Brian Cuban's Blog, page 7

What Does Cocaine Addiction Feel Like?

I sat down with prominent YouTube vlogger, “CG Kid” to discuss cocaine addiction and how it affected my life.

 

Using The Power Of Story To Break Stigma

I am often asked how law firms can empower employees to be more comfortable coming forward with mental health issues. How can they break through the fear and stigma that inhibits the healing process? The firms want to be a part of that process. Many have tools to help with it.

There are wonderful, practical suggestions in the ABA Wellness Task Force report that I hope all law firms will look hard at implementing. The hard reality, however, is that for many, there are no magic words, pamphlets or statistics to make these fears go away.  That will cause them to step out of their comfort zone. One reason is that it is that the underlying issues are often deep-seated. To face the surface issues means facing the darkness of the deep.  A skin-tight suit of shame that may have been worn for years, maybe decades, possibly a lifetime.

The stigma surrounding addiction and depression has been a part of our society and ingrained into our collective psyche for many decades. For an employee, it may have started at home. Reinforced in social media. Shame can mean ten different things to ten different people when deciding whether to come forward with a mental health issue.

Here is the constant. Shame and stigma are more than the moment you see when an associate, partner or support employee reaches the apex of the struggle. When there are consequences.  That story is easy to read. It’s right there in front of us. What was the story that brought him/her to crisis? Do you know any of it? A life journey you may know very little or nothing about. Why should you? No one asks about trauma or adverse childhood experiences in a legal job interview. Whether the prospective associate was bullied as a child or maybe abused.  Whether they speak to their parents. How things are at home.

Of course, we should not ask those questions, but the answers are still part of the story that walks through those law firm doors the first day and can have an impact on performance and mental health from the get-go.

The answer is not to pry details. For the power of story to break the stigma of mental health struggle, it has to come from the storyteller because he/she wants to tell it. Make no mistake, we are all storytellers with the ability to channel that gift to draw others to tell theirs.

Many people who struggle. want to tell their story but they are too ashamed and afraid. They project out the worst possible response. They retreat back into their office to wait until the consequences catch up to the problem. A new chapter added to the story. Now a chapter, partly in someone else’s control, maybe the state disciplinary board, the law firm making a termination decision, or freedom at risk.

This is why the breaking of stigma and the empowering recovery in the law firm setting is more effective when it is top down through the encouraging of story-telling. It is an acknowledgment that even continuous wellness messaging may not be enough to break stigma to a degree where an employee will utilize the provided resources.

From the top down, start telling stories. Your stories. How can management expect a young associate to be vulnerable and ask for help if no one will take the same step and let them know they did.  Who are the storytellers in the firm?  Litigators love to tell stories. Are any of them willing to talk about their struggles?  People are much more likely to seek out those that they share common story elements with than someone who is only a title. When its just a body, we project. Tell those stories. Let them know you are a life journey just like them.  I know. You’re a big law partner, not Dr. Seuss. I get it. Try being Dr. Seuss now and then. Be vulnerable. Vulnerability connects. Stories connect. Stories heal. People want

When Not Minding Your Own Business Isn’t Enough

The State Bar of Texas has lost another lawyer to suicide.  I and many others have lost a friend. His family has lost a loving husband and father.  Andy Krasfur was a great lawyer and visionary entrepreneur in the running shoe industry.  He also battled bipolar disorder and related mental health issues, particularly, depression.

I first met Andy, years ago through a mutual friend, who knew I was an avid runner. He wanted me to check out Andy’s innovative “Spira” running shoes. The shoe had springs in the sole. This made it easier on the knees and pardon the pun, put a little more spring in each stride. Dealing with hip and knee issues, I was eager to lace them up. Andy sent me a complimentary pair.  It was the start of our friendship. At that time, I was unaware of Andy’s mental health struggles.  A phone call close to a year ago changed that.

Andy wanted my advice on dealing with bipolar disorder. He also wanted to be an awareness advocate. To break through the shame and stigma so many struggle with.

One of my mantras is that when someone is struggling, we need to not to mind our own business. We should step out of our comfort zone. I have little personal experience with bipolar, but I know about empathy and support. That’s what I had to offer.

We discussed Andy’s struggles, personal and professional. We discussed the danger of self-medicating, instead of proper diagnosis and treatment.

It was clear that something was off in that first conversation. I did not want to assume or stereotype based on my ignorance and bias, so I listened. We agreed to speak again in a few days, at which time I would provide mutual aid resources for peer support and a few places he could go for treatment.  We did speak, and again, it was clear from his manner of conversing that he was still struggling.

We spoke one more time about a new start-up he was putting together. He assured me he was on appropriate medication and getting the help he needed. He promised to get into a support group. It was a much calmer discussion, which gave me hope. What I did not know, was that things were not better. They had gotten progressively worse.

On April 25th, My friend Andy lost his battle with mental illness. Andy was part of a profession that has the fourth highest suicide rate.

Many did not mind their own business. Sometimes, tragically that won’t be enough. It does not mean people did not do everything they could. It does not mean people did not step outside their comfort zone; many did.

As long as there is mental illness and human beings can feel, there will be a tragedy. There will be collateral pain and damage. That does not mean I will give up, nor should you. Keep reaching out. Keep not minding your own business. Keep stepping outside your comfort zone. Ask a simple question, “How are you doing” Ask it again, before the conversation breaks.

I asked. Andy said, “I’m great” He was not. We are not mind-readers, but every time we ask, it could be that one moment that changes the course of someone’s life. It also could be one of a series of touch points that eventually gets that person to seek help. I will keep not minding my own business. 

