Black-and-white thinking is sneaky, convincing, and one of the biggest drivers of burnout I see in women lawyers. Here’s how to catch it—and shift it.

Welcome to the The Lawyer Burnout Solution, the podcast for female 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.

Let’s talk about that all-or-nothing voice you know so well...

If you’re a woman lawyer, you probably know this feeling. One day you’re convinced you’re killing it… and the next, you’re sure you’re about to drop the ball—hard. It’s that swing between “I’ve got this” and “I’m failing.” Exhausting.

And it’s not just you—I see it all the time, and I’ve lived it too.

Black-and-white thinking is like trying to grade your entire life with a pass/fail stamp—no room for nuance, growth, or humanity. Because clearly, showing up late to one meeting means you’re unfit for law, parenting, and probably society in general. 

No nuance, no context, just a running transcript of extremes. And that relentless commentary? It’s one of the biggest drivers of burnout in our profession. 

So today, we’re going to dig into why this happens—and how you can start to quiet that inner reporter. [slight pause]

Why does this show up so often in legal culture? Let’s be honest. Law school—and the legal world—train us to think in absolutes. Right or wrong. Win or lose. There’s always a “correct” answer, and your job is to find it, argue it, and convince everyone else you’re right. That mindset is a powerful tool in the courtroom or at the negotiation table. But when you bring it into your day-to-day life, it becomes a trap.

Why? Because when your brain is stuck in this all-or-nothing mode, every mistake feels like a disaster and every setback becomes proof that you’re not good enough. There’s no room for learning, for being human, or for the messy middle ground where real growth actually happens.

And let’s not ignore the bigger picture: the legal profession rewards certainty and punishes vulnerability. It’s baked into the culture. So if you find yourself stuck in black-and-white thinking, it’s not because you’re weak or broken—it’s because you’ve been playing by the rules of a system that’s designed to keep you on edge. The good news is that you can learn to rewrite those rules, starting right now.

What does black-and-white thinking sounds like in real life? Let’s get specific—because this shows up in ways that feel painfully familiar. Maybe you miss a deadline or get critical feedback, and suddenly your brain declares, “I’m a terrible lawyer. I shouldn’t even be here.” Or you land a big win and, for a moment, you’re on top of the world—until the next challenge rolls in and you’re back to doubting everything.

It’s the voice that says if you’re not billing every hour, you’re slacking. If you say no, you’re not committed enough. If you’re not excelling in every role—you’re failing everyone. There’s no room for “good enough,” for progress, or for the fact that you’re a human being with limits. It’s a rigid filter that squeezes out flexibility, context, and compassion.

It also shows up in subtler, more insidious ways:

• Believing there’s one right decision about your career—and if you don’t find it, you’ve failed. Whether it’s where to work, what city to live in, or whether to go part-time, the thought is: “If I get this wrong, I’ll ruin everything.”
• OR Thinking there’s a right way and a wrong way to be a lawyer, to be a mom, to be a leader—and if you don’t follow that invisible script, you’re doing it wrong.
• OR Equating rest with laziness: “If I don’t keep pushing myself harder, I’ll turn into a couch potato and never get anything done.” It’s that quiet fear that any step back will become a slide into failure.

Here’s how this kind of thinking quietly weaves itself into all corners of your legal life:

• A solo practitioner who’s built a thriving family law practice, but feels like a fraud the minute she needs to ask for help. Her brain tells her, “If I can’t do it all myself, maybe I shouldn't be doing it at all.”
• A public defender who’s held it together supporting her clients and the unimaginable trauma they have faced, but the one time she takes a half-day to breathe, she’s convinced she’s abandoning them. In her mind, self-care feels like betrayal.
• A senior counsel managing deals and a team—but still feels like if she doesn’t respond instantly, she’s failing as a leader.
• A mid-career litigator with no kids but a complicated family dynamic at home. She's juggling depositions and caregiving, and even though she’s doing her best, her brain keeps whispering, “If you were truly competent, this wouldn't feel so hard.”

