It was 2:30 AM when I came to a shocking realization – I was not cut out to be a corporate lawyer.
I sat there, my hands trembling over the keyboard, unable to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me.
I hadn’t slept properly in days, and my stomach churned with a mix of caffeine, stress, and dread.
Down the hall, another trainee was throwing up in the bathroom, a sad reminder of the pressure we were all under during the busy GDPR season.
My inbox was flooded with unread emails, each one demanding my attention.
It was only Wednesday, and I had already worked over 50 hours. My heart raced, and in desperation, I reached for the beta blockers, hoping they’d calm me down.
But even after taking three, the racing heartbeat didn’t stop.
A Life Built on Pills and Pressure
I wandered to the bathroom, staring at my reflection under the harsh fluorescent lights.
My skin was pale, my pupils dilated, and a rash had settled on my jawline from the constant stress.
Yet, I told myself, “You’re lucky to be here. This is what you worked for.”
But in reality, it wasn’t the life I had envisioned.
Every night, I went home at 4 AM, slept for a few hours, and started the cycle again. Coffee to wake up. Adderall to keep going.
Beta blockers to calm down. Xanax for anxiety. Wine to unwind. Sleeping pills to knock myself out.
It was a routine governed by pharmaceuticals, just to survive the pressure. It wasn’t about chasing a high – it was about staying awake.
The Pursuit of Success at Any Cost
This wasn’t the life I’d imagined, but it was what I thought I wanted.
My desire wasn’t necessarily to be a lawyer – I wanted to excel.
I had become addicted to that rush of success, the thrill of being the best, the feeling of validation. The education system had nurtured that drive.
High achievement was rewarded, and I began to believe that my worth depended on what I could accomplish.
I had always been a high achiever. I left my school in Reading with stellar A-levels and got a place at Warwick University to study English.
The idea of corporate law took hold during university.
I attended careers fairs, where glossy brochures and promises of three-week vacation schemes in prestigious firms with rooftop views seemed irresistible. And I wanted it all.
After years of exams and interviews, I finally secured a training contract at a Magic Circle firm at the age of 22, with a starting salary of £47,000, which would rise to £90,000 upon qualifying. When I received the offer, I cried – not out of joy, but relief.
I thought it was the culmination of everything I had worked for.
Instead, it turned out to be the start of my unraveling.
The Crushing Realities of Corporate Law
The moment I started at the firm, I realized that the rules had changed.
No longer at the top of my class, I was now surrounded by brilliant minds from Oxbridge.
Everyone worked harder, longer, and later. The constant pressure to perform and the race to bill hours left me questioning my place.
My worth was determined by how many hours I billed, and I became consumed with the fear of not measuring up.
My thoughts raced constantly: Did I make the right decision? Did I miss something? Was I truly cut out for this? The fear of being exposed as an imposter gnawed at me.
I tried to push through, surviving on caffeine and energy drinks, but eventually, my body couldn’t keep up.
I found myself hyperventilating in meetings and crying in the bathroom.
The stress began to take its toll, and that’s when I turned to pills.
The Dangerous Spiral into Addiction
A colleague offered me a Xanax one day after I had a panic attack over an email.
It helped calm my nerves, and soon I was relying on it.
Later, I was introduced to Adderall, a stimulant prescribed for ADHD. At first, it helped me concentrate and stay awake, but soon I needed more.
The doses increased, and I began to combine them with caffeine to get the same effect.
It wasn’t long before the pills weren’t enough, and I was caught in a vicious cycle of overwork and substance abuse.
Despite the toll it was taking on my health, I convinced myself that I needed these pills to survive in the cutthroat world of corporate law.
I became the most utilised trainee in my department, working more hours than anyone else, yet it never seemed to be enough.
The more I worked, the more I feared failure.
My appraisals were harsh, and I wondered how much longer I could keep this up.
Recognizing the Need for Help
Eventually, I realized I needed help. I sought out a psychiatrist through the firm’s private healthcare scheme, but I continued to rely on pills and alcohol.
The problem wasn’t just my mental health – it was the system I had internalized.
The legal world had taught me to equate my worth with my productivity. It wasn’t about being smart; it was about stamina and endurance.
The pressure to perform was suffocating.
My parents urged me to slow down, but I couldn’t stop. In 2017, I had my first breakdown.
I was living with other lawyers, and I had to take the day off due to sickness.
But instead of resting, I drank gin to numb the pain.
My flatmates grew concerned and called my psychiatrist, who had me admitted to the hospital for four weeks.
Despite this, I returned to work and continued to push myself.
The Final Breakdown and a New Beginning
After finishing my training contract, I was devastated to learn that they weren’t keeping me on.
I felt humiliated and defeated. But I refused to stop.
I moved to another law firm and started the cycle over again. But in 2019, I finally reached my breaking point.
I handed in my notice and walked away from the job that had nearly destroyed me.
It wasn’t easy. I struggled with addiction, alcohol, and feelings of emptiness.
Without the job and the validation it provided, I didn’t know who I was. But slowly, I began to rebuild.
I attended a 12-step program and started writing again.
It wasn’t for recognition, but to understand myself better. Eventually, I wrote a novel, The Rag Doll Contract, and began speaking about my journey.
A New Path to Success
Now, at 32, I’ve found a new kind of success – one that doesn’t come with the same price tag, but also doesn’t cost me my mental health.
I’ve learned that I don’t need to constantly prove my worth to the world.
I’ve found peace in the ordinary: cooking with friends, reading late at night, walking dogs.
When people ask if I would go back to law, I say no. I’ve built a life I don’t want to escape from.
If you’re feeling trapped in a life that isn’t yours, know that it doesn’t have to stay that way.
You don’t need to reach rock bottom to rebuild. But if you have, it’s not the end.
For me, hitting rock bottom was the best thing that could have happened.
It forced me to reevaluate my life and what really mattered.
Sometimes, I worry for those who never reach the bottom. They’re just well enough to keep pedaling, but never really break free.
The Rag Doll Contract by Dorothy Herson is available now, and it’s a testament to the power of transformation and healing.