Staying true

It's eleven pm. I can't sleep. Today was a shit day in court. It was traumatizing and sad. 

Yet, I also know that I'm lucky. Privileged. I'm not the one in custody. But to bear witness is hard. 

Maybe it was harder because I haven't had a day like this for a year. Court has been less real during covid. It was shocking to have a day like today and then remember, I've had many of these days.

So many. Too many. 

Perhaps, my eyes are finally wide open to the horror of it all. To work within this system as a deputy public defender, in this broken down clunker of a criminal system, is hard. It should be. 

All good work is difficult. If this job is too easy and if seeing our clients in chains and suffering isn't horrifying, then there's something wrong. You're desensitized to the point where your soul is at risk. 

Still, we all have a job to do. We must be professionals. And be able to make cogent arguments and advise our clients without tears in our eyes. 

But today, I couldn't put up that wall, the one I've learned to build around my heart brick by brick. Today, I couldn't pretend it wasn't awful. 

When I got home, I felt a weight lift. I played with my dogs and sat outside and breathed in the air and sighed. 

Then tonight I wrote this essay, so I never forget what today felt like.