Do you ever feel like you can’t be a good lawyer and a good parent at the same time? Like whichever role you’re in, you’re letting the other one down? If that sounds familiar, this episode is for you.
Welcome to The Lawyer Burnout Solution, the podcast for women attorneys who want to stay in the careers they worked so hard to build—without running themselves into the ground.

I’m Heather Mills, and every week, I’ll share the tools, strategies, and mindset shifts you need to reclaim your energy, confidence, and career.

Today we’re talking about the impossible bind that so many lawyers who are parents face. These pressures hit moms especially hard, but they affect all kinds of parents in law: whether you’re a birth parent, a non-birth parent, adoptive, or part of a two-mom or two-dad household. If you’re raising kids while practicing law, you know the tension I’m talking about.

Today I want to talk about the impossible rules lawyer-parents are asked to live by, the ones that hit moms especially hard, but affect all kinds of parents in law. Once you see them clearly, you’ll understand why you feel so stretched and guilty all the time.

Let’s talk about the cultural scripts lawyer-parents are handed. The first script is the lawyer script. It says: always be available. Give everything you’ve got. Measure your worth by billable hours, by how fast you respond, by how flawless your work looks under pressure. In this script, your value is your output. Your loyalty is proven in exhaustion.

Then there’s the parenting script. For moms especially, this one is loud: put everyone else first. Self-sacrifice is love. Your worth is measured by how much you can give, how much you can carry, how invisible your own needs can become.

A “good parent”, and especially a “good mom”, is endlessly patient, endlessly giving, endlessly available. And here’s the problem: these two scripts don’t just clash, they collide. Law says, “give me all of you.” Parenting says, “give me all of you.” Of course you feel like you’re failing because the math will never add up.

That’s why so many lawyer-parents tell me they feel like they’re failing everywhere. If they stay late, they feel guilty for missing bedtime. If they leave early, they feel guilty for not staying later at the firm. If they answer emails at soccer practice, they feel like they’re neglecting their kids. If they don’t, they feel like they’re letting down their colleagues. It’s a no-win setup.

And here’s what I want you to hear: you are not broken for struggling with this. You’re not less competent, less dedicated, or less capable. You’re living inside a system that was never designed to support you. So if you’ve been carrying guilt, exhaustion, or the belief that you’re somehow doing it wrong, I want you to take a breath. You’re not the problem. The system is.

And sometimes the only way to really see how these impossible rules play out is through real lives. So let me tell you a story about a lawyer-parent I’ll call Nina.

For many moms, her story will feel especially familiar. On the outside, Nina looks unstoppable. She’s a mid-level partner at her firm, parent of two young kids, and somehow the one her neighbors call “Superwoman.” She can get a deal across the finish line and still make it to swim lessons. She can order dinner, answer emails, and help with homework all at once. People say things like, “I don’t know how you do it all.” And part of her likes hearing it. But here’s the truth: that “doing it all” story is a trap.

One lawyer-parent told me, “I thought if I just worked harder, I could control everything — my cases, my kids, even my marriage. Until my body was in fight-or-flight all the time. I was sleeping four hours a night for over a year.”

Another said, “I didn’t even realize I was burned out until I couldn’t get off the couch. My company hired four people to replace me when I left. And all that fear I had about slowing down? It wasn’t real.”

These aren’t isolated stories. They’re examples of what happens when two impossible scripts collide: the lawyer script that demands endless availability, and the parenting script that demands endless self-sacrifice.

For moms, those expectations often cut the deepest — but every lawyer who is also a parent knows the feeling of being pulled in both directions at once.

I also want to acknowledge something here. I wasn’t a practicing lawyer and a parent at the same time. I left the law before I had kids, in part because I believed the story that you couldn’t be both. At the time, I didn’t have the tools, the knowledge, or the perspective I have now. And while I no longer believe that story is true, I know many women, and many parents, are still living inside it.

That’s why I care so much about talking about this. Because Nina’s not just one woman. She’s an archetype. She represents all the lawyer-parents who’ve told me, “I feel like I’m failing everywhere. If I give more at work, I feel guilty at home. If I give more at home, I feel guilty at work.” And if that sounds familiar, I want you to hear this: you’re not failing these scripts — these scripts are failing you. The problem isn’t you. It’s the impossible rules you were handed. The rules don’t have to stay the same — you get to change them.

So what happens when you keep pushing inside that no-win setup? Let’s talk about the cost of doing it all: on your body, your relationships, and your sense of self.

When you’re caught in the double bind: proving yourself at work, proving yourself at home, it’s easy to think the problem is you. That you just haven’t found the right balance yet. But let’s be honest: there is no balance here. These rules don’t balance, they compete. They demand more than any human can give.

And the truth is, law was never designed for lawyers who are also caregivers. The whole structure was built on the idea that the “ideal lawyer” had someone else at home taking care of the kids, the household, and the daily life demands. Which means the minute you step into both roles, you’re set up to feel like you’re falling short. And when you live inside that tug-of-war long enough, it takes a toll. Not just on your time, but on your body, your relationships, and your sense of self.

