When I got sober on July 26, 2010, I had no intention of staying sober, or even of living past the age of 25. At the time, I was 22 years old, homeless, and very much lost in the chaos of addiction. My story isn’t unique. Millions of people are suffering from substance use disorder in our country right now, and many of them are also practicing law. What is unique, and worth talking about, is how we as attorneys deal with mental health in a profession that often demands perfection, composure, and strength, even when we’re falling apart inside.
A Rough Start
Before I entered recovery, I was circling the drain quickly. I had been struggling with substance abuse for years, and eventually, it left me homeless on the streets of Austin for about a year. Obtaining and using drugs was the primary objective in my life, and any dreams I once had of doing something meaningful with my life were long gone. I didn’t believe I had a future, and didn’t care.
Eventually, I ended up in the Travis County Drug Diversion Court. That program gave me more than just a legal break—it gave me structure, accountability, and hope. It also connected me to a community of people who understood what I was going through. I moved into a sober living home and started waiting tables to pay the bills. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was stable, and stability was something I hadn’t had in a long time.
I enrolled in Austin Community College alongside many of the young people I had met in AA and NA meetings in Austin. I didn’t know where it would lead, but I figured if I was going to rebuild my life, education would be a good place to start. I stayed sober, went to class, worked, and leaned heavily on the recovery tools I was learning. After two years, I transferred to St. Edward’s University on an academic scholarship and graduated with a degree in political science. Not long after that, I was accepted to Baylor Law School.
I was sworn into the bar in 2019. For someone who once lived in a car and bounced from couch to couch, that moment was beyond surreal.
Sobriety in Practice
Getting sober was the most challenging thing I’ve ever done. Staying sober and mentally healthy while practicing law carries its own set of unique challenges. The legal profession is demanding. We work long hours, manage emotionally intense cases, and often put our clients’ needs before our own. For someone in recovery, that pressure can be dangerous.
Addiction thrives in secrecy and stress—two things that are unfortunately all too common in our profession. There’s a silent expectation that lawyers are supposed to be invincible. It seems a common view (if not old-fashioned) in firm culture that if you’re struggling, you must not be cut out for this line of work. In reality, so many attorneys are struggling, but don’t feel safe asking for help because of what it may mean for their reputation and business.
If lawyers don’t feel safe asking for help with substance use disorder, then they are unlikely to find the resources that could save their lives.
The Unique Challenges of Family Law
I practice family law, which comes with its own set of emotional and mental hurdles. Clients are often going through the worst time of their lives—divorces, custody battles, and protective orders. We tend to absorb a lot of that emotional energy, and if we’re not careful, it can take a toll on our own well-being.
For someone in recovery, this kind of work can be especially triggering. We hear stories of trauma, abuse, addiction, and loss every day. We can’t help but be reminded of your own past sometimes. The key is learning how to set boundaries—emotional and practical ones. The likelihood that I am mentally well enough to win a jury trial decreases dramatically if I’ve spent the last six months working ten-hour days and fielding client calls on Saturdays instead of spending time with my family, engaging in hobbies, volunteering my time, and attending therapy.
The level of responsibility increases dramatically as an attorney in recovery: we can’t fulfill the duty we owe to our clients if we aren’t taking care of ourselves. I’m not just talking about bubble baths and vacation days—this involves real, intentional self-care: therapy, connection, accountability, and community.
The Tools That Keep Me Sane
Recovery isn’t something you graduate from. It’s a lifelong process, and I still use the same tools today that I did when I was in sober living.
I rely on my support system: my wife, my friends, family, other lawyers in recovery, and a spiritual network that keeps me grounded. I talk openly with people I trust when I’m feeling overwhelmed or burned out. I’ve learned that trying to “power through it” on my own just doesn’t work.
I also make sure I hold myself accountable. Whether that’s through a sponsor, peer check-ins, or simply staying honest about how I’m doing—accountability is key. It keeps me honest, humble, and focused.
And maybe most importantly, I try to find opportunities to be of service. Whether it’s mentoring younger attorneys, volunteering in recovery spaces, or just being a friend to someone who’s struggling—service keeps me connected. It reminds me why I got sober in the first place. It reminds me that I’m not alone, and neither is anyone else walking this path.
Hope
Hopelessness will kill you. If you’re reading this and you’re struggling—whether it’s with addiction, depression, anxiety, burnout, or anything else—you’re not alone. There is no shame in reaching out for help. In fact, I think it’s one of the bravest things you can do.
There are resources out there—such as the Texas Lawyer’s Assistance Program, which is totally anonymous and staffed by other lawyers who truly care. There are programs, treatment options, and communities waiting to support you.
You don’t have to do this alone, and you don’t have to choose between being a great lawyer and taking care of your mental health. You can do both. I promise you, you can.
And to those of you who have never faced these struggles personally—thank you for being open to learning and listening. The more we talk about these issues, the less power the stigma holds. The more we create space for honesty and vulnerability, the stronger our legal community becomes. Reach out to those you see in crisis. If you’re a partner at a law firm, consider whether your firm culture cultivates healthy lawyers, or if it simply culls the weak and leaves people without a chance.
Contrary to popular belief, lawyers are human, and humans deserve to be treated humanely. Our social body of legal professionals—traditionally exclusive, insular, alienating, and punishing—must, if it is to self-regulate, also care for the well-being of those who need help.