I know I can, be where I wanna be,
If I work hard at it, I'll be where I wanna be...
Nasir Jones knows what's up, right?
Well I bloody don't.
Because sometimes you can work SO hard. And get to where you think you wanna be. But it turns out... It's not where you wanna be at all...
I am sat in Cafe Nero (despite being on a Spending Fast - more on that another time), listening to Nas (my go-to for getting 'fired up', real white girl style) making a skinny wet latte last as long as possible (current time - 2 hours), trying to decide what to do with my life.
Until 2 weeks and 3 days ago I was an Associate at a Law Firm in London. Hating life. Hating the commute. Hating London. Hating lawyers. Hating myself. And full of regret for every decision (since I was about 16) that I had made to reach this point.
My life was full of self-loathing, a severe lack of laughs, sleepless nights, and worries.
My dream come true.
I had read John Grisham since I was about 9 years old. I watched Alley McBeal and This Life. I loved debate (translation: I loved winning arguments). I was driven and determined to succeed. Nothing was going to stand in my way. I did work experience at solicitors' firms. I chose my A Levels based on what would give me the highest grades to get into University and study law, which I sort of hated, before graduating and being bought my first suit, and beginning my exciting legal career.
I went to the States for a bit to work for a lawyer who specialised in DUIs, which I knew absolutely nothing about, then I came back to go to Law School (where you get taught how to *be* a real lawyer!), where I was prepped and preened and tested, all to prepare me for the life of a solicitor.
Yay!
I would wear a suit and heels and make loads of money and everyone would be jealous of me as I powered through a life of accomplishments and success. I would impress everyone with my smart quips and great negotiating skills. I would probably get made a partner really young and go to lots of cool lawyer parties with cool lawyers. Maybe even marry a Doctor (why?!). And I would definitely accomplish my two main goals (after becoming a lawyer, that is): I would buy myself a red soft top sports car, and I would buy my dad a boat.
I probably don't need to point out that none of this happened.
What did happen is that I was one of almost 6,000 LPC (that's legal practice course, the post graduate course you study at 'law school' in the UK) graduates. And the number of training contracts (2 years on-the-job-practice at a firm in order to finally qualify as a solicitor) available was grossly disproportionate to that.
Oh dear Freckles. You poor girl. You poor, naive, silly, silly girl.
What a fucking idiot.
I spent 5 years of my life as a paralegal. Or legal assistant. Or whatever the title was, depending on the firm, that meant I was doing the job of a solicitor (in many cases) but not being paid accordingly because I had not completed a training contract. I moved from firm to firm in search of the Golden Ticket. In those 5 years I worked at six different law firms. I also worked nights at a local pub for a while, and went through a few months working in sales (after one firm I worked for closed down). I got paid less than the minimum wage. Every Monday night I sat at my computer and churned out letters and e-mails and CVs begging for a training contract. I thought it would be the answer to all my problems.
Rejection came. Almost daily. It was hopeless.
Slowly, I declined into a spiral of hopelessness. I berated myself every day. I was jealous of everyone else, for whom life seemed so easy. Until I got one, I was a failure. I put up with so much shit from various employers, all in my quest to be seen as the ideal candidate.
My wishes were granted when I became a trainee solicitor at a medium sized high street firm. By then, I was so used to disappointment that for the entire 2 years I worried and despaired and made up scenarios about how something would go wrong or I would get sacked. I was constantly scared, but desperately worked hard not to show it.
And finally, in December of 2010, I was admitted to the roll of solicitors, attending my admissions ceremony with pride. My parents, my friends, my then-boyfriend, everyone was pleased for me. I got flowers sent to work. I got champagne. I had done it. The fight had been worth it. I was a solicitor. An Officer of the Court. My parents were proud. Goal: achieved.
It had to get better now, right?
Hahahahahahahahahahahaha, nope.
https://youtu.be/MM7K0LtkAvs
It started with me being the victim (ick, I still hate that word... but it's true) of bullying by a wig-wearing, smug faced, arsehole partner who made my life... difficult. I got as far away as possible from that steaming pile of crap, with a bitter taste in my mouth. The firm was not for me. And it's employees definitely sailed close to the wind on too many occasions that I had witnessed. Lawyers, doing morally questionable things? I mean, what?
