#IWasDeprived

As a child attending weekly youth fellowship, we would play games. One haunting game was when we took turns saying, “I was deprived.“ “I was deprived because I have not gone camping.” Everyone who never went camping would then raise their hand.

As we named whimsical things that made us “deprived”, one person raised her hand at every comment. Her name was Joni and she had cerebral palsy. (This is not her real name but Joni Eareckson Tada was her favorite author.) She wore leg braces and walked with the help of crutches. Her fingers were curled and she could not hold a pencil easily. The game was a lesson of all the things that we took for granted . . . walking, running, climbing, skipping, or jumping rope.

Once I passed my driving test, Joni and I made a tradition to shop during Christmas. When I picked up Joni, I learned how to operate her wheelchair: apply the brakes, open, close and fold it into my car. When we entered the crowded stores, there were so many barriers: shelves that Joni could not reach, aisles that were not wide enough. The most eye-opening experience was how Joni was treated. People often grew impatient because Joni fumbled to get change with her gnarled fingers. There were often rude comments which made me want to respond with a cutting reply. Yet Joni was always quick to apologize which diffused the situation. She explained that people didn’t understand her disability and it was not due to malice.

The most humbling experience was when we went to an old movie theater. The hallway to the bathroom was too narrow for the wheelchair. I remember my eyes filling with tears as I watched Joni resolutely crawl through the hallway because she needed to use the restroom.

Joni was an example on handling conflict and misconceptions gracefully. Perhaps one of the reasons that I feel so passionately about the law is because it recognizes that all people . . . men, women, black, white, disabled are equal. (We honor the #BlackLivesMatter movement. I know from the first-hand experiences of my clients that they are treated differently because of the color of their skin.)

#ACryforHelp

I’ve been blessed.  In my life, I have not experienced deep, seering, debilitating grief until this past year.    My heart felt numb . . . like there was a hole inside.  I looked at old photographs and spent days and hours working on a scrapbook.  I appeared normal but I would have unexplained outbursts of anger.  I stopped logging into my social media accounts.  I stopped doing things that I enjoyed.  I binge-watched countless episodes of television dramas.  I spent days in bed.  Getting up and completing simple daily tasks became a huge challenge.  I would burst into tears without any reason.  When I look back at the tasks that I completed . . . it amounted to very few.   

Yet in the midst of my overwhelming pain, a former client reached out to me and asked for help.  I remember explaining my situation and clarifying that I was not accepting clients for the time being.  She immediately texted back, “But who will help my daughter?”

This simple question jolted me out of my daze.  In that moment, I stopped focusing on myself . . . paused . . . and listened.  I finally heard her daughter’s story, and my hurting heart, for the first time . . . in a long time. . . felt compelled to help.

I learned that in my grief when I stopped thinking about my own desperate feelings . . . it allowed me to step into someone else’s shoes and feel their anguish.  When I used my time and energy to help others, it soothed my wounded heart. 

"Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said.

A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made.

Or a garden planted.

Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die,

and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there."

- Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

I was reminded of the times when I was penniless . . .  when the feelings of abandonment and hopelessness overwhelmed me.  It was those times that my father provided hope and guidance to me in unexpected ways.  I am what my father left behind.  I know my father would have wanted me to help.

#IAmEnough

I had a difficult time deciding on the name of my practice and law firm.  I’ve always loved my sisters’ names: one sister was named after a princess in the Bible; another sister’s name actually means princess in Hebrew.  In comparison, Eunice was portrayed as an elderly spinster on a television show.  She had white hair, an annoying personality and a squeaky voice.  I realized that I did not like my name because it was a window into my past.  Growing up, I was constantly compared to my sisters.  It left me feeling like . . . I wasn’t good enough . . . smart enough . . . pretty enough . . . talented enough.  My name wasn’t related to a princess at all.

Then I met my husband.  The first gift he ever gave me was a pair of Nike running shoes.  (We weren’t even dating at the time.)  He always loved the brand Nike because it started with an idea by a teacher at Portland State University for a better quality running shoe. The products were light but sturdy and the advertising campaign “Just Do It” propelled Nike into an international brand.

