“Lindsay” was an associate in the Denver office of a regional law firm.
She was also planning her wedding.
On paper, everything looked fine. She was staying on top of her matters, juggling drafts, deadlines, expectations, and vendor meetings, telling herself it was all still doable. Skipping a wedding planner, she told herself, was a “personal touch” — a way to stay close to the process and actually enjoy it.
But the truth?
She was hanging on by a thread.
Then came the call.
Back home in Chicago, her mom had slipped on the ice and broken her hip. Surgery was scheduled for the next morning.
Lindsay didn’t hesitate — she knew she had to be there.
With one phone call, her mom’s well-being became her top priority.
And just like that, the balance she’d been faking her way through collapsed.
What was already overwhelming became unmanageable.
What was already stretched thin began to tear.
And here’s what hit her hardest: She’d built a life with no margin.
No room to breathe.
No systems for when life shifts suddenly.
No support structure around her at work.
Her firm had what they liked to call an “open-door policy.”
But behind that door?
No check-ins.
No forward-looking conversations about growth, capacity, or boundaries.
No roadmap for what to do when real life collides with work.
Lindsay wasn’t someone who broke easily. She was the kind of woman who showed up. Who pushed through. Who never wanted to seem like she couldn’t handle it.
But she knew this was going to rock her world.
She called her best friend — another attorney — who had worked with me a few years ago.
“You need to call Tracy,” she said. “She’ll help you figure it out.”
Lindsay called me.
We talked.
We looked at what was happening, what was possible, and what was sustainable.
She got her thoughts together.
We role-played.
We mapped out a few if-this-then-that scenarios.
Then, she called her practice group chair.
She didn’t wing it. She didn’t blast off a rambling email.
Instead, she shared what had happened, explained what she needed, and laid out specific ways colleagues could step in — making it clear that this was a stop-gap until she got her mom situated.
It took a few emails to get it sorted. Leadership responded. Colleagues leaned in.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was enough.
Enough to breathe.
Enough to stop pretending she didn’t have a life outside the office.
Enough to believe — maybe for the first time — that taking care of her family didn’t mean giving up the life and career she’d built.
Here’s what I want you to hear:
Don’t wait for a crisis to start advocating for yourself.
Don’t keep hoping someone notices your exhaustion.
And don’t wait until life flips the table on your priorities to realize you don’t have a buffer.
Waiting isn’t resilience.
It’s resignation.
It’s looming self-sabotage.
If your firm doesn’t have a culture of consistent two-way communication, take the initiative.
Initiate check-ins outside of official performance reviews.
Ask for feedback early and often.
And say what needs to be said — even if your voice shakes, even if email feels much safer.
And before you do any of that?
Pause. Breathe. Prepare. Prep. Role-play with someone who gets it. Brainstorm every possible scenario.
I’ve spent the last 30 years behind the scenes of law firms — from boutique practices to global giants.
As you know, law firms are a complex mix of business and hierarchy.
They’re part tradition, part politics, and part bottom line.
To succeed in a place that defies logic and resists transparency, you need more than talent.
You need someone who knows how the system really works.
That’s where I come in.
So whatever you’re carrying right now, hear me on this:
You are not the first.
You are not the only one.
And you do not have to figure it out alone.
Life will keep coming.
Better to have the clarity, the courage, and the skills locked in when it does.