Law rewards endurance, not wellness — and the consequences are sometimes fatal.
We all know the lawyer stereotype: high-achieving, sleep-deprived, and possessing an uncanny ability to ignore our own needs. From the first day of law school, lawyers are trained to perform under pressure, meet impossible deadlines, and push through exhaustion without complaint. That hustle culture doesn’t end at graduation — it intensifies once practice begins.
While the legal profession prides itself on strength, precision, and resilience, over time it has created an unspoken expectation: suffering is normal, and silence is professionalism.
But the cost of that silence is becoming impossible to ignore.
As a former Big Law associate, a working mother, and now the owner of a thriving boutique law firm, none of this surprises me. Early in my career, I felt the cumulative effects of long hours, crushing billable requirements, and the unspoken pressure to constantly outperform my male colleagues just to be seen as “enough.”
I was incredibly fortunate to find therapy and life coaching early on, tools that helped me step back from the relentless grind and recognize that constant overwork was not a badge of honor, but a warning sign. Those interventions allowed me to see beyond the billable hour, break patterns of people-pleasing, and understand that sacrificing my mental and physical health ultimately served institutions, not my own long-term success or well-being.
Without that support, I am not sure I would have been able to remain in the profession in a healthy, sustainable way.
I often think about the tragic death of Vanessa Ford, a wife, mother, and equity partner at Pinsent Masons. Her story has reopened an uncomfortable but necessary conversation about the state of mental health in the legal profession — and whether we are willing to confront a system that too often rewards burnout while overlooking human limits.
In September 2023, Vanessa Ford died after being struck by a train.
The Coroner’s Court inquest found that she had consumed “a significant amount of alcohol while undergoing an acute mental health crisis,” and revealed a pattern that will feel painfully familiar to many lawyers:
This tragedy was not the result of a single bad week. It was the foreseeable outcome of a system that normalizes chronic stress, constant availability, and emotional isolation.
Empirical data confirms what lawyers and law students experience firsthand: the legal profession is in the midst of a mental health crisis.
Studies consistently show that lawyers report significantly higher rates of anxiety, depression, and substance use than the general population. More than half of practicing lawyers report symptoms of anxiety, nearly one-third report depression, and over 70% believe their work environment directly contributes to their mental health challenges. Lawyers are also disproportionately affected by alcohol misuse, chronic stress, and stress-related physical conditions.
Law students are not immune. Research shows that law students begin school with mental health profiles similar to their peers, but by their second and third years, rates of anxiety and depression increase dramatically. Some studies suggest that up to 40% of law students experience depression by graduation.
This raises a troubling question: If law school initiates the decline, and legal practice accelerates it, where does recovery fit in?
Mental health challenges in law are not driven by workload alone. Financial pressure plays a significant, and often ignored, role.
Despite the public perception of wealth, fewer than 10% of lawyers are millionaires. Many lawyers carry six-figure student loan debt well into mid-career, face volatile income structures, or feel trapped in roles they dislike because they cannot afford to leave.
This creates a dangerous feedback loop:
Work more to feel financially secure.
Burn out.
Feel stuck.
Work more.
Financial stress compounds emotional stress — and yet, most lawyers are never taught how to build wealth strategically, align their careers with their values, or create financial optionality.
This is precisely why I created Legal + Wealthy, to challenge the narrative that suffering is the price of success, and to give lawyers the tools to build both wellbeing and wealth without sacrificing one for the other.
The legal profession has normalized conditions that would be considered unsustainable — even dangerous — in many other industries. Excessive billable expectations, constant availability, glorification of overwork, and fear of appearing weak or replaceable all contribute to a culture where lawyers endure rather than seek help.
This culture does not merely affect mental health. It impacts physical health, family relationships, professional longevity, and the quality of legal services delivered. Chronic stress has been linked to cardiovascular disease, autoimmune disorders, sleep disruption, and impaired cognitive function — all of which undermine the very excellence the profession claims to value.
The legal profession does not suffer from a lack of awareness. It suffers from a lack of meaningful action.
Real change requires more than wellness panels and crisis hotlines — though those matter. It requires structural reform, leadership accountability, realistic workload expectations, financial literacy, and a cultural shift that values sustainability over martyrdom.
Mental health must be treated not as a personal failing, but as a professional priority.
As psychiatrist Vikram Patel reminds us:
“There is no health without mental health; mental health is too important to be left to the professionals alone.”
Mental health is not a side issue in law. It is the foundation upon which ethical practice, sound judgment, and meaningful careers are built.
Taking care of ourselves — and each other — is not a weakness. It is the most responsible thing this profession can do.