None of these women are “doing it wrong.” But their internal measuring sticks are calibrated to extremes. There’s no spectrum, no gray. Just a quiet, relentless voice saying: you’re either holding it all together or letting everyone down.

Here’s something else I see all the time, but we rarely name out loud: when we think in extremes, it doesn’t just create pressure—it can also create a kind of moral outrage. Like, “Why does no one else seem to care as much as I do?” or “Why am I the only one who takes this seriously?” Black-and-white thinking doesn’t leave space for complexity, so it pushes us into judgment—of ourselves or others.

Sometimes that sounds like, “I’m doing it right, and everyone else is doing it wrong.”
Other times, it’s the opposite: “I’ll never be as good as they are. I’m clearly failing.”
Neither place is rooted in reality—and neither one helps. Both keep us stuck in comparison, resentment, and isolation.

I remember a moment like this clearly. One of the junior associates had wrapped up early on a Friday and left for the weekend, and I stayed behind to fix something they’d missed. I wasn’t just annoyed—I was seething. My brain was feeding me a highlight reel of all the ways I cared more, tried harder, did it better. At the time, I thought I was just being responsible. But really, I was stuck in a black-and-white story about what it meant to be worthy—and anyone who didn’t match that intensity? I judged them. And myself. That mindset didn’t make me better. It just made me bitter.

Let’s zoom out and get honest about why this pattern is so persistent—especially for women lawyers. It’s not just about personal habits or mindset. We’re swimming in a culture that’s been telling us, from day one, that we have to be perfect to be worthy. That we have to work twice as hard to be seen as competent, and that any mistake is proof we don’t belong.

And if you’re a woman of color, or hold another marginalized identity, those pressures are even more intense. The legal profession has a long history of implicit bias and exclusion, and that seeps into how we see ourselves and what we think we have to prove. It’s not just your inner critic talking—it’s centuries of social conditioning and a profession that still rewards certainty and punishes vulnerability.

So if you find yourself stuck in all-or-nothing thinking, know this: it’s not just a personal failing. It’s a survival strategy in a system that’s set up to keep you hustling for approval. But just because it’s common doesn’t mean it’s healthy—or that you have to keep living this way.

So let’s look at what that kind of thinking actually does to your energy, your nervous system, and your ability to keep going.

Because this all-or-nothing mindset isn’t just a mental quirk—it’s a burnout machine. Black-and-white thinking says you’re either hitting every target or totally failing—and then shames you for anything in between. Every small mistake feels catastrophic, like it’s proof you don’t belong or aren’t cut out for this work.

This mindset erases your progress. If you’re not hitting every target, you convince yourself you’re not doing enough. That pressure keeps your nervous system on high alert—it’s no wonder rest feels impossible. Over time, your confidence takes a hit, your resilience tanks, and you start to feel isolated—like everyone else has it figured out except you.

And here’s what's really hard: the culture of law amplifies all of this. The culture often rewards clarity and composure over curiosity and emotional honesty—it’s a setup that makes nuance feel like weakness. So you end up swinging between overextending yourself and fantasizing about walking away, because it feels like those are your only options. That’s how burnout takes hold and keeps you stuck.

Here’s what I want you to hear clearly: your thoughts, emotions, and actions are where your power lives. That’s not just fluff—it’s the foundation of real change. Legal culture adds pressure—but it’s not what causes burnout by itself. What matters most is how you relate to that pressure inside your own mind.

When you start to notice the stories your brain tells you—about what’s “enough,” about who you have to be to belong—you can start to shift those patterns. That’s where the burnout cycle begins to break.

You don’t have to wait for the legal industry to change in order to feel better. You can reclaim clarity and confidence by changing how you respond to those demands—on the inside.

This is why mindset work isn’t just the beginning. It’s THE work. Everything else grows from there.