It can look like snapping at the people you love, lying awake at 3 a.m., or feeling flat even when good things happen. For many, it’s that quiet dread on Sunday night, or the sense that joy has quietly slipped out of reach. According to Bloomberg Law’s 2024 Well-Being Report, more than half of women lawyers: 53%, say they’re burned out, compared to 41% of men. And for lawyers who are also parents of kids under 18, the burnout rate jumps to 50%. And those numbers don’t even tell the whole story.

For women of color, single parents, or lawyers in firms with little flexibility, these pressures land even harder, with even less margin for error. Think about that: half of lawyer-parents with children at home say they’re exhausted, overstretched, and running on empty. That’s not a personal failing. That’s a system running on the unpaid, invisible labor of parents trying to carry two full-time roles at once.

And the cost isn’t just numbers in a report. It’s physical. One lawyer described it as, “my nervous system was on fire: "I felt like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, waiting for the next shoe to drop.”

It’s emotional. Parents tell me, “I feel like I’m failing everywhere. If I give more at work, I feel guilty at home. If I give more at home, I feel guilty at work.”

And it’s deeply personal. That quiet thought so many lawyer-parents have at the end of the day: “Something has to give. And it’s always me.” This isn’t about finding the right app or finally nailing ‘work-life balance.’ Balance is a myth when both sides are demanding everything. This is about seeing the impossible setup for what it is.

And once you can see it for what it is: not a personal failure, but an impossible setup, that’s where hope begins. Because if the rules themselves are the problem, then the rules can be rewritten.

The double bind is real, but it’s not the whole story. You don’t have to choose between being a good lawyer or a good parent. What’s really been happening is that you’ve been taught to disconnect from yourself: to ignore your own needs, to silence your limits, to keep going no matter the cost. For moms, those messages are especially loud: “be endlessly giving, endlessly patient, endlessly available.”

But every lawyer who is also a parent knows the pull of being asked to give more than you actually have. And that’s where hope begins: in remembering that your needs matter, too. Your worth has never come from billable hours or self-sacrifice. It’s already here. It’s inherent. Something will give, but it doesn’t have to be your health, your joy, or your sense of self. So if you’ve been blaming yourself for not doing it all, let this sink in: the problem isn’t you. It’s the scripts you were handed. And the best news is, scripts can be rewritten.

Rewriting the rules doesn’t have to start with a huge life overhaul. It can start with the smallest shifts. And I know, even tiny shifts can feel risky. Law trains us to believe that if we ease up even a little, everything will collapse. That fear is real. It takes courage to test even the smallest boundary.

Letting one ball drop, and realizing the world didn’t end.

Closing your laptop at 9 instead of midnight, and noticing you’re clearer the next morning.

Pausing before replying to that late-night email, and discovering most “urgent” things can wait.

Saying no to one non-essential request, and noticing that your value didn’t disappear.

Protecting a sliver of time that’s just yours, even 30 minutes, and seeing how much lighter you feel when you claim it.

These may look tiny from the outside, but inside they can feel like oxygen. They’re proof that the rules aren’t fixed, they can bend. I’ve seen women and parents of all kinds make changes that looked tiny on the outside but felt life-saving on the inside.

And I’ve seen bigger shifts too: working fewer hours while still earning the same money, repairing relationships, and actually feeling present in their own lives again. That’s the part I want you to hear: change is possible. Not because you push harder, but because you reconnect to yourself.

You don’t have to ignore your needs to be a good lawyer.

You don’t have to disconnect from yourself to be a good parent.

You get to honor your limits, your values, and your well-being, and that’s where your power lives. 

So if you’ve ever felt like you’re failing as both a lawyer and a parent, I want you to hear this clearly: you are not failing, you’re living inside a set of rules that were designed to be impossible. Law says your worth comes from billable hours. Parenting culture, especially for moms says your worth comes from self-sacrifice. Neither one leaves room for you. But here’s the hope: rules can be rewritten.

The system may not change overnight, but you can start changing how you relate to those rules today. That might look like catching yourself in the thought, “I’m letting everyone down,” and replacing it with, “I’m allowed to be both a lawyer and a parent, and I get to decide what that looks like.”

It might mean closing your laptop at 9 instead of midnight. Or saying no to one non-essential request. Or simply redefining success, not as ‘doing it all,’ but as showing up in alignment with what matters most. Because you don’t have to disconnect from yourself to be a good lawyer. You don’t have to ignore your own needs to be a good parent. You get to be a whole human, with limits, values, and a life that belongs to you. And that’s where your power lives.

If this episode speaks to you, I’d love to invite you to take the next step. Book a free 20-minute call with me, not to add one more thing to your to-do list, but as a space to name what’s been draining you and explore one step toward relief. The link is in the show notes.

You deserve to write a new story, one where your career and your family don’t cost you you. That’s it for today. Thanks so much for listening. Remember, even one small boundary, like shutting the laptop a little earlier, can be a radical act of self-trust. Be kind to yourself this week. I’ll see you next time.