When your Parents Brag about their Daughter

being a Lawyer when you HAVEN’T Passed Yet

Dear Diary,

Today’s episode of “My Life: The Almost Lawyer Chronicles” features a recurring plot twist—my parents bragging that their daughter is a lawyer… even though I haven’t passed the bar yet.

I remember the origin story like it was yesterday. I was 11 years old, sitting on the living room floor, fiercely defending the one true cake that reigns above all others: the Dairy Queen ice cream cake. My cousins tried to argue for tuxedo cake.

Tuxedo. As if we were voting on formal wear, not dessert. As an aside, at the ripe age of 30, my view has STILL not changed. Anyways back to the story. I passionately laid my case—point by point, layer by layer—until my aunt finally interrupted our confectionery court battle with, “You argue just like a lawyer. You’re going to be one someday.” Being a child, I thought she basically called me stupid in big adult words. I didn’t even know what a lawyer was, but I knew how to react: “ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR!?” I shouted. Cue the family laughter, but even more so, cue my life trajectory being decided right then and there. A job where arguing is encouraged? Sign. Me. Up.

From that day forward, becoming a lawyer wasn’t just a goal—it was the goal. Elementary school, high school, undergrad—all of it was one long prequel to my legal career. Law 12? Took it. Did you take notes when watching Legally Blonde, Criminal Minds, and America’s Most Wanted like they were my lectures? I did. I wrote university essays and discussions like closing arguments. I was ready.

When I got into law school, I pinched myself … 10 times MINIMUM (It hurt. I highly recommend using this metaphor solely as a figure of speech instead of pinching yourself ...) From day one, my family, friends, and even enemies referred to me as “the lawyer.” And I’ll admit, at first, it felt amazing. Like, Johnny Depp-walking-into-courtroom level amazing. I felt like a somebody … an important somebody. But somewhere between “I love legal research” and “What the hell is PUC and ACB?” things started to shift.

Here’s the thing, when you start law school, lawyer still feels far away. You’ve got three years of school, summer internships, articling, and then—finally—the bar exams. So when people called me a lawyer back then, it didn’t scare me. I thought, “Yeah, I am going to be a great lawyer one day.” Spoiler alert: that confidence did not survive articling. That’s when the dreaded Impostor Syndrome moved in, it brought luggage over the weight limit, and refused to leave.

During articling, my parents leaned into the whole “our daughter is a lawyer” narrative. “You’re basically a lawyer,” they’d say. “Just finish articling and open up your own firm!” Easy peasy lemon squeezy! (Except ... not.) I was grateful, yes. But also lowkey terrified. Suddenly, I felt like I was under a microscope. I could tell I wasn’t meeting the expectations that my articling principal had of me. Every misstep felt like a public failure. I’d come home exhausted, doubting myself, and still would hear my parents proudly say, “She’s a lawyer!” I mean, I know that according to Ontario’s Rules of Professional Conduct, a licensing candidate falls under the definition of a lawyer … BUT STILL IT’S NOT THE SAME PEOPLE.

And then the imaginary daggers came:

Dagger #1: Failed my first attempt at the barrister exam.
Dagger #2: Failed it again.
Dagger #3: Failed my first attempt at the solicitor exam.

Getting hit by these daggers can really change a person … it makes you think… way too much … I would NOT recommend. I was sitting on my bed in full breakdown mode while overhearing my parents on the phone, telling someone, “Yes, our daughter’s a lawyer.” And I just thought: Am I? For the first time since I was 11, I truly didn’t know if I’d make it. Who was I if I wasn’t a lawyer? The sob story of the family? The one who almost made it but didn’t? I felt like I was dishonouring a sacred family investment—my parents poured their love, hopes, and money into my dream, and now it was crumbling.

Meanwhile, my law school classmates were all out there crushing it. Practicing, billing, LinkedIn-announcing. And I was proud of them. I really was. But a tiny part of me was also just … devastated … devastated that it wasn’t me doing those things.

But enough was enough. I wiped my tears, straightened my spine and shoulders, and said to myself: If my parents are going to call me a lawyer, then I’m going to make sure that it is 100% true.

So I locked in.

I became one with all my study resources. Bought all the SimpliLaw charts. Took every practice exam I could find. Skipped birthday parties, weddings, and Dairy Queen ice cream dates with myself. I gave it everything. I took my third (and final) shot at the barrister exam. It was brutal—but I walked out of there knowing I’d tried my absolute best. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t ashamed of myself. I’m still waiting for the results. But this time, I know: whether I pass or not (BUT PLEASE GOD PASS ME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE), I am not a failure. And someday soon—hopefully very soon—when my parents brag that their daughter is a lawyer, it’ll finally be true. And maybe then… I’ll buy myself an ice cream cake to celebrate.

(From Dairy Queen, obviously.)

Love,

Me. The Almost-Lawyer.