Trial work is not for the faint of heart. There’s no sugarcoating it—being a trial lawyer requires a level of physical, mental, and emotional endurance that most people will never truly understand. When I walk into a courtroom, I bring months—sometimes years—of preparation with me. I carry my client’s pain, their story, their truth. And when I give everything I’ve got—when I fight like hell for a just verdict—what I feel at the end is something that’s hard to put into words.
But I’ll try.
We just wrapped a tough trial. I’m still catching my breath. My body is tired. My voice is hoarse. My mind is finally slowing down after running at full speed for days on end. And my heart? It’s full. Because I know my client felt heard. And that matters more than anything.
This work demands your whole self.
It’s not just about standing up and talking in court. It’s about sleepless nights reviewing evidence, catching inconsistencies in the other side’s story, building a strategy that makes the truth clear even to a stranger hearing it for the first time. It’s about knowing your client inside and out—what they’ve suffered, what they’ve lost, what justice would look like for them.
And then it’s about showing up and performing. Because trial is theater and chess and war all rolled into one. You have to think three steps ahead. You have to adjust in real-time. You have to stay sharp, composed, and clear—no matter what gets thrown your way.
There’s no calling it in. There’s no “half effort.”
By the time I give my closing argument, I’m running on adrenaline, coffee, and pure heart. My client’s case isn’t just a file or a name on a docket. It’s personal. Because they’ve trusted me with one of the most difficult chapters of their life. And I honor that trust with every ounce of energy I have.
That’s why, after trial, I crash. Not from defeat—but from the weight of giving it everything. It’s a kind of exhaustion that’s earned. And if you ask me why I keep doing this—why I stay in the ring, knowing how much it takes—I’ll tell you:
Because it’s worth it.
Because justice matters.
Because when I see a client cry tears of relief, when they tell me “thank you for fighting for me,” when I know we made the system see their humanity—that’s what keeps me going.
No, not every case ends in a perfect victory. That’s not real life. But every case deserves my best. And I don’t walk away wondering “what if I’d tried harder?” Because I know I did everything I could. And my clients know it, too.
This job teaches you something deep about people.
It teaches you that strength isn’t loud. It’s in showing up when you’re scared. It’s in telling the truth, even when it’s messy. It’s in standing tall when the odds are stacked.
It also teaches you about grace—about humility. Because no matter how much I’ve done in this profession, I still get nervous before trial. I still rehearse every detail. I still sweat the small stuff. Because that’s what this work demands—and what it deserves.
So here I am, after another hard-fought case. Tired. Grateful. Ready to do it all over again.
Because every client deserves someone who will fight for them like it’s personal.
Because for me—it always is.
