Three Years Out From BigLaw: Psychology of a Career Change
Three years ago last week, I resigned from my partnership at Kirkland & Ellis to become a writer.
Was it the most lucrative professional decision? No. Was it the best decision I’ve ever made? Hell yes.
But even for someone who literally went back to school in her 30s to study psychology — specifically the research on identity, stress, and resilience — and has read every book ever written about career pivots and leaving the law, my “journey” from Law Firm Partner to Unknown Unpublished Novelist has been a trip.
The professional identity shift wasn’t seismic but gradual, circular and weird? Looking back on the past three years now, it happened in phases: the shedding of my lawyer identity, muddling through how to be a writer, and then re-integrating my lawyer and writer identities in year three.
Here is basically how it went:
Year One: The Shedding (March 2023–March 2024)
After twenty-one years of lawyering, what I most wanted when I resigned in March 2023 was to never see or think or read about anything law-related ever again and to give myself time to simply recover, both physically and mentally.
This entailed:
Deleting all my law-related newsletters and news apps
Hiding all my blazers and high heels and suitcases
Sleeping like it was my job — mid-morning naps, mid-afternoon naps, 8 p.m. bedtimes, no alarm clocks
Buying and wearing (daily) a series of Free People onesie jumpsuits that horrified my sister but gave me great pleasure, along with “cool” clear acrylic glasses and baseball caps.
Free People Jumpsuit On Point, feat. (1) my nephew Tommy; (2) Charlie the dog and my nephew, Charlie the Human; and (3) Gracie, Gemma and my nephew Daniel
Doing approximately one million puzzles and listening to every podcast ever made, particularly about career changes and writing
Taking a Harvard creative nonfiction class to maybe write a nonfiction book about everything I’d learned in my other Harvard psychology master’s classes
Signing up for NaNoWriMo, writing a first draft of a novel about legal witches fighting climate change in one month, and LOVING IT (the writing; not the first draft—the first draft was certifiably shitty.)
Adopting a second dog, Gracie, as a sister to my firstborn, Charlie
The hardest parts of Year One:
Feeling utterly lost, with no idea where I was going at first, only that I was disinterested in being a lawyer
Dealing with PTSD from my very worst workplace/travel experiences (holes in planes! getting stuck in trucker climate protests! toxic everything!), all of which exacerbated my strong hermit tendencies
Buzzing with irritation at everyone and everything
The low-key depression of not getting dressed up or even having a reason to leave the house
Judging myself harshly for napping every day, for wearing the aforementioned jumpsuits, for not immediately diving into something new
Losing all my “statuses” — including, most crucially, my United 1K — and missing them terribly
Slowly learning that peace and contentment actually feel better than shopping sprees in Paris. But damn, I missed those shopping sprees in Paris.
By the end of Year One, I thought I maybe wanted to write novels as my career but I was grieving the loss of the identity attached to my external status markers. When my United 1K and other VIP things faded away, I had to find out what was actually left which was room to learn and be curious and again. The word “Lawyer” was verboten.
Year Two: The Muddling (March 2024-March 2025)
In 2024, I started treating writing like a job. I set a schedule. I started working on my first real novel about a female founder torn between her angel investor and best friend (the legal witches draft from NaNoWriMo 2023 went straight into the drawer).
I continued taking Harvard creative writing classes and was admitted to the creative writing master’s program (where I met so many lovely new writer friends!) before I realized: I didn’t need another degree. I have enough! Instead, I enrolled in The Novelry where I also made some lovely new writer friends. I learned a ton. Loved the community and the guest speakers and the entire experience, which helped me finish, revise and way-over-polish my female founder novel.
The writing life is a happy life, indeed!
I relished the glory of the non-billable-hour writing life — until I started missing structure, and what do you know, I downloaded a free time tracker and started billing my hours again.
I still wore the Free People jumpsuits but dipped into some "artsy” Frank & Eileen tops and Vuori joggers.