*May is  Mental Health Awareness Month. Resolve to step outside your comfort zone and ask one person a week who you think may be struggling, how they are doing

A Morning Reflection On 12-Years Of Sobriety

April 8th. My Tabby is asleep, curled at my shoulder. Her paw draped over both eyes. The darkness of a sun not yet crossing the horizon makes it easy to keep my head on the pillow. I don’t want to get out of bed. So many emotions running through me. Sleep is a time-machine of memories. I am a child. I am a teen. I am a man. My father is all those things. Alive and vibrant. He would have been ninety-three today.

The reality is different. He is gone. It’s still fresh. An open wound that has closed a bit since that brutal afternoon. The text from my brother Mark to get right over to my dad’s place. “It is happening” My stomach and heart still throb with an emptiness. I can no longer kiss the top of his bald head and tell him I love him. I can no longer steal his chips at the blackjack table. He smiles, winks and says,

“You’ll get my bill in the mail.”

There will be no family dinners with him and my brothers, regaling our childhood exploits.

I try to shift gears to the positive. Move from bitter to the sweet. I am twelve years sober today. He lived to see me free of the mental and physical handcuffs booze and cocaine locked inside for so many years.

I am grateful for that. For the morning I sat on his couch. Alone. Ashamed. Two days off a blackout. Two days off a trip to a psychiatric facility. Two years off a near suicide. Two decades after a line of cocaine provided me the artificial self-love I craved, replacing decades of self-loathing. Countless bottles of Jack Daniels and Grey Goose to deaden the pain of a little boy.

He sits next to me with his body up against mine. I sob. My body convulses and wretches. He puts his arm around me and pulls me close. His head lays on top of mine. My hair dampens with his tears.

“I love you, Brian, what can I do to help.”

“I am alone dad. Amanda has moved out. No one will ever love me again.”

“You’re wrong. I love you, Brian, your brothers love you. You are not alone. Have you spoken to them?

Not yet, I respond between sobs. The truth is that I don’t want to feel their shame and disappointment in me. I am ashamed enough for the entire world.

“Let’s do this. Stay with me for as long as you want. We’ll get through this together. First, call your brothers.” He releases his hold and hands me a Kleenex, taking one for himself.

For a second I forget the guilt and remember what he told us growing up. A mantra he learned from his parents. No matter where my travels take me. No matter what happens. Pick up that phone and make sure my brothers are doing ok. Tell them I love them, as he did with his two brothers. Allow them to love me when it matters most.

I made those calls. I stayed with my dad. I entered 12-step. I began therapy. Amanda stuck by me while I rebuilt the broken trust.  While I rebuilt myself and helped that little boy let go of his pain. It’s a continuing journey. I miss my dad on his birthday. There is also joy. The joy of feeling the pain of love and loss sober with the people who care about me and who I love. I will go to his grave and tell him about it.

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery on April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

How Diverse Law Students View Mental Health

When discussing law student mental health, an understanding of how stigma impacts diverse/marginalized demographics is important. There can be a tendency to view stigma as a equals impact, cookie-cutter conversation. The reality is that it can have a radically different meaning and impact, depending on the unique aspects of a particular student.

All law schools should consider having a wellness diversity representative integrated into their specific program to ensure that students from different cultures and demographics. who may view mental health stigma in a way unique to their upbringing, have a voice and explore ways to ensure they do not feel marginalized in seeking help.

I reached out to two diverse students to provide their insight on how their culture and background affect their definition of stigma and how law schools can better address a diverse student body.

Karman Anwar is a student at the UNT-Dallas School of Law. 

 My father is a Muslim man from Pakistan and my mother was a white Southern Baptist woman from North Carolina. They divorced when I was young and I spent time between the two going to church and to the mosque. I don’t currently practice either religion, but consider myself to be an independently spiritual person.

To me, a law school’s responsibility is to guide you back to your community for assistance during difficult times. My mom’s side of my family and my wife’s family (also white, but not religious) are both dominated by women. In both families, talking about feelings, how they’re affecting you, and expressing your vulnerabilities is common, accepted, and encouraged. A law school’s approach of “the door to student services is always open, come ask us for help when you are struggling” would work for most of them because their families mirror that approach to mental health. So when the school is pushing “opening up” as their solution, they are certainly empowering at least some of their students, but significantly ignoring the students who aren’t comfortable being open in that manner; typically, men and immigrants.

I spent the majority of my time in my youth with my father and younger brother. I had the immigrant, male, and Muslim aspects all weighing on me to shove my feelings down and persevere. My dad expected perfection and “feeling bad” was never going to be an acceptable excuse, so you never even said it out loud. After all, he’d shown up here with a suitcase and a little cash and built a life in which he could provide me with anything I wanted; who was I to complain to him? Also, in Islam, you keep it—whatever “it” is—in the family. Dumping your vulnerabilities is for you to do while you’re praying 5 times a day; not to a stranger. Plus, as we all know, men are expected to suffer silently and carry on in spite of their struggles.

All of that to say, “we’re here for you, come see us” is not going to work for me; ever. I can’t imagine a scenario where I’m going to wake up feeling depressed and march into student services and tell them about it. When I am struggling, I seek the advice of those I trust the most—a close group of friends and family. Law school necessarily strains my relationship with those people, and think that’s the center of my struggles while I’ve been in school. I don’t spend time with them, I am forced to ignore them, I don’t have time to reciprocate their caring for me. It’s tough.

