When I first stepped into a courtroom as a public defender, I didn’t know how much that role would shape the rest of my career. I had studied the law. I knew the rules, the procedures, the statutes. But nothing in the textbooks fully prepared me for the weight of standing beside someone society had already written off. Public defense is more than just a legal job—it’s a calling that requires heart, grit, and a strong sense of fairness.

The People Behind the Charges

One of the biggest lessons I learned early on is that every case file has a human story behind it. It’s easy to look at a charge on paper and make assumptions. But when you sit across from someone in a jumpsuit, listen to how they got there, and understand their struggles—addiction, mental health, poverty, trauma—you begin to see the bigger picture. Public defense work taught me that justice isn’t just about guilt or innocence. It’s about understanding, context, and sometimes second chances.

I’ve represented people at their lowest moments—some scared, some angry, some completely numb to the process because the system had chewed them up too many times before. And yet, in those conversations, there was always something human to hold on to. A father wanting to see his kids. A young adult who never had a stable home. A person just trying to survive in a world that had been stacked against them from the start.

Fighting for Fairness

Being a public defender means standing up for people who often have no one else in their corner. Many times, I was the only person in that courtroom who even knew my client’s name. I wasn’t there to excuse behavior—I was there to make sure the system treated them fairly, that their rights were protected, and that they were seen as people, not just case numbers.

Public defenders walk a hard line. On one hand, we must challenge the prosecution, question police reports, and sometimes face public pressure that wants quick convictions. On the other hand, we must speak truth to our clients, even when that truth is hard. Sometimes that means telling them that a plea deal may be the best option. Sometimes it means pushing back when they’re not ready to hear what needs to be said. But through it all, our role is to stand firm, advocate fiercely, and keep justice from becoming mechanical.

Compassion Doesn’t Mean Weakness

There’s a misconception that showing compassion in the legal system makes you soft. I completely disagree. In fact, I think it takes more strength to lead with empathy than it does to simply go through the motions. As a public defender, I had to look people in the eye who had made serious mistakes—and still treat them with dignity.

Compassion doesn’t mean excusing bad actions. It means recognizing that people are complex, and that their choices are often shaped by environments, trauma, and a lack of support. It means holding people accountable while still believing in their capacity to change. That perspective carried with me later in my roles as a judge and magistrate. The legal system functions best when it remembers that justice and humanity can, and should, coexist.

Learning the Value of Listening

One of the most underrated skills I developed through public defense work was the ability to truly listen. Sometimes, people just need to feel heard. They need someone to sit down and take the time to understand their story, their fear, their confusion. The courtroom can be a cold place—intimidating, confusing, and fast-moving. But in those quiet conversations before a hearing or sentencing, I found moments of real connection that mattered.

Listening also meant understanding what clients needed outside the courtroom. Some needed addiction treatment. Some needed mental health care. Some just needed a little stability. Helping people navigate those resources became part of the job. It wasn’t just about the verdict—it was about setting them up to avoid coming back.

Public Defense Shaped My Approach to the Bench

Now, when I sit behind the bench as a judge, I bring everything I learned from those years as a public defender with me. I remember what it feels like to sit next to someone who has lost everything and still deserves fairness. I remember what it feels like to fight for someone’s voice to be heard in a system that too often moves too fast to care. Those memories keep me grounded.

My time in public defense taught me that every courtroom needs more compassion. It needs more patience. And it needs more people who are willing to see the whole person, not just the mistake they made. That experience gave me a better understanding of what justice should look like when it’s not just about punishment—but about healing and growth.

Final Thoughts

Public defense work is not glamorous. It’s long hours, heavy caseloads, and emotional strain. But it’s some of the most important work in the legal system. It reminds us that justice isn’t one-size-fits-all. It reminds us that compassion isn’t weakness. And it reminds us that everyone, no matter their past, deserves to be treated with dignity.

I’m grateful for every lesson, every client, every case that shaped me along the way. Those experiences continue to guide me today—and they always will.