I realized I wasn’t as angry/impatient/stressed/annoyed by everyone and everything as I used to be, but still, I would drop a class/Zoom/call in a hot second if I didn’t like the vibe.
By Q2 2024, I realized I identified, unambiguously, as a writer. And I wanted to tell people! That summer, I built a website! I started a newsletter! I started an Instagram!
And in Fall 2024, I started going to author events — including Richard Powers, Rebecca Makkai, Shelby Van Pelt, Fredrik Backman — with my sister as my date. I sat in those rooms and thought: this is the most magical, special career I could ever choose, and I need to give it my all so I can one day call these people colleagues!
And in November 2024, I wrote the first draft of my paper mill mill novel during NaNoWriMo (though it wasn’t exactly a paper mill dynasty but a Harry Winston-influenced jewelry dynasty with a high-powered NYC lady lawyer before I realized my female founder started a jewelry company and surely I cannot only write about jewelry and ambitious women. Or can I?)
The Hardest Parts of Year Two
I grieved so much that year. Not only my lawyer identity (and salary), but my beloved firstborn dog, Charlie, moved to heaven in May 2024 after years of illness. I’m so grateful I was home with him every day in his last year of life; losing my dog-person after 15 years was horrible. The day after Charlie died, those mothereffing cicadas invaded the Midwest with their apocolyptic noise, then, Gemma the Kitty got really sick (from grief), requiring hospitalizations!
Suffice it to say, my draft novel took a very dark turn the summer of 2024. It was not a good time, nor was it a helpful series of revisions so later that year, I scrapped everything I wrote that summer and started anew.
I missed working with people!! Most especially mentoring young associates and being mentored by young associates. I felt so, so lonely even though I joined many a writing Zoom but I longed for the charge of walking into the United lounge, my “usual” hotel room at the Conrad DC, the Equinox in the San Francisco Four Seasons on Market Street. All of these places turned into novel settings, btw.
I still napped most every day and felt ashamed about my lack of energy. And I judged my sub-part output in terms of billable hours - I repeatedly failed my self-imposed schedule and then would be irritated with myself.
By the end of Year Two, I was a Harvard drop-out in a wrist brace from overtyping. I had over-worked eight drafts of my female founder novel and a first draft of my paper mill novel. I was still a little scared, my body still a little burned out and I was 100% certain I wanted to be a writer!
Year Three: The Integration (March 2025-March 2026)
Shortly after my second anniversary of quitting the law firm, I realized — with some urgency — that I needed to actually sell a novel and make money to turn writing into an actual career and not a hobby.
So in 2025, I finally finished revising my female founder novel and started preparing to query agents to try to get a traditional publishing deal.
As I prepared to query my novel, I started hardcore revising the first draft of my paper mill novel and made it to Draft 4 by the end of Year 3. It is good! And I actually left my house for overnight trips, including my first research trip to go see paper mills in Appleton, Wisconsin, obviously.
Feeling very fancy with a finished novel, I treated myself to some new non-athleisurewear clothes. I bought A DRESS and real, non-sweatpant-pants. I got my hair done. I felt very me again.
I found myself digging deep into various luxury paper manufacturers websites, downloading their sustainability reports and then reading them with a highlighter and realized: maybe I missed being a lawyer?
Cut to:
The hardest parts of Year Three:
I did some legal consulting calls and at first, it felt incongruent with my new writer identity but kinda fun to get paid (again) for my expertise.
Then I did a longer-term legal consulting project for a start-up that was insanely chaotic, and I went into a deep dark hole, wondering why I was doing it when I didn’t need the money and I had committed to become a WRITER. When my brother reminded me I wrote a whole novel about start-up culture, it helped me view the gig as “Research” but still, I was mad at myself for doing it and it drained a month’s worth of energy from me.
Then I did another much-better-organized legal consulting project and it was fine. Working with a team and helping clients and getting positive feedback was refreshing after living in the querying dead zone. Deadlines were welcomed. Getting paid money for my effort was a joy.