Fast forward to our marriage, . . . two kids later and countless pairs of Nike shoes, Nike athletic equipment, and Nike apparel for our entire family.  My daughter wanted me to create wings for her Halloween costume because she explained that Nike was her favorite Greek goddess.  Nike represented victory in both battle and competition.  I had no idea that the brand Nike was named after a goddess.  My son chimed in, “The Nike ‘Swoosh’ is a symbol of her wings.”

As I was mulling over names for my law practice, I kept rejecting the use of my own name.   I realized my name . . . held personal attachments for me because as compared to my sisters, I always felt like I wasn’t enough . . . I was lacking.  So I looked up the meaning of my name, which has Greek origins, (Eunike) or (eu) “good” and (nike) “victory”.  I was surprised and pleased that my name had a connection to my husband’s favorite athletic brand and my daughter’s favorite goddess.

Part of reframing my perspective is to know that . . . I am good enough . . . I am smart enough . . . talented enough . . . I am enough.  It took my entire family to help me embrace my own name, Eunice.  It means good victory . . . joyous victory . . . she conquers.  A perfect name for a lawyer and a law practice.

Ms. Pearl

I am representing a refined and elegant client who was formerly a medical doctor in Hong Kong.  She is dignified, strong, tenacious, brilliant, feisty and scrappy all at once. As I listened to fascinating tales about her studies, her jobs and her research, I couldn't help but think that she lived a worthwhile life.  Yet, now as she is slowly aging . . . she has become so vulnerable.  Without family in the United States, she is reliant on “friends” and “acquaintances” to help her. 

I met her by sheer serendipity.  I was noncommittal when I was initially contacted to help Ms. Pearl (a fitting but purely fictitious name).  Several emails later and a frantic telephone call, I learned that Ms. Pearl threw a tantrum and refused help.  I recalled teasing, “Great . . . another difficult elderly woman.”  So I agreed to touch base with her.  I called Ms. Pearl twice and twice she grilled me,”Do you have enough experience?  I can find help somewhere else.”  I retorted, "Of course! I have many years of experience as a lawyer, that's why they asked me to meet you." She finally agreed to an appointment.

I went to visit Ms. Pearl because she had mobility issues.  Even when I arrived, she said behind the door, “I don’t need your help.  There are lots of places where I can get a lawyer.”  I knocked again, and when she opened the door, I gave her my brightest smile and handed fresh baked Asian pastries to her. 

At last, she led me into her apartment.  Once I started talking to Ms. Pearl, her defenses began to drop one by one.  She showed me all of her paperwork and I couldn’t help but feel deep anguish over her circumstances.  She was being evicted but that was just scratching the surface of her problems.  There were many layers that created more questions than answers.  As I began piecing together her situation, she enchanted me with stories of her youth and accomplishments.  I realized that her problems were far more complicated than what I was asked to do.  I also knew that if I negotiated a settlement for her, I would dishonor her very being.  I told her I needed to conduct more research and I would return in a few days.

I was reprimanded by at least three people that I was “once again” helping someone for free when I am struggling financially.  Yet I knew that if I didn’t help her . . . no one else was available.  I also knew that if I didn’t help her, an enormous puzzle would not be solved.  I tend to listen to my heart because I believe it is the core, the essence of my being.  I kept thinking that the reason I started my own practice was to “speak for those who could not”.  My heart was compelled to make time for Ms. Pearl.

Every pearl is unique.  Unlike other jewels, they don’t arise from the depths of the earth but from the sea.  Pearls do not require special cutting or polishing to maximize their beauty.  To me, she is “Ms. Pearl” because her beauty, inside and outside, should be treated with integrity and respect even as she begins to age.

#Like a Girl

The advertising campaign with girls showing how they run, throw, fight “like a girl” resonated with me.  The ad demonstrated that girls saw themselves as strong and confident, while boys portrayed them as weak or frail.  The research prepared by the agency responsible for the “Like a Girl” campaign found that 72% of adolescent girls feel held back by society.

I was blessed with an older brother who saw me as strong and capable.  He taught me how to play basketball, football and softball.  Whenever we played in neighborhood “pick-up” games, he would throw the football or pass the basketball to me without fail.  If a boy said, “She’s just a girl.”  My brother would always respond, “She’s really good. Just watch.”