But, what I think law schools can do, is remind us not to abandon the community that we came from. It’s easy to spend all your time in the library. It’s easy to completely stop working out (like I have for the last two years). It’s easy to eat poorly, drink too much, and get beaten down by poor grades or poor performances. But, the institution who inflicted this struggle on us logically cannot also be the solution. They need to remind us to put down the books sometimes, go for a run, have dinner with your wife, go to church (or temple or mosque), go see a movie or play, etc. They need to remind us that our mental health is rooted in our fitting into our communities and that the farther removed we become as we wade into the depths of law school, the more we’re going to struggle. It’s shouldn’t be the school’s responsibility to fix the problem it created; they need to remind us to continue participating in our social lives to the extent necessary to keep us sane.

Angela Han is a healthcare lawyer and a plant-based personal trainer for lawyers

My biggest goal coming to the US from Korea for the first time to attend college was to “fit in.” The first step in doing that was to absorb everything that I saw about the American culture and ignore every part of myself that did not align with that. That meant that I joined all kinds of student associations that was not Korean. I did not want to fit into the Asian “stereotype,” whatever that meant, and I wanted to speak English as fluently as possible so at least I would sound like an American if I couldn’t look like one. I tried to get away from my identity as far away as possible.

Every time I failed at being someone I was not, I felt like I failed as a person. I was setting unreasonable standards for who I needed to be, and I was not happy when I was with the people I was trying to “fit in” with. I later realized deeply that was a mistake when the people who grew closest to me were the ones who embraced my Korean identity and truly wanted to be part of my world. I felt like I had wasted years trying to fit into a mold I was not cut out for. That felt like another failure.

As young people, we are often pressured to know exactly what success and failure look like. Yet, we only have a very vague image of and little guidance on what either of that is. My idea of success was to go to a good school, get good grades, and get along with everybody because I was told that was a good thing. I never once considered during my undergraduate years what success meant for me personally. I was trying to get along with everybody, and when that did not happen, I felt like I had failed. And even when I had gone to a good school and got good grades, I still felt a gaping hole in my heart. That also felt like a failure because what I felt did not feel like a success. I wish I had known what success was for me because everything I accomplished felt less like success and more like a failure. Not knowing what success was for me, I did not know how to get back up.

What I think would have been helpful in school is if I saw more people like me who struggled in a similar way and have a safe space to talk about how to find answers together. One thing I remember from the posters that advertise for psych services at the schools I attended is that I did not find a lot of people who looked like me, and even if I did, the messaging a bit vague: “If you are stressed, we can help.” Also, because of my negative experience with a psych clinic, I was never sure when they were available, and I did not want to approach until I knew. I respect that the clinics are advertising to a broad audience, but like any business trying to attract the right people it can serve, it should be focused on specific problems to solve, like the one I had: ignoring my identity and not knowing what success meant for me because of the difference in culture. As part of addressing the diversity of problems that students may be struggling with, I think there are three practical ways to be more inclusive:

List out the exact issues they are looking to address. Not just “stress,” but specific and common issues like “dealing with stigma that comes with bad grades,” “managing time effectively with the overwhelm of reading and not understanding the materials,” “making meaningful connections in a competitive atmosphere,” “trying to immerse in a new culture if you are foreign LLM student,” “defining success,” “identifying goals that are right for me.” Listing these out shows the audience that their issues are well-understood, which opens up their mind more about coming to seek help. While there may be a fear that having a certain list of issues would exclude other types of issues, that will only cause to explore more specific issues that students are going through. Therapy can be more effective when there is more empathy and understanding of the issues the client is facing.

On the clinic website or any outward-facing marketing material for psych clinics, show the faces of the therapists and what their specialization is in. As a bonus, share their stories and where they’ve been. I feel like I would have been more open to engaging in conversation with a counselor if I understood more about his or her values because of how personal our conversation could get. We are more likely to reach out to someone who has had similar experiences so that they can empathize. There is a lesson to be learned from marketing. If you are planning a wedding and had to choose between a photographer that shoots anything vs. a photographer who specializes in wedding photos, you are more likely to choose the one who focuses on weddings. Make the counselors’ objectives, intentions, and background clear to facilitate a more open conversation.

Show availability for each of the counselors. When you show up with your voice on a call or as yourself in person, you feel a certain exposure where you feel like people can see that you need help. There is a stigma to that, unfortunately. But if you can see on the clinic’s website what each of the therapist’s availability is, you can manage your request for help privately. It is also better to know exactly when to visit the clinic knowing you will get help, as opposed to walking in with uncertainty that you may actually not get the help that day or may have to wait hours before speaking with anyone.

Provide a safe space for individuals with similar struggles. While individual counselors can be helpful, finding common ground with more people builds a sense of community and support for one another. But this is a delicate area – a safe space has a high risk of falling apart if there is no leader who sets ground rules and maintains the safe atmosphere. It would have been helpful for me if I knew that there was someone to look up to and others like me who sought that guidance from an authority figure.

Issues that arise from cultural differences is only one of the many struggles that we each have. While I may have felt a more acute sense of difference from the crowd because I came from an entirely different country, we all arrive on campus with different experiences and a desire to belong. Sometimes that desire is not satisfied because of our differences. Clinics can address the diversity of not just cultures but also struggles we each face by being more curious about the problems we deal with and being more transparent about how they operate.

Gambling Addiction In The Legal Profession

March is Problem Gambling Awareness Month. A good time to discuss one of the more stigmatized mental health issues in the legal profession.

Gambling addiction is known as a “process disorder.” It is often accompanied by devastating results to legal careers, personal lives, and families if not dealt with early on. You only have to run a Google search to note that stealing from clients/trust account violations can accompany such issues.

