What does our work ask of us?
When I was a new attorney working in private practice, I had a morning ritual.
Before I even got out of bed, I would reach for my phone. First, I would check my emails and text messages to see whether any of my supervisors or clients had contacted me overnight. Then I would check my calendar to see what meetings, deadlines, and responsibilities were waiting for me that day.
Before I was even fully awake, I was already at work. I mentally ran through my to-do list, anticipating what might need my attention and wondering how I'd get everything done.
I lived with a constant undercurrent of anxiety. There was always more work to do, another deadline approaching, another email to answer. No matter how much I accomplished, the work never seemed to end.
Eventually, I left private practice to start a nonprofit organization providing legal services to survivors of human trafficking.
I left behind the billable hour, demanding corporate clients, and the pressures of private practice. I was doing work that felt deeply aligned with my values and my desire to make a difference.
But I soon discovered that I hadn't escaped the pressures of practicing law. I had simply traded one set of demands for another.
Instead of billable hours, I faced the reality that the need for our legal services would always exceed our capacity to provide them. We worked with survivors whose safety, freedom, families, and futures could depend on the outcome of their legal matters.
I still faced court deadlines and demanding caseloads, alongside the new responsibility of supervising other attorneys and ensuring the quality of their work.
And then there was what I came to call the nonprofit hustle.
Unlike private practice, our clients weren't paying for our services. That meant that, in addition to doing the work, I was responsible for raising the money to make it possible. This meant grant applications, fundraising events, donor relationships, and reporting requirements. Sustaining the organization was another full-time responsibility layered on top of everything else.
The circumstances were different, but the underlying expectations remained remarkably familiar.
Be available. Be responsive. Get everything done. Don't let anyone down.
And somehow, find a way to keep going.
What are we asking of lawyers?
In my recent reflections on lawyer well-being in Europe and the United States, I've been struck by how many of the challenges transcend geography, legal systems, and practice settings.
The billable hour is often identified as a major contributor to lawyer burnout, and for good reason. When our time becomes the measure of our productivity and profitability, enormous pressure can mount to work longer and longer hours.
But the billable hour is only one piece of a much larger problem.
Lawyers working in government, legal aid, nonprofit organizations, solo practice, and other settings without billable-hour requirements can be just as overwhelmed and exhausted.
The demands simply take different forms.
And while I've focused on lawyers in my recent reflections, I recognize that these challenges extend far beyond the legal profession.
I see similar patterns in nonprofit organizations, victim services, social work, policy advocacy, academia, healthcare, business, technology, and countless other professions.
Different work. Different pressures. But many of the same expectations.
We're expected to be constantly available.
Technology has made it possible to work from virtually anywhere, and increasingly, that's exactly what we're expected to do.
We check emails at night and on weekends. We respond to clients and colleagues while we're supposed to be off. We take our laptops on vacation, assuming we take vacations at all.
Even when we're not physically working, our minds are often still occupied with work.
I think back to those mornings reaching for my phone before I even got out of bed. What strikes me now is how normal that felt. It wasn't something I questioned. It was simply part of being a dedicated professional.
We're expected to manage enormous responsibility.
In law and other service-oriented professions, the stakes can be extraordinarily high.
People entrust us with their businesses, finances, freedom, families, safety, and futures. Our decisions and actions can have significant consequences for their lives.
We should take that responsibility seriously. It's part of what makes our work meaningful.
But there's a difference between taking responsibility for our work and feeling responsible for everything.
We're expected to be productive, no matter the circumstances.
There's always another case, another project, another deadline, another person who needs our help.
And in many workplaces, the resources available are simply insufficient for the volume of work that needs to be done.
So we compensate. We work longer hours. We skip breaks. We sacrifice time with our families, our interests, and ourselves.
Over time, what should be an exceptional effort becomes the baseline expectation.
And we're expected to be nearly perfect.
The legal profession places an extraordinary premium on getting things right. We're trained to anticipate problems, identify weaknesses, prepare for every possibility, and avoid mistakes.
These are essential professional skills. But somewhere along the way, the pursuit of excellence can become an expectation of perfection.
We're supposed to have the answers. Remain composed under pressure. Exercise sound judgment. Meet every deadline. Remember every detail.
And we're supposed to do all of this while navigating the same human experiences as everyone else: illness, grief, family responsibilities, stress, exhaustion, uncertainty, and the occasional really difficult day.
There's often little room to simply be human.
When extraordinary demands become ordinary expectations
None of these pressures exist in isolation.
Rather, they layer on top of one another and accumulate.
Looking back on my own career, what stands out isn't just how much work there was. It's how readily I accepted that work would always come first, that there would always be more to do, and that I somehow needed to find a way to do it all.
And I know I'm not alone in that experience.
The long hours, constant availability, high stakes, endless workload, and pressure to get everything right don't just create demanding workdays. They can create a way of living in which we rarely feel truly finished, truly disconnected, or truly at rest.
Because these expectations are so deeply embedded in our professional cultures, we often stop questioning them.
We tell ourselves this is simply what it means to be a dedicated professional.
But is it?
Does dedication require us to be available at all hours? Does caring deeply about the people we serve mean we must continually sacrifice our own needs? Does doing excellent work require us to operate under constant pressure?
I don't think so.
I care deeply about the work I've done throughout my career. I believe in working hard, taking responsibility, and striving for excellence. But I've also come to question whether these commitments must come at the expense of our own well-being.
The question isn't whether we should care deeply about our work. It's whether we've created professional cultures that ask more of us than we can sustainably give.
And what happens to us when we spend years trying to meet those expectations?
That's what I want to explore next.
Because the workplace doesn't just demand things from us.
Over time, it can change us.
Sustainable Justice: A Different Way Forward
When the demands of our work feel endless, it's easy to put our own well-being at the bottom of the list. We tell ourselves we'll rest when things slow down, set boundaries when the workload becomes manageable, or make time for ourselves after we've met everyone else's needs.
But what if we stopped waiting?
I created Sustainable Justice to help people doing demanding, meaningful work find more sustainable ways to care for themselves without losing their commitment to the work that matters.
This self-paced educational experience helps you listen to your body, regulate your nervous system, realign with your values, protect your energy, and integrate sustainable practices into everyday life.
And because the last thing you need is another demanding task, Sustainable Justice is designed to fit into your life as it is. Through short videos and practices, you can engage in small pockets of time—on a walk, over your morning coffee, or whenever you have a few minutes to give yourself something back. You'll have 120 days of access to move through the experience at your own pace.
Sustainable Justice is available to individuals and organizations throughout the United States, Europe, and the United Kingdom. You can enroll yourself, gift the experience to someone else, or bring it to your organization.
Ready to begin creating a more sustainable way forward?
