For Women Lawyers, Career Choices Have Price

Editor’s Note: The author of this post is the founder and CEO of Clientsmart and advises law firms and in-house counsel on pricing, negotiations and other issues. This post is a response toearlier poststhat Big Law Business published about a study on the different career choices made by men and women law school graduates.

By Rose D. Ors, CEO of Clientsmart

The recent report “Women and Men of Harvard Law School,” detailing gender roles in the legal profession touched a raw nerve. As I read the report last week I was flooded with emotion. I cried — partly out of frustration and sadness that, after decades of polite and impolite conversations about gender equality — women are still fighting against stereotypes. But then I realized that my tears were more personal. Reading the report unearthed the feelings of anxiety, fear and loss that preceded major decisions I made after law school graduation.

My right to make choices is one I hold sacred. My parents raised me to believe thatchoice — the freedom to think for myself and decide how I want to live—is an inalienable right. Theirs was a lesson bestowed upon me by a single of act of courage and love when, in the spring of 1962, they made a choice that at eight years old, I would join what became one of 14,000 children who left Cuba alone rather than have no choice under a Communist regime. On that day I learned that every choice — no matter how necessary — comes at a price. It was only as an adult that I learned that every choice — no matter how freely made — also comes at a price.

After decades of polite and impolite conversations about gender equality — women are still fighting against stereotypes.

So after I put aside the now slightly moist “The Women and Men of Harvard Law School” report, I took pen to paper to explore my choices. The decision to share them in a public way was not an easy one. I had some trepidation about seeming indulgent. But, if in sharing my story, I can help one person find solace and reassurance in his or her choices, it’s worth the risk.

Decision One — Quit the practice of law.

[caption id="attachment_2270" align="alignleft” width="314"][Image “Pictured: The author at her grandfather’s desk.” (src=https://bol.bna.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Rose-Ors.png)]Pictured: The author at age six at her grandfather’s desk.[/caption]

At six years old, I decided I would become a lawyer. My maternal grandfather was a lawyer. He was smart, funny and generous. He worked at a beautiful wood desk that anchored a room lined with leather bound books. On his desk were a large inkwell and a collection of elaborate fountain pens. He was my hero and his office a magical place. A lawyer I would be.

So from the age of six through my early 20’s my north star was to become a lawyer. I loved the pursuit. I competed in public speaking events (impromptu was my thing). I was in student government and elected study body president of my high school.I got a BA from the Department of Rhetoric and a JD — both from UC Berkeley. So far so good!

I joined a law firm where I liked my colleagues. The department chair was a mentor. The hours were long but I was used to long hours. The pay was generous. But there was a problem that became a personal crisis. I hated the work. It held no intrinsic personal value for me. Similarly, the brass ring of partnership held no allure. A lawyer I had become. But it held no magic, no heart. I lost my north star. It took a few excruciatingly painful years to decide to quit.

Decision Two—Start a company and postpone starting a family.

As the saying goes, “find a need and fill it.” So I looked and found it. I was 35 years old. The need to fill it became a passion. Launching a company from a crazy idea on a napkin with $2,500 and no experience is insanity. I stumbled and fumbled. But I found my north star. Each time I fell I got up. Each time I fumbled, I tried another way. It was all consuming. I knew I wanted to have children. But I made a choice to build my company first. My brother had two boys that I could not imagine loving more (still feel the same) if they were my own. So I could adopt.

I knew I wanted to have children. But I made a choice to build my company first.

In seven years, I built my business up from a poorly funded start-up to an enterprise that a number of large companies wanted to buy. I sold the business at 42 years old. I got my brass ring. And the frosting on the cake was that the business was in the legal profession and I got to be a lawyer, too (sometimes).

My son is 17 years old now. He is my greatest source of pride. I’ve made it a priority to teach him that choice — the freedom to think for himself and decide how he wants to live — is an inalienable right. I hope I’ve done a good job. I’ve also tried to impart to him by example that each of his choices —no matter how necessary and freely made — will come at a price. Choose wisely my one and only child.