Week 2 - New Shoes

Being a professional middle-aged woman is filled with potential pitfalls. Fashion and comfort are often mutually exclusive. As someone who has suffered from spinal stenosis, plantar fasciitis and a rapidly growing bunion, wearing heels has resulted in significant discomfort. My new position requires, at least for now, that I stand for an hour at a minimum. One day this week, it was 2 and a half hours.

So I have searched for shoes that are comfortable, but somewhat cute. Here they are:

Procuring Respite

I have been prosecuting domestic violence cases for 20 years. Victims of these offenses generally fit a typical profile. They are uncooperative, which manifests itself either in perjury - should they actually come to court - or complete disappearance, in which case it is difficult for the prosecution to proceed.

Often, a prosecutor has to negotiate a better deal than would be desired because of that lack of cooperation. Frequently, the offender is placed on probation and ordered to have no contact with the victim. And, most of the time, the offender and the victim reconcile…..until the next act of violence occurs.

This week I was tasked with preparing for a hearing that was likely to revoke the Defendant’s probation and send him to prison for around a year. I had subpoenaed a police officer and the victim. She was reluctant to come in, but she actually arrived on time for our prep meeting ahead of court. I explained the process and what was likely to happen. She was visibly upset and expressed great anxiety at having to testify in front of her abuser. She then tried to take responsibility for what had happened, telling me that she had allowed him to stay with her when he had nowhere to go. Her eyes welled up with tears as she explained how much she loved this man, with whom she had been in a relationship for 8 years.

I asked her what she wanted to have happen, thinking I knew her answer. The majority of victims sincerely believe that all it will take is “just one more chance.” But then this victim surprised me.

“I think he needs to do his time,” she whispered. She had grown weary of his jealousy, his belittling, his violence, all which was fueled by his drug use. She explained to me that she just needed some time to be able to breathe, without looking over her shoulder for the next explosive episode.

I told her that I would try to get through the hearing without having to call her as a witness. When we got to court, the defense attorney surprised me with the news that the Defendant planned to waive his right to the hearing and agree to go to prison. The victim's relief was palpable when I conveyed this to her, as she anxiously waited out in the hallway. She hugged me in gratitude and went on profusely about what it meant to have someone looking out for her.

It was a good day.

On the Year of My Professional Discontent

Very unexpectedly, I have found myself in a version of professional hell. Or at least that is how I feel. I was taken off a trial team and unceremoniously reassigned to a calendar position. It was a position nobody wanted, including me. In a nutshell, I am no longer doing a job I am confident in, enjoy and feel like I have the skills for, but rather, I now feel like I have been relegated to an assignment that is neither interesting, nor challenging. Apparently my feelings really didn’t matter when it was decided that I would relinquish my current caseload and take on this assignment.

It has been explained to me that experienced attorneys are needed for this position. Based on my 20 years in the County Attorney’s Office, I find this explanation not the least bit persuasive. It has been explained to me that it is a “break” from the “stress” of jury trials for serious cases. My response to that is that a trial attorney gets periodic breaks – they are built in to the calendar. I went for about six months without a break (ironically during Casey’s surgery and subsequent chemo) and then did not have a trial for another four months. That was my “break.” Or so I tried to explain. Where I have previously thrived on the complexity, variety and challenge of jury trials, I now find myself mired in the monotony and tedium of a day to day assignment that only varies by volume. I am tasked with representing the State in hearings where an individual is alleged to have violated their probation. The vast majority of these people are chemically dependent, suffer from some sort of mental illness and otherwise live on the fringes of society. The question before the court is “what response is appropriate to this person’s transgression?”

I have been mired in trying to figure out what might have been my transgression that has led to this unfortunate turn of events. With everything going on nationwide in the criminal justice system, particularly the allegations of racism, I have also begun to wonder if it is time to move on to another area of law. Criminal prosecution, with the exception of a year of defense work and a year representing child protection social workers, has been my professional life for over 20 years. I could never see myself doing anything else. Until now. The upcoming year in hell gives me an opportunity to reevaluate my thoughts and feelings about what I have been doing professionally and what I might do in the future.

For the last several weeks, however, my main response to this situation has been to complain. To feel humiliated when people say, “what a waste of your talent.” To dread the loss of personal freedom that this assignment brings. To dread the physical discomfort it brings (1-2 hours standing at a podium every afternoon). However, from time to time, I have been able to interject humor into the situation. I generally default to happy. I always have. It is easier for me to smile and laugh than to be angry. But for the last several weeks, I have struggled to overcome an overwhelming sense of bitterness and panic.

Today, I finished my first week in this assignment. It was every bit as awful as I imagined it would be. As I was preparing to leave work this afternoon, I joked with my colleagues that I would create a countdown of weeks until it would be over. Counting days made the situation seem insurmountable.….weeks would feel more endurable. So, on a year assignment, that would add up to 52 weeks. And after today, 51 weeks. After work, I went to the chiropractor, where she worked on my messed up back and hip flexors. We talked about the new shoes I ordered and how I will manage my posture better. But when it came to how I was going to cope emotionally, mentally and psychologically with this new situation, we were both at a loss. I did express that I knew, deep in my soul, that I needed to be able to identify a way to find peace.

And then, when I got home, I figured out a way.

For every week that I am in this assigment, I am going to find one good thing that happened. One thing that I am proud of. One thing that feels worthwhile. I already could think of two things for this past week, so I am already ahead of the game. The entries may not be long, but they will serve as a marker to show that I still can find value in what I am doing. That there may be a reason, long term, for why this has happened.

These entries will demonstrate that I can change the way I think about all of this. And there will simply be no room for complaining.