As an adolescent, I played “pick-up games” knowing that I could contribute.  During the football huddles, my brother would suggest, “They are not guarding Eunice, I’m going to throw it to her.”  He would make me practice my bank shots in basketball saying, “You just have to make one consistent shot time and time again.”  It was my brother who would pass the basketball to me and yell, ”Shoot!”  I always felt like a valuable part of a team because my brother championed me.

So I entered a male-dominated profession feeling comfortable.  Yet, the people in law are different.  Instead of celebrating my unique qualities as a woman, I felt like I had to downplay my strengths.  “Black, blue or brown suits are professional colors.”  “Low heels are more elegant.”  “Focus on your brilliant mind, your research and writing skills.”  There was the constant pressure to defer to a partner.  Even though I wanted to be “first chair” at Trial, I would only and always be “second chair”.

I became very bland.  I worked countless hours.  I ate due to stress.  I didn’t exercise.  I was unhappy.  As an adolescent, I didn’t feel held back by society, but as an attorney, I felt it sharply in my very bones.  So I began to assert myself.  I asked if I could do “pro bono” work.  I spoke up if I had a different idea.  I made detailed demands backed by solid research.  The partners’ comments were, “You changed.” 

By becoming more authentic with the partners . . .  I found myself.  I am so grateful for my brother, who championed me because I knew something was wrong deep down.  My journey is just beginning, but I practice law “like a girl” and I am badass.

My Fearless Client

I was taught to be submissive.  I was told to be quiet, not to talk back and if I had a different idea, to keep it to myself.  I remember once being asked,"Why do you need to go to law school?  You can just find a good husband."  It was against this backdrop that I was raised. I grappled with the stereotypes discussed in “The Feminine Mystique” by Betty Friedan. I fought against it and listened to my inner voice. But . . . it was lonely growing up being called "stubborn" because I refused to fit into "their" mold.

Recently, I represented a client who was a victim of assault.  I listened to her story without judgment. She was valiant because she fought back.  Nevertheless, she was blamed for her actions and her personal character was criticized.

After reading the police report, the CAD report and her hospital records, the overarching theme was that she was involved in an unfair fight.  I realized how traumatic the event was for her and immediately recommended that she seek treatment and counseling.  Her doctor was able to diagnose her with a medical condition which explained her behavior.

We negotiated a favorable settlement and the client was pleased.  With tears in her eyes, she explained that no one listened to her or even considered that she was a victim. In fact, the actions of everyone around her seemed to favor and protect the assailant.  She didn't feel like she was heard.

Because it hurts to be "passive" and it's painful to watch the "aggressor" take advantage of the situation without a fight.  I celebrated my client's courage.  I recognized and honored her bravery. During the settlement discussions, I explained her feelings, discussed how she was badly mistreated and produced evidence of her physical and emotional injuries.  As a result, we were able to obtain a fair settlement.  

Looking back, I am grateful for my childhood experiences.

"The Road Less Traveled"

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, . . . and that has made all the difference."  - Robert Frost

If I could pinpoint when I first wanted to be Boss, it was at the very beginning of my career when I worked for law firms catering to the Asian population.  It was also then that I realized how inadequate I felt as a lawyer.  So I went on a quest to acquire research, writing, advocacy and trial skills.  I found that defense law firms had excellent training programs and aimed for a job there.  For 12 years, I worked tirelessly as a defense attorney practicing and honing the skills I so desperately wanted.

Once I was confident in my abilities as a lawyer, I began to reflect on my “why”.  Why did I become a lawyer? Growing up I saw my mom struggling to make ends meet.  She worked two jobs, just to pay the bills.  She would often come home exhausted from her long days at work.  So when she experienced injustices, she didn't want to “make trouble”.  Yet, I remember listening to her list of regrets.  It was then that I decided, that I would stand up for her.  I wanted to be a lawyer to speak up for those who couldn’t.  I wanted to fight because I didn't want to live with regrets.

After 12 years, I knew that I was unsatisfied representing corporations.  So I made a career change and worked in a non-profit representing clients facing eviction.  I connected deeply with the struggles that my clients faced and I found the work rewarding.  In hindsight, I realized the skills I developed as a defense attorney, enabled me to battle and represent people with real problems.

So I am now taking "the road less traveled" by opening up a law firm and writing a blog.  I've always wanted to be the Boss and practice law differently.  I feel like I just jumped off a precipice and it’s both scary and exhilarating!