students about the challenges of being a lawyer, however, I would be doing them a disservice. 

Further, in my view, knowledge is power.  With knowledge of the challenges and some of their causes, I figure my students will be better equipped to meet and overcome them. 

In raising these issues with my students my basic goals are as follows: (1) to help destroy – via openness, honesty, and shamelessness – the very real stigma associated with mental illness in general and depression and anxiety in particular; (2) to make sure my students know that if they are struggling with depression or anxiety, they are not alone (even if they feel that way) and that there is no reason in the world for these illnesses to hold them back in any way; (3) to offer myself as a resource for any among them that are struggling; (4) to educate them about the challenges of practicing law; (5) to get them thinking about why they are in law school and what they want their lives in the law to be like (or if they even want a life in the law); and (6) to get them thinking, critically and proactively, about the different career paths, options, settings, locales and such available to those with law degrees, all of which can have a significant impact on their personal well-being.

So, what do I do?  I talk openly and honestly about my struggles and experiences and I do so in class (in first year Civil Procedure).  (Thanks to this series of posts, I now know I am not the only law professor in America who does this.  Nancy Rapoport at UNLV does the same in her Contracts classes and there are, hopefully, others out there that do something similar.) 

Of course, I do not do this on the first day of class.  I am not that crazy. 

 

On the first day of Civil Procedure, I spend about 20 minutes talking about the depth of my litigation experience, the fact that I have litigated or used in practice virtually every rule and theory we will study, the places I practiced and some of the companies I represented.  In short, I establish my credibility.  During the semester, I build my credibility with my students by being a highly competent and effective teacher with a deep knowledge of the subject matter and a willingness to do whatever I can to help them learn the material.  By the time we are two-thirds of the way through the semester, my students (generally speaking) respect me and, from what I understand, are a bit intimidated by me (which is at least partly due to the fact that I somewhat physically imposing at 6’1” and 250+ pounds). 

Usually about two weeks before the end of the semester – when I see the strain of writing papers and the approach of final exams beginning to take a toll – I will put the civil procedure issue of the day on hold and tell my story.  I don’t prepare them for this in any way, I just start class by saying, “There is something that I need to talk to y'all about today.”  (Although if they start googling me after this I guess that cat will be out of the bag). 

The story I tell is generally that which appears in Part 2 of this “Coming Out Trilogy,” although it is often a bit more haphazard as it is still much easier to write about this subject than talk about it.  I often get choked up at least once, usually when talking about suicide (though I have managed to avoid this once or twice).  I have even cried in telling my story.  There are usually at least a few people with freely flowing tears by the end and many stunned looks.  [Writing this, I realize that, to some degree, I set my students up and then, intentionally, shatter their perceptions of me.  While I did not set out to do this and think that establishing my bona fides at the outset of the course is pedagogically important, I do believe that it makes the discussion of my mental illness and the challenges of practicing law more impactful in an “if that can happen to Prof. Clarke, it can happen to me” sort of way.]

I then segue into some of the statistics cited in Part 1 of this series and talk about the scope of the problem with depression and anxiety in the legal profession.  I explain that I know many of them are having a hard time handling the stress of law school given the workload, the competitiveness, their “Type A” personalities and perfectionist tendencies, and the like.  I bluntly tell them that if they think being a 1L is hard, they ain’t seen nothing yet. 

I tell them about the challenges of practicing law including, among other things, taking on the emotional baggage of clients’ problems; the inherent competiveness of the adversarial system; the joys of dealing with unreasonable and unprofessional opposing counsel; the fact that someone must lose in litigation; the impact losing may have on a client’s life; the nature of the billable hour; the difficulty of billing 1,900+ hours a year; the unrealistic expectations many of them may have about being lawyers; the common narrative that “success” as a lawyer is dependent on having a “Big Law” job and making partner/member/shareholder and the profound unlikelihood of these happening; the lack of boundaries and the need to be “on the job” 24/7/365 (especially in a big firm); and so on. 