For me, problem gambling always went hand in hand with drugs and alcohol. I would lose all my money, and the anger and shame would be intense. I would chase my losses and looked at it as some “higher power” punishing me for all of my teenage and adult sins and the self-loathing of what I saw when I looked in the mirror.

Fortunately for me, the solution was to get out of Vegas, and the anger and self-hate and desire to chase my losses would dissipate.  When alcohol and cocaine were taken out of the picture in recovery and as I worked on myself image, my desire to gamble decreased.

Marty is a recovering compulsive gambler. He says: “While I haven’t made a bet in more than 37 years, I once found myself lost in the world of casinos and bookies and dwindling funds.”

Marty knew he wanted to become a lawyer at the age of nine. He aspired to become a criminal defense attorney like Spencer Tracy’s character in the movie Inherit the Wind, where he defended a teacher accused of the crime of teaching evolution. He says, “Because I did not have much money, my gambling hadn’t been a problem through college, law school, or my two-year stint serving in the army.”

Marty entered into a partnership with a few friends from law school and after a year or so, the practice shifted to real estate law. That proved to be much more lucrative. He says:

I was making excellent money; however, I began to become disgusted with the long hours. I searched for a way to blow off steam after stressful days and began to watch ball games. I found that they could not keep my interest without a small bet on the game. These small bets became medium bets which then escalated into ridiculous bets.

Marty went to Las Vegas with a group of friends. His casino host loved him because he lost plenty of money. He says:

It was not unusual for the hotel to “comp” me to a five-bedroom suite with two pool tables and the car of my choice in the garage. The gambling fed my ego and gave me a false sense of pride. I’m not sure what I was chasing or why I was chasing it. I had a beautiful wife and three amazing children who adored me a large home and a thriving practice.

Soon enough, however, family was pushed to the backseat as gambling took over every aspect of Marty’s life. He says:

At that point I didn’t understand that gambling was an addiction. Nor did I understand its progressive nature. I had the opportunity to stop at that point while having lost all of my savings There still was time for me to stop but I just could not bring myself to do it based upon my will power alone, the disease was too strong. I had been strangled by this addiction and I was struggling to breathe.

I didn’t have a gambling problem; I had a stopping problem. My life became very small and the gambling consumed much of my time at this point. It’s sadly a disease that hurts the ones we love the most.

Marty had become numb to any feelings and even amongst the largest crowds felt all alone. He didn’t know that there was help out there. He says, “I was afraid to go to a Lawyer Assistance Program in fear of a lack of confidentiality. While gambling is socially acceptable, it is not something that a practicing lawyer wants to advertise for a variety of reasons.”

Marty was at a crossroads. At that point, he had only lost his own money, but soon began to borrow from others. He says, “I began to borrow from my trust accounts intending always to repay. That was, of course, the beginning of the end. By the end of 1980, I lost my house in foreclosure, my cars were picked up, and I surrendered my license. However, I still did not believe I was a compulsive gambler. That is the insidiousness of this disease and the level of denial I was in.”

Marty then took $50,000 to Atlantic City and within a very short amount of time he had lost it all. He says:

And just like that, I knew that that was the end. I moved into a hotel so my wife wouldn’t be bothered and planned on taking my life that night by way of an overdose of sleeping pills. My life had taken a dark turn and I wasn’t sure how to turn it around other than ending it.

That was when fate intervened. A member of Gamblers Anonymous called Marty and asked to talk after communicating with his wife. They spoke for 12 hours that day and he suggested that Marty go to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting the next day. He says, “It was on that following day that I developed a glimmer of hope. That was on June 2, 1980, and I have not made a bet since.”

Marty also served four-and-one-half half years in prison related to his gambling. He says:

Gamblers Anonymous and its members and Gamonon have been by my side and my wife’s side since. I paid off all of my very large restitution and other debts without missing a payment. My family has stayed with me throughout it all and I learned who my real friends were. I have been married for 63 years and have three children and five grandchildren who all love and respect me deeply. Over the last 37 years, I have devoted my life to help people who, like me, were in a position without hope or a way out. It’s been a wonderful second act.

Finally, we have Andy’s story. Andy’s gambling did not take him down the path of trust funds and loss of licensure, but there was loss before redemption. He says:

For 15 years, I practiced law while at the same time feeding my gambling addiction on a daily basis. Since 2007, I have not placed a bet and have helped hundreds of people in many different states do the same.

Gambling was commonplace in Andy’s family. He started gambling at an early age. He had his Friday night card games with my friends. He says, “The first time we went to a casino, my friends would want to leave, and I stayed not knowing how I would get home.”

Thereafter, Andy started feeling like he didn’t want to go with anyone to the track or the casino. He didn’t want anyone to see the relatively large amounts that he would be spending.

In law school, there was not much gambling. He says:

I did well in law school writing for the law journal and thereafter passed the bar. Although I knew how to prepare for my law school exams and the bar exams, this compulsive gambler was not prepared for the practice of law or life for that matter.

Andy interned at a large District Attorney’s Office. At lunchtime, he would bet on the horses. He says, “My character changed dramatically in the throes of my addiction. On one instance, I remember asking a dying relative to change the channel on his hospital TV set as there was a bowl game on and I had a bet on the game.”

After working at the DA’s Office, Andy worked at a small law firm. His gambling progressed as his income increased. He got married and went to Atlantic City for his honeymoon. He says, “After the honeymoon, my wife called Gamblers Anonymous realizing the extent of the problem.”

Despite going to Gamblers Anonymous in 1992, Andy would not stop gambling until 2007. He would take a two-hour lunches and drive to the track to get his daily double bets in. He says, “While at the law firm, I remember cashing my paycheck on a Friday and coming home to my wife with no money.”

