Burnout

After I posted my first couple of pieces on this blog in December, I realized that I had stirred some strong feelings in my fellow non-profit colleagues on the issue of burnout. One friend, a public defender, immediately commented to me that, " I almost cried when I read about feeling burnout. Sometimes I can't tell where my frustration comes from. You are so right that it comes from seeing injustice dumped upon helpless people everyday." Her admission struck me, so I thought I'd briefly return to the topic.

My colleagues and I, employed in direct service non-profit legal organizations, work in the "trenches" -- we have day-to-day contact with clients who are desperate for legal representation but cannot afford the luxury of private counsel. They often come to us with a lot of hope; little understanding of the law and the means by which it can and cannot solve one's problems; and sometimes with doubts about our abilities since we are free lawyers. I once had a prospective client ask me why I did not charge any money for my services. Was it because I had not passed the bar exam? Daily, we see the good and the bad of human nature. We are worn down by dishonesty, manipulation and constant demands, yet invigorated by sincere gratitude, candidness and the victories we obtain for the underserved in our population. We perform our work without the benefit of assistants and secretarial staff. One colleague laughingly told me that when she started working in non-profit, after having been at a prestigious law firm, she had to be taught how to use the fax machine. At my current job, I had to learn how to operate a postage meter.

In the non-profit sector, there is no doubt that we lawyers are sometimes called upon not only to solve legal problems the way we were educated and trained to do, but also to virtually perform miracles and provide basic social services to our vulnerable clients, whether or not this appeals to us. I have found myself attempting to locate housing for a homeless client, pick up another at the bus station in a frigid night, loan a third the fare for a bus ticket (without reimbursement despite the promise to do so), provide warm clothing for the winter months, and even buy a pair of shoes for one who was desperately poor. For this reason, we must consistently remind each other not to take our work home with us. The emotional toll might overwhelm and leave us indifferent, and I’ve certainly been through many bouts of burnout in my two-decade career. There is even a report that was published about a year ago indicating that lawyers who represent asylum-seekers may suffer secondary post-traumatic stress disorder given the tales of horror to which we are consistently exposed, as well as the demands we must meet to "save" our clients from future pain. Secondary trauma results from the natural emotional consequences of learning about trauma and helping or wanting to help its victim. (See, Secondary Trauma in Asylum Lawyers, Bender’s Immigration Bulletin, March 1, 2009). The same source points out that burnout is different. Burnout results from a working environment characterized by high stress and low rewards, the epitome of which is employment in the non-profit sector. Imagine if one suffers from both burnout and seconday PTSD! Regardless of this possibility, we inevitably still let certain clients and their conflicted lives get to us. It's hard to let go of your humanity just because you leave the office.

A young, dedicated immigration attorney, whom I had once had the pleasure of mentoring, recently informed me after reading my blog for the first time, and sympathizing with my tales of burnout, that she was changing jobs in order to handle fewer cases and more administrative duties. She'd spent the last several years representing the indigent in immigration court, like I. She told me frankly that, "working with clients is really, really difficult and I'm glad that someone else shares my frustrations." Initially I thought that her decision was premature and made too early in her career. After all she'd only graduated from law school a few years earlier. But I understand. The exhaustion creeps up on you, and when it stares you in the face, all you can think of is to run. Run far away and never look back. The key, however, is coming back to your senses after you feel there's no other solution but to jump ship. How we each do this varies from one person to the next, and I have no remarkable insight on how to reach this point, although obviously I've hung around for over twenty years. For me, it just happens. I have a good day and forget about the previous bad day(s). I suppose it helps that, ultimately, I truly like my clients and their stories. My friend, on the other hand, really needs a change of pace for the time being.

A feeling of burnout is particularly disheartening when family and friends inadvertently contribute to it by questioning the motives for which you engage in this type of work. The most common offending line is, "don't you want to make more money?" I suppose that, given the reputation that the legal profession has for being a lucrative career, people find it hard to comprehend why some of us might practice in non-profit and virtually live paycheck to paycheck. One former colleague simply did not tell her family about her exact career choice. As she explained it to me, "they wouldn't understand it. They think lawyers make lots of money." It's no wonder that she left the non-profit sector after an extremely short stint for a more traditional legal position with the government. I also thought such a change might help when I joined private practice for a brief three years. I learned, however, that the field was not really so lucrative, but that I had many more limitations on what cases I chose to handle since, naturally, legal fees and profit were the underlying goal of the law firm. I guess I value my freedom more than money.

A good friend of mine who was one of my first mentors in the profession, himself the son of immigrants and someone to whom I turn regularly for all sorts of insights given his years in the field, says that he finds solace in his faith, which is reflected in a quote by the late, brave Archbishop of El Salvador, Oscar Romero: "We cannot do everything and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something and to do it very well." He adds that "stoking the passion that led me to work for the poor is essential to combating burnout." I agree. He, like I, admits that he has less patience with clients as time goes on, whether it is a result of age or experience. There is no doubt that sometimes you want just to admonish your client, "how could you do that?" or "what the hell were you thinking?" "You made your bed, now lie in it!" I remain conscious that some of my clients have put themselves in the situation in which they find themselves by poor decision-making or inappropriate behavior, and I remember that I am simply not responsible for it or its consequences. I get handed my deck of cards and I am not a magician. I cannot change the bad hand that people bring to the table with them.

My "old" friend and former mentor also says, "as long as I have a sense of caring, I know I have not burned out." I too rely on my empathy to keep trudging forward, and try to recall the moments with clients that touched me. I once had a Vietnamese Amerasian client who wasborn in the midst of the war. He was unrecognized by his American father, rejected by his mother, and then abandoned by those who "adopted" him as soon as they had used him to immigrate to the United States under a special program for Amerasians. He explained to me how, as a child, he could not attend school because of the discrimination he faced as a child of the "enemy," and how he wore tattered clothes and owned no shoes. No one loved him, he candidly told me in his heavily accented English. He said that the other kids had their mothers and fathers to hug. He hugged only trees. When I think of such a story, shared with me so trustingly, I know I am where I should be. Perhaps that's my little secret.