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omeone I care about has recently admitted to a long-standing addiction that threatens to ruin a marriage "made in heaven," an extraordinary career, and, indeed, not just a life,
but many lives. This person, like many lawyers, has always enjoyed a reputation for competence, skill, and personal strength: someone who "has it all together." By acknowledging
addiction and seeking therapy, this person is facing loss of all the carefully constructed ways in which the addiction has allowed pain to be suppressed, self-doubt and anxiety to be held
at bay, and a fundamental sense of inner emptiness to be assuaged, albeit temporarily and at great and constant risk. There are no guarantees this person will get well, but there is, for
the first time in years, some hope. And the alternatives are pretty limited: illness, professional disaster, divorce, degradation, and death.
Few who read this will be
without someone they know, and perhaps care about, who is facing similar choices. The human condition includes vulnerability to self-destructive behavior, and our lives seem to offer so
many incentives. As lawyers and judges, we identify ourselves as problem-solvers. We occupy positions in our profession and our communities that define us as competent, as
decision-makers, as responsible people who "have it all together." But we also live lives dominated by high expectations, by multiple and often constant demands, and sometimes
by experiences of isolation and loneliness. We are often convinced that any admission of the stress our lives generate is a sign of weakness that will undermine everything we strive to be
- or at least to appear - to others. The result? Lawyers at least (there aren't too many reliable studies of judges, although there's no particular reason to suspect they are any
different) have problems. In a recent article in this journal on "Stress Management," psychologist Lynn Johnson pointed out some disturbing information that bears repeating:
whereas 8-10% of the general population have substance abuse, for lawyers it's 15-18%; lawyers are more than three and a half times more likely to suffer from depression (a debilitating
disease with a high mortality rate) than members of other professions; male attorneys are twice as likely as the general population to take their own lives, and, according to one study in
North Carolina, 11% of lawyers in that state thought about suicide at least once a month. Not surprisingly, studies estimate that 60% of ethical violations resulting in bar discipline
involve substance abuse. Increasingly, treatment communities are recognizing that other, equally devastating, forms of compulsive behavior, like gambling, pursuit of pornography
(especially on the internet), and indiscriminate sexual activity, are, like substance abuse, "equal opportunity employers," as Kent S.'s essay in this issue says. These
addictions, like those involving drugs and alcohol, can destroy careers, families, and almost all of the other things that make life worth living.
So we know, or should
know, two things: 1) we and our colleagues are not immune; and 2) people cannot deal with these kinds of problems without help. Kent S.'s story vividly illustrates the kinds of resources
and communal care-taking that it takes to fight an addiction. It also shows the extent to which the most effective kinds of help, in addition to medical model treatment-based
intervention, are the understanding and support of peers, especially professional peers, and of others a little further ahead on the path to recovery. Lawyers and judges are in a good
position to help other lawyers and judges in trouble. That's why they call it "Lawyers Helping Lawyers," and why the Utah State Bar, with the approval and support of the Supreme
Court, has plans to increase its support for this independent, non-profit organization dedicated to connecting troubled lawyers and judges with services and help, in a context that is
confidential and non-judgmental. Utah's Judicial Council, likewise, is exploring options specifically designed for judges, who are no more immune to substance abuse and other addiction
issues than their colleagues in the practice, and who sometimes find it even more difficult than do lawyers to ask for help. We will be using some of our educational time at the Annual
Judicial Conference in September to help judges understand the risks, recognize the symptoms of trouble, and connect to appropriate resources when help is needed.
Where does our
obligation as professionals come from to concern ourselves with those among us who are in trouble? First, of course, it comes from our fundamental belief that, as professionals, we are
part of a learned community and have a common stake in the community's well-being, not to mention its survival. Second, it's humane; it is simply the right thing to do, to try to help
where there is suffering. But finally, it is intrinsic to our function as lawyers to ensure the competence of Bar members and to protect the people they serve from harm at the hands of
our profession. Of course, prevention, difficult as it is, is always easier than responding to full-blown addiction and mental illness. We need to do more to encourage and support
realistic responses to the challenges life brings. Kent S. shares his "checklist of excuses" in his essay, and reminds us that everyone has one. No one is immune, and most of us
cannot cope alone. I congratulate the Utah Bar Journal for devoting this issue to the difficult topic of lawyers and mental illness and addiction. I hope the discussion will lead to
increased resources, more volunteers, and to more willingness to give and receive help.
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