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How I Learned to Let Go of My "Professional" Identity (Part 1)
The Childhood Moment That Made Me a Lawyer
Have you ever met someone and instantly known what they do for a living? Whether it’s the clear tone of their voice, their impeccable style, or natural ability to listen and connect—some people just embody their profession.
For most of my life, people have said they could spot me as a lawyer from a mile away.
Like many of us, I carry multiple identities – religious, cultural, familial, generational. But “attorney” was the first identity I truly chose for myself. And that choice began with an unexpected moment of childhood clarity—while sick at home with a fever.
Before streaming TV and endless entertainment options, seven-year-old me found herself stuck on the couch, watching reruns of Perry Mason. The brilliance, cleverness, persuasiveness, and confidence (I could go on) of Attorney Mason, were inspirational.
I wanted to be a lawyer just like Perry Mason, solving crime, protecting the innocent, and catching the guilty – all while remaining calm, collected, and humble. I was immediately hooked and in my fever-induced haze declared, “I want to be a lawyer!”
And that declaration stuck.
By third grade, I still wanted to be an attorney.
That year my parochial school faced push-back from the local town council about expanding to build a cafeteria. So, for our annual costume parade, I borrowed my dad’s briefcase, and my mom made my alliterative protest sign that read, “Hire Lawyer Lerner to Sue for Cafeteria.” I won first place.
From that moment on, it was a straight line to esquire.
I attended a rigorous private high school where academic achievement was the norm. If my report card didn’t have straight A’s, my mother would gently ask if I was doing my best. If I said yes, she would smile and remind me, “There’s more than one way to get an education.”
That message stuck with me. In addition to keeping my grades up, I played on multiple sports teams and threw myself into student leadership. Through my participation in varied extracurriculars I learned how to collaborate towards goals bigger than myself. Public speaking and leadership became second nature by the time I left high school.
As an undergrad at Washington University, I continued to burn the candle at both ends. Even though I loved math and the sciences, I majored in humanities—because that’s what most lawyers did. I joined intramural sports, student government, and nearly every campus group that aligned with my values.
I had a hard time saying no, especially when a problem begged to be solved. Eventually my friend Moira led an intervention my sophomore year. She made me list every extra-curricular I was involved in, and demanded that I cut at least three. It was the first time someone challenged the pace I had set for myself.
The only real break I allowed myself was a semester abroad during junior year. And even then I stayed on the law-and-government track so I wouldn’t lose momentum. By the time I applied to law school, I had already interned for a U.S. Senator and worked for various non-profits and activist organizations in both my home state and Washington, D.C.
Each move was calculated—each one in service of the identity I had claimed back in third grade.
I chose Seton Hall University School of Law, not just for its excellent reputation, but because a family friend once told me: “Study law where you want to practice.” I had always envisioned myself building a life in New Jersey, so Seton Hall felt right.
Law school felt like a mad dash to the finish line. I was so focused on sticking to my timeline that even a serious car accident during 2L reading week didn’t stop me. Despite losing mobility, dealing with constant migraines, and being diagnosed with fibromyalgia, I pushed through—determined not to fall behind.
But something began to shift. I can’t say whether it was before or after the accident, but the glossy image I had of legal practice slowly started to fade. I had spent years building my life around this one identity. But what happens when the identity I built so carefully no longer fits who I’m becoming?
This is the first chapter in a new series about how I went from a lifelong identity as a lawyer to stepping into something entirely new. If you've ever questioned the story you've built your life around, I hope you'll follow along.
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