Andy opened up his own firm. He had a lucrative practice, however, much of the excess money went to gambling. He says, “My clients loved me for the most part, but I didn’t love myself. My gambling was a form of self-sabotage. I didn’t believe that I deserved a happy life. I gambled to escape from the stresses of life and practicing law.”

Andy found that his gambling would increase as a trial date would near. The idea of trying a case gave him a feeling of being out of control. He says:

I was full of fear and self-doubt. Good enough was not good enough. I had to prepare endlessly to cover all possible situations. I would play the part of the victim, feel sorry for myself, and gamble.

What changed for Andy was a downturn in his practice in 2007, a downturn in the economy, and an increase in gambling to try to cover the difference. He says:

The result was my home going into foreclosure, my wife leaving with the kids, and the loss of respect of my son. Those events were my so-called bottom which allowed me to be open and willing to try something different and to let go of the old false pride.

Today, Andy is free today from the prison of addiction, one day at a time. He says, “I am free to love, free to forgive, and not hold grudges or resentments. My marriage is stronger than ever as well as my relationship with my son, who is also a lawyer. My life is simple and sweet today, and my goal is to help others going through similar circumstances. I owe my life to Gamblers Anonymous.”

The way people gamble has changed a lot since the days of Marty, Andy’s days, and my days gambling, in which it was pretty much brick and mortar. Andy says:

I see young people come into the program today and I get very emotional. Gambling is so socially acceptable and prevalent. The World Series of Poker on ESPN and online gambling have been glamorized to the point where we have many very intelligent young men come into the Program having spent their student loan money or maxed out their credit cards and feel like their life is over.

If you are dealing with this issue or know a lawyer who is, here are some resources:

https://www.americanbar.org/groups/la...





http://www.gamblersanonymous.org/ga/





http://www.gamblersanonymous.org/ga/h...





http://www.gamblersanonymous.org/ga/c...

Brian Cuban (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

Why I Didn’t Ask My Law School For Mental Health Support

An important and courageous guest post from Angela Han that touches on eating disorders, sexual trauma and cultural diversity issues with regards to shame and stigma.

In a 2014 study at the Yale Law School, approximately 70% of all respondents who were Yale Law students reported experiencing mental health challenges during law school. Of that group, 80% considered seeking clinical treatment, but only half of that group actually did so. I had bulimia for seven years, including my first two years of law school. If I had the opportunity to participate in that study, I would not have even admitted to having a problem. Needless to say, I never asked for help.

I did not see my bulimia as a problem for a long time because I thought it was an excellent coping mechanism. I grew up seeing my parents’ struggle with their marriage, and as an only child, I tried to get in between them and stop their fights and solve problems that were not mine. I felt helpless because I could not help them in spite of my best efforts. They assured me I made them happy, but I felt like I was not enough to make their problems go away. I thought that maybe if I did good things, like go to a good school and get a good job, I could fix their marriage.

As a result, when I moved to the US for college halfway across the world from home in Seoul, South Korea, I pressured myself to be independent, high-achieving, and perfect. But being alone in a different country, without any family, trying to adjust to a society that I had never been part of was not easy. I felt helpless before, but now I felt helpless and alone. When I was drowning in negativity with these feelings, I sought pleasure and relief in food. When I felt alone after not understanding another inside joke or helpless after getting my social security number application rejected for the third time, I binged. When I binged, I felt guilty for indulging myself, and I felt like I needed to be punished for it. So I purged. At the time, I actually thought I was handling my stress well because I was not bothering anyone.

But even if I had acknowledged a problem, I was doubtful anyone could have helped me because I had a few “run-ins” with the system during the years I was sick. The first was a trip to the ER because my body was purging so hard I had trouble breathing. I waited in a bed for three hours feeling exposed and vulnerable, thinking, “Now everyone knows about my secret.” But half of my mind wished that someone had asked me at least one question about my bulimia so I could get the help that I need. However, no one actually asked questions, let alone sat down next to me. A doctor handed me some over-the-counter pills and a brochure. Weeks later, I received a bill for almost $1,000. I felt like I was being punished for asking for help. Naturally, I dealt with this helplessness by purging.

The second time was when I called the school psych clinic after someone directly across from me on the subway faced me, unzipped his pants, and masturbated. I felt cornered. I felt my hands shaking, heart palpitating, and an unshakeable urge to tell someone. I called the clinic and shared what happened. The lady on the phone asked me a series of questions about my medical history and told me to hold. When she came back, she said a doctor would have to review my file and set up an appointment in the next few weeks. After we hung up, I thought maybe my experience was not traumatic enough to warrant the doctor’s time today. Maybe there were other students who had bigger issues. I felt like my problems didn’t matter.

By the time I was in law school, I had hardened to the idea of asking for help. After about six years, I woke up to the rude awakening that no one was coming to help. I needed to do something because I was tired. If I was ever going to have a chance at passing the bar and becoming a lawyer, I could not be tired like this. I decided to accept my bulimia as a problem and confront it, but even that first step was rocky. I started exercising and eating less, thinking that I would be healthier by losing weight, but I relapsed because I did not find answers in weight loss. I went through high fluctuations in my body weight, developed an unhealthy body image, and felt guilty when I did not exercise.

Despite the rough start, I was proud of having finally taken the first step. I began looking for anyone out there like me to help make sense of my struggle. I started with where I felt most comfortable: social media, where I did not have to talk to anyone that may not necessarily be interested in what I had to say. I looked for stories on Instagram and YouTube, where I found so many courageous women who shared their journeys and had gone through exactly what I was going through. They talked about their eating disorders, body dysmorphia, and insecurities that led them astray for so long until they realized that health is not about weight loss but about strength.