I moved cities and firms. I practiced a new area of law and I really liked it (I think). A large firm. A swish building. My very own assistant. I felt like I was part of something. Fighting the good fight and all that.
But I was in a city where I knew no-one except my sister. And it was tough. Add to that the pressure of wholly unattainable billable hours, a challenging commercial client, partners who expected blood.
I enjoyed the work. I relished the challenge and I was on the fast track to succeed. I worked my butt off. My life was work. E-mail access at home. I was one of those absolute wankers that came in as early as I could to get a 'head start'. I worked until 9 pm. I didn't listen when my sister would call me saying 'come home'. Going home was for pussies. Not those who wanted to succeed.
But finally I started to notice... something was missing. This was not fun. I needed to listen. But what to...?
Hey! A change is as good as a rest, right!
I moved to London and a new firm - a teeny tiny one run by a hugely respected legal brain at the forefront of a niche area of law. I stayed there over 3 years and convinced myself I liked it.
Things went sour when I started to realise I was being taken for granted. I wasn't progressing in the firm as I should have been (and believe me, it took a lot of time, courage and confidence to admit this to myself).
My quest to be perfect and to succeed (although my definition of success was, I now realise, questionable) was completely unachievable, particularly in a firm where I often knew more than my peers, yet was left unrewarded.
The turning point came when I questioned my insulting pay rise and was made to justify my humble existence in the firm in front of two partners who interrupted me, shouted me down and, ultimately, to my own utter shame, made me break down in tears because I felt so worthless and shit and became convinced I didn't deserve a job there anyway.
What. The. Fuck. I had only asked for (significantly less than) what I was entitled to. And believe me, I was not being demanding here. I was determined to please everyone. I didn't want to cause problems. I was being fobbed off and I was used to accepting what I was told. I was a good little employee. In fact looking back, I was as 'perfect' as I could have been.
The fighter in me knew this was wrong. So, I let go and I cried to a wonderful man. Picked myself up and bloody well fought back. I got my pay rise. Yay! Go me!
And yet.
The humiliation I had felt left me scarred.
The end was nigh, it just took me a little while, a month off work with depression, some counselling and more sleepless nights and helpless tears, to realise it.
My confidence began to grow. I began to fight back. I stood up to my boss. This was the nail in my coffin. This was both my mistake, and my victory. He shouted at me. Things got out of hand. I handed in my notice. Without another job to go to.
I should have listened then. But instead, I found another job as quickly as possible. A brand spanking new job in the City where I would be challenged and fulfilled and make more money. Where I would be happy?
God, when was I going to listen?! I moved jobs, but I also moved the problem. The first few months I was a shiny beacon of positivity. Hashtag loving life. I became an associate quicker than I could pass my probation. I was on the road to success!
A common theme here... But still I wasn't listening.
This time the comedown was not as unexpected, yet the realisation that I worked for someone that erm.... shall we say did not quite share my values and morals as a professional.... Yeah, that was tough.
I carried on. I was determined not to spiral this time. To make it work. I had to. I couldn't walk out of a job again. My Wonderful Man did not deserve this. I did not deserve this. I did everything I could to keep going. I went to yoga and the gym and counted my blessings during every fucking shitty, sweaty, painful commute. I listened to podcasts on gratitude and how to be happy with your load. Everyone hates their jobs, right? Why was I more entitled that anyone else? What an ungrateful little shit I was. Such a millennial! Hashtag lolz.
My other lawyer friends (well, friend really) were in the same boat. See? Wasn't just me. See? Nope, sir. I could do this.
And then, life had another plan.
Because then. Then... I got given the gift of redundancy.
And it is a gift. Because I don't have to be a lawyer. I can be whatever I want. But the problem is.... I don't know what I want.
So. Here I am in Cafe Nero. On latte number two. Trying to figure out what the shit I want/ am going to do with my life.
To be continued...
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