My friends and I have named my rheumatoid arthritis “Arthur.” It is much easier to speak about my disability as if it’s a common enemy or an annoying roommate. “Arthur is being a jerk,” I’ll say, which is much easier than explaining that my joints feel like they’re on fire, or that my brain fog has overtaken my ability to focus on a textbook, or that I cannot get out of bed without cursing.
Arthur, as a despised character, is a much simpler scapegoat than having to explain the contradicting and dynamic ways my disability regularly affects my law school experience.
Law school on its own is already a physically grueling experience: the heavy textbooks, the long nights spent hunched over a desk, and the hours of sitting with tense shoulders. This is forgoing the physical effects of mental stress, which culminate over time and often trigger flare-ups for autoimmune diseases like rheumatoid arthritis.
The school culture and personality type of most law students are not conducive to a healthy lifestyle. There is an emphasis on the “hustle” or the grind culture, whether it be bragging about how late you stayed awake to study or how many practice exams you’ve completed. Rest is not prioritized enough, and burnout is common, and even romanticized.
As a disabled law student, I often find the two defining aspects of myself at odds with each other. On the one hand, I know that rest and listening to my body’s limits are my only ways to ensure a consistent quality of life as a chronically ill person. On the other hand, the default belief is that you are never working hard enough—there is always something more you could be doing. You are never good enough on your own; you always have to prove you are better than everyone else.
This conflict does not only play out in my own brain, but it has consequences for real lawyers in the field. A recent study from the Université de Sherbrooke reported a burnout rate of 69.8% amongst legal professionals living with a disability. In contrast, the general burnout rate was reported at 47.3%.
Burnout has a harsher and more noticeable effect on people living with disabilities because we are already starting at a deficit. In my case, I’m very aware that I have less energy, stamina, and time than my able-bodied counterparts. Maintaining my health and managing my rheumatoid arthritis also take up an incredible amount of mental space, minimizing the endurance I have to pour into my schoolwork. Sacrifices must constantly be made just to survive, let alone thrive.
But, being a law student with a disability has given me an invaluable advantage that most of my peers don’t have: a change of perspective. While many of my friends thought their first exam season in 1L was the most stressful period of their lives, I didn’t agree. That’s because most of my peers don’t have my lived experience as a disabled person. They haven’t undergone countless X-rays and blood tests and infusions. They haven’t had to inject themselves with medications that make them nauseous and strip away what’s left of their immune system. They haven’t had to be seated in a doctor’s office, hoping and wishing and praying for some solution for all of this immeasurable pain.
All this to say, my disability has caused me a lot of pain and stress. It has brought me incredibly difficult struggles, but it has also made me realize that the ability to pursue a legal education is a privilege.