I learned through these women that exercise and eating right should be a celebration of how strong your mind and body can be, and that we are all capable of that celebration no matter where we begin. Slowly but surely, I no longer felt alone. I felt understood, even though they had never met me. I was empowered to know exactly what I had to do be stronger, and, moreover, to be grateful and content even when I felt imperfect. I finally understood that courage was not about acting strong but being strong enough to face my fears and not give up until I addressed them.

Looking back, I wonder if the seven years of struggle would have been cut short if I had the option to speak with someone who cared. While I may have fully recovered from bulimia itself, stress is a fact of life. Some deal with it better privately, and some deal better with the help of others. While I dealt with mine privately, there are days when I wonder if there are others who are like me now, whether it is okay for me to speak out and reach out.

I hope that one day, mental health is considered as important as physical health, where rushing into the ER with a broken mind will get the same attention as a broken leg. I hope that one day, mental health is not stigmatized so that lawyers feel free to share their experiences and mentor others who may be going through a similar journey that they did. I hope that one day, lawyers’ mental health is as respected as the stellar work they put in for their clients. And on that day, we will no longer be a mere statistic on a mental health study but will have become a movement that fundamentally shifts perspectives in support of mental health.

**Angela Han is a healthcare lawyer and a plant-based personal trainer for lawyers. She works with lawyers who want to take back their strength while helping them saving time, money, and energy. Learn more about her at www.angela-han.com.

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Why I Didn’t Ask My Law School For Help With My Eating Disorder

An important and courageous guest post from Angela Han that touches on eating disorders, sexual trauma and cultural diversity issues with regards to shame and stigma.

In a 2014 study at the Yale Law School, approximately 70% of all respondents who were Yale Law students reported experiencing mental health challenges during law school. Of that group, 80% considered seeking clinical treatment, but only half of that group actually did so. I had bulimia for seven years, including my first two years of law school. If I had the opportunity to participate in that study, I would not have even admitted to having a problem. Needless to say, I never asked for help.

I did not see my bulimia as a problem for a long time because I thought it was an excellent coping mechanism. I grew up seeing my parents’ struggle with their marriage, and as an only child, I tried to get in between them and stop their fights and solve problems that were not mine. I felt helpless because I could not help them in spite of my best efforts. They assured me I made them happy, but I felt like I was not enough to make their problems go away. I thought that maybe if I did good things, like go to a good school and get a good job, I could fix their marriage.

As a result, when I moved to the US for college halfway across the world from home in Seoul, South Korea, I pressured myself to be independent, high-achieving, and perfect. But being alone in a different country, without any family, trying to adjust to a society that I had never been part of was not easy. I felt helpless before, but now I felt helpless and alone. When I was drowning in negativity with these feelings, I sought pleasure and relief in food. When I felt alone after not understanding another inside joke or helpless after getting my social security number application rejected for the third time, I binged. When I binged, I felt guilty for indulging myself, and I felt like I needed to be punished for it. So I purged. At the time, I actually thought I was handling my stress well because I was not bothering anyone.

But even if I had acknowledged a problem, I was doubtful anyone could have helped me because I had a few “run-ins” with the system during the years I was sick. The first was a trip to the ER because my body was purging so hard I had trouble breathing. I waited in a bed for three hours feeling exposed and vulnerable, thinking, “Now everyone knows about my secret.” But half of my mind wished that someone had asked me at least one question about my bulimia so I could get the help that I need. However, no one actually asked questions, let alone sat down next to me. A doctor handed me some over-the-counter pills and a brochure. Weeks later, I received a bill for almost $1,000. I felt like I was being punished for asking for help. Naturally, I dealt with this helplessness by purging.

The second time was when I called the school psych clinic after someone directly across from me on the subway faced me, unzipped his pants, and masturbated. I felt cornered. I felt my hands shaking, heart palpitating, and an unshakeable urge to tell someone. I called the clinic and shared what happened. The lady on the phone asked me a series of questions about my medical history and told me to hold. When she came back, she said a doctor would have to review my file and set up an appointment in the next few weeks. After we hung up, I thought maybe my experience was not traumatic enough to warrant the doctor’s time today. Maybe there were other students who had bigger issues. I felt like my problems didn’t matter.

By the time I was in law school, I had hardened to the idea of asking for help. After about six years, I woke up to the rude awakening that no one was coming to help. I needed to do something because I was tired. If I was ever going to have a chance at passing the bar and becoming a lawyer, I could not be tired like this. I decided to accept my bulimia as a problem and confront it, but even that first step was rocky. I started exercising and eating less, thinking that I would be healthier by losing weight, but I relapsed because I did not find answers in weight loss. I went through high fluctuations in my body weight, developed an unhealthy body image, and felt guilty when I did not exercise.

Despite the rough start, I was proud of having finally taken the first step. I began looking for anyone out there like me to help make sense of my struggle. I started with where I felt most comfortable: social media, where I did not have to talk to anyone that may not necessarily be interested in what I had to say. I looked for stories on Instagram and YouTube, where I found so many courageous women who shared their journeys and had gone through exactly what I was going through. They talked about their eating disorders, body dysmorphia, and insecurities that led them astray for so long until they realized that health is not about weight loss but about strength.

I learned through these women that exercise and eating right should be a celebration of how strong your mind and body can be, and that we are all capable of that celebration no matter where we begin. Slowly but surely, I no longer felt alone. I felt understood, even though they had never met me. I was empowered to know exactly what I had to do be stronger, and, moreover, to be grateful and content even when I felt imperfect. I finally understood that courage was not about acting strong but being strong enough to face my fears and not give up until I addressed them.

