Should I stay or should I go? It's a question that confronts all of us at some point. Should I stay in this relationship / community / organization / job? Given the intensity of a legal education, it's not surprising that students face doubts about whether they should continue their legal education. The academic support we offer students contemplating leaving law school, I'm convinced, is just as important as the support we offer students dedicated to gaining their J.D. If success means anything, it means being invested in one's choices for the right reasons.
I admire the students I've know who have so thoughtfully considered whether continuing in law school was the right course for them. For example, I think of two wonderful students, each diagnosed with a potentially terminal illness. One chose to continue in law school to give herself motivation for getting well since she felt so energized by her law studies. The other, equally as ardent about law school, decided that spending her remaining months or years with her family was more important than becoming a lawyer. Another two dedicated students, both of whom wanted to use their education and training to help disadvantaged children, spent hours with me exploring the pros and cons of staying in law school. One determined it was more important for her to immediately be in the field helping children; the other decided the insights and pure intellectual joy gained from law school were sufficiently important to justify earning the J.D. even though she never planned to sit for the bar. Every academic support professional will have similar stories of students who made good decisions for themselves based on their circumstances and core values.
When meeting with students who are reassessing their decision to attend law school, the practice of active listening is critical: it's vital to listen without judgment and to let the students verbalize their fears, reasons, and emotions. As part of the listening process, we can reflect back to the student what we think we hear and ask clarifying questions, but allowing long, deep silences during the conversation usually helps students gather their thoughts and delve deeper into their motivations.
I only offer advice if students ask for it. If they do, I clarify my presuppositions to help them evaluate the value of my advice in light of their own beliefs. First, I tell them, to me law is a calling. Because of its intellectual and emotional demands, I submit that pursuing a legal education is not worthwhile if one is merely seeking a financially satisfying career: one should have a passion for law either as a helping profession or as an intellectual pursuit.
Second, I consider law students to be people first and students second: if law school is seriously interfering with their responsibilities in other areas, it makes sense to set school aside either temporarily or permanently.
Important decisions, I believe, should always be based on core values, so major decisions should not be hurried by considerations like school refund dates. Likewise, it's important to get input from the people one respects and values, even if one ends up making a decision contrary to their recommendations. Students often fear their supporters — family, friends, professors — would disapprove or be disappointed by their doubts about continuing in law school. Because this fear can be so strong, many shy away from asking advice from the very people they most value. When they have the courage to broach the issue, most of the time they are heartened to learn, or remember, that their supporters care about them as whole persons, not just as law students, and are happy to provide a sympathetic, long-range perspective.
Most importantly, while one should bring analytical rigor and intellectual honesty to making decisions, ultimately major decisions are best made paying attention not only to the mind but to the emotions, soul, and body of the whole person. Most students are familiar with using a decision grid or matrix, where they list the positives and negatives of each proposed course of action and assign weights to the importance of each factor. By the time they meet with me, many have created such a grid. The problem with decision grids, however, is that people tend to list only rational or intellectual factors to the exclusion of the emotional, spiritual, family, and other values they hold dear. So while I recommend use of a grid as a tool, I encourage students to list every consideration, however seemingly trivial. And, I submit, one further step is crucial. After they list and weigh all their factors and make a decision, I encourage them to ask themselves how they feel about the decision they have made — because sometimes what seems rationally right is emotionally wrong. In my experience, students who take this extra step (which sometimes affirms and sometimes reverses their "rational" decision) almost never regret the ultimate decision based on the values of the whole person. We can affirm and support the decisions made by any student who has engaged in such a thoughtful process.
(Nancy Luebbert)