I discuss a truth I have known for many years (and for which I now have empirical support), namely that making a lot of money is ultimately not the thing that, for most people or most lawyers, makes them happy in life or satisfied professionally.  I caution them about the materialism that is common among lawyers and the dangers of measuring happiness by the make of your car or the size of your house (a point illustrated in an ABA Journal Online article on April 5, 2014, wherein a young lawyer bemoans the fact that he drives a Chevrolet instead of a Mercedes or Audi and that he cannot buy a bigger house).  I challenge them to think about why they came to law school and to identify what it is about the law that really turns them on (professionally).  I encourage them to find a way to follow that passion, because they will be better lawyers and more satisfied, professionally and personally, if they do so.  [See K. Sheldon & L. Krieger, Service Job Lawyers Are Happier Than Money Job Lawyers, Despite Their Lower Income, Journal of Positive Psychology, vol. 9, pp. 219-226 (2014).]  I tell them that, for many lawyers (including me), finding a balance between work and life is difficult thanks to, among other things, technology and that they must be cognizant of the dangers of always being plugged in.  I talk to them about the importance of boundaries (a concept with which I still struggle). 

While many of these issues are old hat to us as professors and lawyers, they come as a revelation to many students.  Many still come to law school simply because they did not know what to do with their B.A. in history and have never contemplated what about the law (if anything) really interests them. [I encourage these folks to seriously reconsider whether they should be in law school].  Many have never thought that there were career paths other than one in a big law firm and many are convinced (by their peers, by popular culture, by the internet) that success as a lawyer means being a rich partner in a big firm, and nothing else.  Many are shocked that they have only somewhat worse odds of winning the lottery than making equity partner/member/shareholder in a big law firm. 

I answer questions and let the conversation go where the students lead it for about an hour.  Then we wipe our eyes, blow our noses and get back to civ pro.

I have done this little song-and-dance at least ten times now and every time I do it, it has a significant impact.  I have had many students (looking sort of shell shocked) tell me that they had no idea that anyone else had felt or thought the things they had felt and thought, but which I articulated during class.  I have had students come see me a semester later or even years later and tell me that by talking about my issues, it gave them the strength to get help for their own depression or anxiety issues.  I have had several students seek me out in times of crisis and ask me for help, which I have willingly provided (via moral support and referrals to various professional mental health resources).  Many students have sought me out to talk about career paths and even whether they should stay in law school.  The bottom line, however, is that every single student I have ever talked to about these issues has appreciated – above all else – my openness and honesty, not only about my illness, but about the challenges of being a lawyer.  And not a single one thought less of me or lost any respect for me as a result.  On the contrary, my openness and honesty increased their respect for me as a person and as a teacher. 

Beyond this in-class discussion and the one-on-one discussions that flow from it, I also participate in a number of student events each year dealing with mental health, career paths, work-life balance and the like.  I am active with the Lawyer Effectiveness and Quality of Life Committee of the N.C. Bar Association.  And I have both planned and spoken at continuing legal education conferences about these issues. 

Now, not all law professors are as messed up or as gluttons for punishment as I am.  However, each of us – regardless of background – can start a dialogue with students, either in or out of class, about the importance of mental health, the dark side of being a lawyer, and the need for students to make conscious, intentional and meaningful choices regarding their futures.   These discussions are critical to the long term well-being of our students.  As I said in my opening post, our students need us to be brave and be honest. 

Thanks for reading this series of posts.  Based on the emails I have received and the comments that you have posted, at least one of my goals for this series as already been accomplished: to generate open and honest discussion of these issues.  I hope these conversations will continue.  If sharing these posts will help facilitate discussions with your students or colleagues or friends, please use them.   

Now I will go back to contemplating factual causation standards, the impact of judicial nominations on the ideology of the federal Courts of Appeals, and the origin and troublesome role of the assumption of truth rule in modern civil procedure. 

[And I have a long weekend ahead of me building a new mobile chicken coop and preparing for the arrival of about 20,000 honeybees (two hives worth) on April 10.  And I have about eight soccer games to attend this weekend.  Work-life balance of a sort.  At last.]

 NOTES:

* As fleshed out in the comments to Part 2 of this series, I do not contend that either depression or anxiety are purely biological as a general proposition (although there are no doubt some cases that are).  Generally, both have biological and environmental aspects.  It is the interaction of the biological [genetic predisposition, brain chemistry, etc.] and the environmental [high stress environment, insufficient coping skills, perfectionism, etc.] that gives rise to the disease (and yes, I am sticking with that term – if it is good enough for the CDC, it is good enough for me).  Plenty of diseases (or illnesses, whatever) – smoking induced lung cancer, type II diabetes, stroke, and coronary artery disease to name just a few – also have both biological and environmental aspects.  And, of course, I am a lawyer not a doctor or neurologist or psychologist.