Looking back, I wonder if the seven years of struggle would have been cut short if I had the option to speak with someone who cared. While I may have fully recovered from bulimia itself, stress is a fact of life. Some deal with it better privately, and some deal better with the help of others. While I dealt with mine privately, there are days when I wonder if there are others who are like me now, whether it is okay for me to speak out and reach out.

I hope that one day, mental health is considered as important as physical health, where rushing into the ER with a broken mind will get the same attention as a broken leg. I hope that one day, mental health is not stigmatized so that lawyers feel free to share their experiences and mentor others who may be going through a similar journey that they did. I hope that one day, lawyers’ mental health is as respected as the stellar work they put in for their clients. And on that day, we will no longer be a mere statistic on a mental health study but will have become a movement that fundamentally shifts perspectives in support of mental health.

**Angela Han is a healthcare lawyer and a plant-based personal trainer for lawyers. She works with lawyers who want to take back their strength while helping them saving time, money, and energy. Learn more about her at www.angela-han.com.

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Let’s Talk About Eating Disorders

February 25th begins National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Eating disorders are very stigmatized despite the fact that they have the highest mortality rate of any psychological illness. About 20-25 percent of those struggling with eating disorders are male.

I remember the day in April 2007 I finally confided to my psychiatrist that I was struggling with drugs and alcohol. I did not mention at that time that I had also struggled with both exercise and traditional bulimia for over two decades

I felt completely stigmatized and alone in my eating disorder and did not feel that anyone, including him, could understand or help. Adding to the stigma was my profession. Not only was I a male with an eating disorder, but I was also a male lawyer with an eating disorder. How stigmatizing was that? I have spoken openly about my eating disorder recovery for years and to this day, I am unaware of any other male in the legal profession who has publicly professed to dealing with an eating disorder. The hard statistics of how many males are afflicted with eating disorders tell us that they are of course out there.  Along those same lines, I have received numerous emails from females in the legal profession who are struggling or are in recovery from both anorexia and bulimia.

Why do males struggling with eating disorders in the legal profession seem to be so few and far between?  We can look to a recent study of mental health issues in law school published by the Journal of Legal Education, which found 27% of law students (18% of male respondents and 34% of female respondents) screened positive for eating disorders.  Yet only 3% of respondents had actually been diagnosed.  While I do not have the breakdown, I suspect that the majority of that three percent diagnosed is female.

I believe one reason for this reluctance to seek treatment compounded on top of the strong societal stigma is the culture of the legal profession. The fear of showing weakness and vulnerability.  The fear of showing “weakness” is so ingrained into our thought process as lawyers and even starting as law students that as a profession, we are often unable to distinguish between how feelings need to be channeled to do our best to excel in the profession versus what we need to do to help ourselves when we are struggling with mental health issues. We have difficulty stepping back and embracing the vulnerability of telling people when we are struggling as being a virtue.

Here is the catch. This type of vulnerability is something that is absolutely necessary in mental health recovery. Particularly eating disorder recovery.  It may involve opening up the well of emotions that may date back over a lifetime that are holding you back from getting better. Not a pleasant thought, is it? Very counter-intuitive to the projection of knowledge, competency, and strength in the profession

I can tell you that while I struggled with my eating disorder, and then moved into recovery, that recovery did not begin in earnest until I allowed myself to be vulnerable in a setting that I felt safe to do so. And it took time to feel safe. I finally got honest with my psychiatrist and those close to me. I then began to move forward in a positive way. I had been lying by omission for years, simply getting my anti-depressant meds and not opening up about all the unresolved pain, layer upon layer going back to childhood. The mentally abusive relationship with my mother. The severe bullying as a teenager. (I do not blame either as causes of my eating disorder. As we know, there is a difference between cause and correlation.) The feelings of inadequacy and lack of self-worth also played a role. While there is no other history of eating disorders in my family, the role of genetics cannot be dismissed as well.

I see this issue regularly when I speak to lawyers and law students who are struggling. People who would rather pull their toenails out with their teeth than talk about such things. Talk about the pain of a little boy or girl, failed relationships, trouble at home. Possible environmental triggers that have been long buried in the subconscious.

It’s easier to simply say, “I’m over that,” and move on. To emotionally isolate from the world. To compartmentalize the pain. But they often have not moved on and those feelings are always just under the surface, waiting to trigger destructive behaviors or playing a role in not dealing with the ones already present. The stress of billing. Stress of trial. Stress of grades. Problems at home. Childhood trauma. The list of possible triggers is endless.  I totally get that. Binging and purging was a huge stress release for me during both law school and as a practicing lawyer. The same was true of my obsessive-compulsive exercise. Probably my biggest trigger issue present day.

I am here to tell you that allowing myself to be vulnerable and let those feelings out was a key in my long-term eating disorder recovery which now stands at just over ten years.  Those feelings that dated back to childhood no longer control me.  I even write letters to my teenage self.  I talk to my “inner child.” Doesn’t sound very “manly” or “lawyer-like,” does it?  It does not mean telling everyone your childhood secrets. It means realizing that being vulnerable and facing such feelings is both beneficial and necessary in moving forward in recovery. Find a safe setting. Give it a try.

One of the deadliest symptoms of an eating disorder is silence.