Most importantly, I remembered how competent I feel as a lawyer! How much experience I amassed working all those hours and years. How proud of myself I am/was to master ridiculously niche areas of law (e.g., the Equator Principles, bald eagle permits, hard rock mine leases, offshore oil and gas in Africa, global sustainability guidelines, public company disclosure, etc.) and work on projects on six continents. How lucky I was to get paid to travel the world and meet so many interesting, lovely clients.
I realized I am still interested in sustainability/environmental law, and so grateful I got to do it for over two decades. I had spent nearly three years wanting to erase that lawyer identity, and then I found myself really proud of it—who knew??
By the end of Year Three, I remained firmly committed to becoming a full-time, professional novelist. And also realized I am, and will forever be, a lawyer, too. That is allowed and okay! I leveraged my lawyer butt-in-the-chair work ethic and scorched earth research and fast writing skills into a few novels in three years, and putting the same amount of effort into querying agents while learning how to self-publish. Maybe one day, I’ll do more sustainability/legal consulting on the side, in between novels. I can do this!
Looking Ahead Into Year Four
As a writer, I want to finish my second novel, make money from my first, try to get an essay published.
As a human, I am grateful for the total autonomy over my life and schedule. Feeling healthy, sleeping like a rock star (only crowns on my Oura, baby), no cortisol spikes except hearing cicadas and leafblowers, no stressful travel, being genuinely content while also aspiring to be a Booker Prize-nominated-bestselling-adapted-for-film-and-tv author with a PJ and a house in Malibu. . . this is the best life and one I can afford because of the sacrifices I made all those years of lawyering.
So I want to let myself ENJOY this year ahead instead of worrying I’m not working enough/posting enough/doing enough/getting published. If it’s meant to be, I’ll get a traditional publishing deal and if not, I’ll self-publish. Either way, I’ll put a book out into the world. How lucky to live in a time to have this choice!
The fashion identity crisis has been the most humbling ongoing subplot. In Year Four, I’d really like to explore the Frank & Eileen sweatshirt blazer life. I feel like that is just the right vibe for me.
What I Want You to Know:
To Anyone Still in the BigLaw or Other High- Adrenaline Life
I miss you. You are awesome, brilliant and you work incredibly hard and you do important, difficult, super smart specialized things while contributing greatly to our economy and culture and have unbelievable stamina Also: if you don’t like it, or if you don’t feel healthy, it is possible to want less and do what you want more. The wanting-less is the hardest part!!!
To Anyone Who Recently Switched Careers and Is Still Waiting to Feel Okay
The recalibration takes longer than anyone tells you! But the floundering is not failure. The naps are not weakness — Andrew Huberman naps; it is a total power move. And, specifically for lawyers turned creatives, if you are accustomed to measuring your life in 6 minute increments, you have to simply accept four hours of intense cognitive work is not laziness. It is science. You are not behind if you’re not working 12 hour days/7 days a week. (And you can bill or not bill time spent on your new career, it is up to you!)
To Anyone Who Has Made The Transition from BigLaw to Creative Work
Hit me up! Seriously. I know there are so many lawyer-writers, writer-lawyers, etc out there and I would love to organize a support group. :)
In Closing
On the other side of three years, I’m no longer negating the East Peoria-girl who worked for Latham in Washington DC and made partner at Kirkland. I’m super proud of her!
But I’m more proud of me for leaving law and trying a new career instead of staying stuck and chronically stressed/sick/periodically burned out/deeply unhappy at the end.
My sister said I became a happy human when I stopped being a lawyer. That tracks, but both of those professional identities are mine.
What’s left now is to tolerate the silence of querying agents and the cringe of social media and the terrifying lack of external feedback while writing something I hope my future readers will enjoy. I really want to produce something that matters again — not measured in billable hours or a salary, but in whether it makes someone feel entertained, a little less alone and a lot more hopeful.
If I can do that, it will have been worth all the uncertainty of switching careers. And if I can’t do that, then maybe I have a future as a fashion stylist for career-changing ex-lawyer ladies. As you can tell from my jumpsuit collection, I have quite an eye for this.