** Antidepressant medication is certainly not a panacea.  Effective treatment is inherently multifaceted and may include medication, therapy, lifestyle changes, job changes, meditation exercise, and the like.  However, antidepressant medication (as well as benzodiazepines for those with anxiety) is often critical to recovery.   

[Once again, as this is a serious topic, I will moderate any comments to this post and delete anything I deem inappropriate or off topic.]

Comments

[Jeff Harrison]

I really like your series. Honest, useful, important. I really regret the overuse of the term "depression." It is thrown around very casually and dilutes what is a very serious disease. I do not believe any one can know what depression is until they experience it. I read your sources on the percentage of depressed students and while I am convinced that at least 30+ could use some help in the second year the check list approach used by the researcher is not a test of whether the individuals are actually depressed.

[Harry Gen]

Thank you for your honest discussion of these important issues facing the legal profession. It takes guts and courage to come forward with a such a personal story, and I admire you for it. I respect the honesty with which you've discussed this issue, which is why I must also be honest with you (and with others on this blog). And if you're honest about having an open discussion, you'll allow this post on your site.

I am a current law student at a "well-ranked" law school (according to the arbitrary US News metrics) and I see some of these same pressures in my classmates. You are right that these pressures are also acutely felt by most law school students, and that this pressure is compounded by a culture that disfavors any sign of "anxiety." But your posts miss a large underlying cause of the anxiety and stress which plagues law school students today.

That cause is simply the economic reality of the legal profession, and the fact that too many students are paying too much for legal educations. Simply put, there are too many law schools out there charging tuition prices which are completely out of whack with the opportunities they provide. By charging way too much and implicitly promising way too much, these law schools set graduates up not only for disappointment, but also on the path to financial ruin.

The institution you work for (Charlotte Law), Professor Clarke, is one of these law schools. Charlotte charges $40,000 a year in tuition and fees. Taking into account interest on federal loans, a student would end up with close to $200,000 in non-discharchable debt upon graduation. According Charlotte's statistics, the average graduate leaves with over $135,000 in debt. Most financial planners would tell you that to service that debt load while avoiding poverty, you'd need an annual salary of at least $90,000 (roughly two-thirds of that debt load).

Now let's look at the numbers. Only 36.9% of Charlotte's Class of 2013 is employed in a full-time legal job. Another 17% were employed in a "JD Advantage" job. This means that 46% of Charlotte's last graduating class is either not working, or not pursuing an activity or job that required the law degree they just spent three years attaining.

Let's look at the lucky 54% of the Class of 2013 that actually got legal or JD Advantage jobs. I couldn't find average salary information on Charlotte's website, but according to US News, the graduates from Charlotte who do manage to find private-sector jobs make on average $56,000 per year (the figure is similar for public interest jobs). $56,000 per year! That is nowhere NEAR what a graduate needs to service a $135,000 debt load.

Simply put Professor Clarke, the institution you work for is leading nearly half of its class (or more) down the path to financial ruin. What's unfortunate is that there are plenty of other law schools which are charging too much money for educations that simply aren't worth the cost.

Now, to your credit, you say you dissuade some from pursuing the legal profession and ask students to re-evaluate their reasons for going to law school. Professor Clarke, you sound like a great teacher, and I mean that sincerely. You've practiced extensively and I'm sure many of us would like to have a teacher like you in the classroom.

But to all the law professors who read this blog: if you are currently working at a law school that (1) fails to place the majority (>50%) of its graduates in long-term legal jobs OR (2) fails to place the majority of its graduates in any type of job that pays salaries which allow for repayment of the student loan debt incurred because of your school's tuition costs, you may not be part of the solution. You may be part of the problem.

I don't expect a mass resignation of law professors at these schools anytime soon, because you all are trying to make a living for yourselves and your families as well, and I respect that. But know that the numbers don't lie. And when your law school (1) charges $35,000 per year or more in tuition, (2) puts out graduates with debt loads anywhere from $150-$200,000, and (3) fails to place most of its graduates in any legal position or non-legal position that pays a salary which can allow someone to pay down that kind of debt, your law school is definitely part of the problem.

[Concerned Citizen]

Kudos to you, Brian, for being big enough/brave enough to own and speak to this. I have no doubt that it helps many of your students.

Just plain kudos.