The Danger of Remaining Silent on Mental Health

Every now and then I feature a lawyer or law student who has something to say on the issue of mental health in the legal profession. Providing a platform for new voices is just as, or even more important than what I have to say. I give you Alyson Luftig Esquire on “The Danger of Remaining Silent On Mental Health”

‘As an attorney, I’m overly aware that I need to exercise caution when determining what to discuss on social media. I know to think before speaking, I know to do my research, and I know to avoid publishing anything inappropriate. I do talk about mental health often and publicly, and I refuse to heed any unsolicited advice admonishing me to delete my content on this important, yet controversial topic. I adhere to the “reasonable, personal standard,” adored by so many lawyers, each time I disregard another gentle reminder to consider my audience, and not to make a spectacle of myself by associating myself with such a touchy subject.

Any reasonable person should understand, or at least be open to expanding their knowledge on the importance of having open, honest discussions about mental health. This subject is too crucial to ignore, and the dangers of remaining silent on the topic are too skyrocketing for me to consider the alternative view, that talking about mental health is the action that’s the riskiest behavior here. I’m too preoccupied with what will happen if more people don’t realize that we, as a society, need to talk about this. I’m tired of hearing from more shocked people who can’t believe that yet another hard-working attorney has died by suicide, people stunned because the person never exhibited any signs of depression. I’d take a bet that the majority of people affected by mental health illnesses or events don’t display any unusual signs at all, especially considering the stigma around the subject.

So why does the way people perceive content about mental health on social media matter so much? It matters because we’re in the age of social media platforms focused on career networking. For instance, let’s consider LinkedIn as a microcosm for the workplace atmosphere. If posts regarding mental illness receive comments deeming the posts “too crazy for LinkedIn,” and “unfit for LinkedIn,” a career social networking service, then imagine how mental illness is treated and considered widely at peoples’ actual places of work.

Even worse, I know that I’m nowhere near the only person discouraged from making publications about mental health or even from mentioning it at all in conversation. Such negative reactions have come to inspire me not to keep quiet about mental health-related issues, but instead, to raise the volume of my voice and make sure that more people receive my message. And yes, to those who will inevitably ask, this includes colleagues, employers, potential future employers, and anyone else who may happen upon my words. It encourages me significantly when I network with like-minded individuals who contribute to making a difference, despite receiving similar warnings as I have.

Recently, I read a post on LinkedIn where an attorney wrote about his depression. The post provided facts about the disease that many professionals don’t know, and also addressed common stereotypes about the disease. I found the post so encouraging; I remember hoping that lots of executives, CEOs, and hiring managers saw the post and learned something about some of their current and potential future employees. I hoped it could counteract the multitude of instances where many employers present the argument that mental health does not concern them, because their company would never hire somebody mentally ill. In fact, when scrolling through the comment section of the post that impressed me so much, I found a comment declaring that the post was inappropriate for LinkedIn, because while people have “their issues,” that doesn’t have anything to do with the workplace.  However, most employers taking that standpoint likely also already unknowingly employ at least a handful of people affected by mental illness. Depression affects so many law students and attorneys, that some law schools have implemented courses on the subject, and some workplaces have made efforts towards increased awareness, some more effective than others. But negative societal reactions clearly prove that we still need to accomplish more.

If a post regarding mental illness is questioned so harshly on a career social networking page, I can certainly imagine many employees’shaving apprehension even broaching the subject at work. Let’s take a moment to explore the purpose of LinkedIn. The following excerpt describes LinkedIn’s mission; it’s a direct quotation from the LinkedIn user agreement.

“Our mission is to connect the world’s professionals to allow them to be more productive and successful.”

But how can the world’s professionals achieve such productivity and success while succumbing to societal stigmas around the issues most important to so many? If the possibility of shame, ridicule, and judgment from peers paralyzes too many people, then how can anyone truly network? Mental health issues and events affect a colossal number of employees and employers in every work industry, so let’s treat it that way. Let’s utilize platforms available to us, like LinkedIn, to progress productivity and success for all individuals, including those affected by mental health issues. Let’s not stand in the way as obstacles, by only applying the principles and values that LinkedIn emphasizes in their mission, to professionals that fit into a closed-minded societal definition of “normal.”

Employers and employees would benefit from exploring options when it comes to creating mentally healthy workplaces. With so many negative comments still prevalent on a career networking website, some people clearly do not feel comfortable discussing mental health at work. But we need to change that. Mental health issues can damage people’s work without their bosses or managers even noticing that their employees may be struggling. Many people suffering from disorders like depression and anxiety remain high functioning, work long hours, maintain an impressive work product, and may not even appear to have anything going wrong. The same hardworking employees could secretly sacrifice their entire lives outside of work just to conceal conditions instead of disclosing them and potentially improving their lives, inside and outside of work.

These employees could fear losing their jobs if the truth comes out about the affects mental health has on their daily lives. Not only may their bosses and managers remain oblivious to that type of suffering, but the company could be losing out on the best work from some of its best employees simply by not having adequate plans in motion to create the healthiest workplace environment for all employees. This involves candid discussions with no repercussions, collaboration between many networks and teams, and the willingness to explore options that may seem foreign to them, but that could end up improving the workplace environment and therefore companies’ success as a whole. This is exactly why I vow to continue writing about this important subject and I hope to inspire others to follow suit. I will do anything in my power to improve this and smash the stigma surrounding mental health. I am looking to expand my network so I can achieve the most in my quest to advocate for those suffering from mental illnesses and striving for success at the same time.

**Alyson Luftig graduated from Pace Law School.  She enjoys creative writing is passionate about getting rid of the stigma around mental  She is currently involved with “Empower Work”, a non-profit providing an anonymous platform, via text, for peer counseling for people going through tough times at work.

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