And yes, we still need cultural change. We need better policies, more humane expectations, and more honest conversations. But your brain doesn’t have to wait for that to start healing. The shifts you make internally have power—not just for you, but for the entire system

Now Let’s talk about what you can actually do.
Here are a few things you can start practicing today to loosen that grip and give yourself some space:

• 1. Catch Your Extremes: Start noticing when your brain goes to “always,” “never,” and "right and wrong."  When you catch yourself thinking, “I always screw this up,” or “I have to get this right,” pause. Ask yourself: Is that really true? What’s a more nuanced way to look at this?
• 2. Embrace the Gray: Practice holding two truths at once: “I made a mistake, and I’m still a capable lawyer.” Life—and law—is full of gray areas. The more you can get comfortable with that, the less power those extreme thoughts will have over you.
• 3. Notice the All-or-Nothing Guilt: When you notice yourself feeling guilty, notice your thoughts. What's the thought that's creating the guilt? Is it a black and white thought that you could adjust to make room for gray?  I used to treat every “no” like a moral failure—if I skipped a volunteer meeting or declined an extra project, I’d spiral. Now? I say no more often, and shockingly, the world hasn’t crumbled.
• 4. Talk to Yourself Like You’d Talk to a Friend: You’ve probably rolled your eyes at this advice before. I did too. Until I realized how much it was costing me not to listen. If you wouldn’t call your best friend a failure for missing a deadline, don’t do it to yourself. Practice self-compassion. It’s not about lowering your standards—it’s about building resilience.
• 5. Question the Old Stories: Ask yourself, “Who taught me I had to get everything right to matter?” These extreme expectations didn’t start with you. They’re not truth—they’re just stories you’ve absorbed. You get to question them.
• 6. Find Your People: Seek out community. There’s power in connecting with others who get it—and in supporting each other as you push back against burnout culture.
  

Let’s recap. If you want to start loosening the grip of black-and-white thinking:

• Notice your extremes.
• Make space for the gray.
• Catch the guilt.
• Practice self-compassion.
• Question those inherited stories.
• And find people who get it.

These small shifts really do make a difference—because how you think about your life is your life.

You don’t have to figure this out alone Black-and-white thinking and burnout aren’t just personal quirks. They’re the predictable result of a system that ties your worth to your output.

You’re not imagining it—and you’re definitely not the only one. But that doesn’t mean you have to keep quietly surviving it.

This is why connection matters. When we talk about what’s hard, we start to break the silence—and the shame. We stop feeling isolated. And we begin to imagine new ways to do life and law.

Start small. Start honest. Start where you are.

Because you don’t have to settle for surviving in a system that wasn’t built for you. Together, we can start rewriting the rules—and building a legal culture where you, and every lawyer, can actually thrive.

When you share your experiences and listen to others, you start to see that you’re not isolated or broken—you’re part of a bigger movement for change.

So don’t keep this to yourself. Start conversations with your colleagues. Create spaces where it’s safe to talk about the hard stuff.

You don’t have to settle for surviving in a system that wasn’t built for you.

Before we wrap up...here’s what I want you to do this week—because listening is great, but action is where the change actually happens.

So I want you to pick one area where you notice your brain going straight to black-and-white thinking. Maybe it’s a case that didn’t go the way you wanted, or a day when you fell behind on your to-do list. Write down the “all or nothing” thought, and then challenge yourself to come up with three possible “gray area” alternatives. Notice how your stress shifts when you give yourself permission to see the nuance.

And if you’re ready to stop spinning in your head about what’s next or how to feel better, I’d love to talk with you. I offer a free 20-minute call—no pressure, no hard sell—just a space to name what’s going on and see if this work could help. The link to book is in the show notes.

If you found this episode helpful, make sure to hit follow or subscribe on your favorite podcast app so you never miss an episode. And if you know another lawyer who’s stuck in this burnout cycle, share this episode with them. You never know who might need to hear that they’re not alone—and that there’s a way out.

You don’t need to have it all figured out. You just need to remember that the part of you who can handle uncertainty? She’s still here—and you can learn to trust her again.

That's it for now. Be kind to yourself this week. I’ll see you next time.