ĂÛÌÇֱȄ

I grew up in a single-parent family after my parents separated when I was young. Moving around due to my father's military service, we eventually settled in Buckfastleigh, a small town in the South West. My curiosity about the law was partly sparked by my family history; my maternal grandfather went to prison years ago for a tragic incident related to a personal crisis. This family story was always openly discussed, influencing my early awareness of legal matters.

I was also captivated by John Grisham novels from a young age, especially “A Time to Kill”, which deepened my interest in legal issues. At school, my involvement in the Student Council fuelled my passion for advocating against perceived injustices. When choosing my A levels, I opted for law to explore the subject further beyond my existing awareness.

Despite early enthusiasm for pursuing law, I faced discouragement. People often told me it wasn't a path for someone like me – it was for rich white men! This sentiment only fuelled my determination to prove them wrong.

During my time at university, student welfare services were incredibly supportive during a difficult period, especially Penny Childs, whose kindness left a lasting impression. The University environment was welcoming and inclusive; no one questioned my place there, which was a refreshing change from earlier experiences. Though I commuted daily from Buckfastleigh and didn’t join extracurriculars, I found a strong sense of belonging in the law student community. We supported each other, shared resources, and formed enduring friendships.

One group project in my first year was particularly challenging, but it led me to connect with mature students in the library who offered encouragement. Interestingly, one of them is now Head of Law at Plymouth City Council. That culture of mutual support made my university experience especially meaningful.

After graduating in 2005, I couldn’t afford full-time study for the Legal Practice Course (LPC), so I worked as an office junior at a criminal law firm in Torbay – my first office job. I quickly progressed to paralegal work and began training as an accredited police station representative. A year later, I enrolled in a part-time LPC at De Montfort University.

I moved firms with the promise of a training contract, which fell through, so I freelanced before landing a paralegal role in family law. Though I initially planned to return to criminal law, I discovered a real passion for public law and children’s cases. In 2010, I joined my current firm in Plymouth. With no training contract available, I qualified through CILEx, became an Associate, joined the Children Panel, and later completed the Professional Skills Course to cross-qualify as a solicitor.

My journey into family law wasn’t intentional – it happened by accident. I initially pursued criminal law because I wanted to help people and make a difference in their lives. However, when I moved into motoring offences, I quickly realised that wasn’t right for me. The work often involved people trying to avoid parking fines, and I didn’t feel like I was making a meaningful impact.  

When I was introduced to public law cases involving children, I saw an immediate crossover with criminal law. The same desire that had drawn me to criminal law – working with vulnerable people who are often overlooked – was just as relevant in family law. Many of my clients had experienced severe trauma and were at their lowest point. Their circumstances hadn’t developed overnight; they had often been shaped by years of hardship and systemic issues.  

For me, the most important aspect of family law is ensuring that these individuals have a voice. It’s easy for society to dismiss them, but that doesn’t help them, their families, or the wider community. My role is to make sure their experiences are heard, that they are treated fairly, and that they receive the support they need.  

No young girl should ever be told that the law isn’t for her. That kind of thinking is outdated. Women absolutely have a place in the legal profession and should be encouraged to pursue it – especially in areas like family law, where many vulnerable women need to feel heard and represented.

The legal profession has historically been dominated by privileged men, but that must change. Our system should reflect the diversity of society at every level. Judges are drawn from pools of lawyers and barristers – if those pools lack diversity, the judiciary will too. We need more women and people from underrepresented backgrounds stepping into these roles to create a fairer, more balanced system.

Legal aid is another critical issue. Every case I handle is legally aided, yet the system remains chronically underfunded. Without it, we risk a two-tier justice system where only the wealthy can access legal help. That’s not the kind of society I want to be part of.

As President of Plymouth Law Society, I focused on access to justice, legal aid, social mobility, and women in law. I’ve spoken and written widely about these issues, including a piece for The Times warning that my generation may be the last of the legal aid lawyers. It’s a stark reality that demands urgent action.

When reflecting on my proudest career achievement, I struggled to pinpoint a single defining moment. Instead, what stands out most is my perseverance – the determination to keep advocating for legal aid, women in law, and social mobility, no matter how difficult the journey has been.

It wasn’t easy. I submitted several hundred applications for a training contract, facing rejection every single time. There’s only so much rejection a person can take before it starts to wear them down. Being constantly told, 'You don’t belong. You can’t do this. Why would you think you could be a lawyer?' – it takes a toll.

But I didn’t stop. I tapped into my resilience and kept pushing forward. It would have been easy to accept that narrative – to believe that, as a woman from a poor, single-parent background, law wasn’t for me. Society in the 1980s often demonised people like me, and the expectation was to pursue something more “suitable” for a woman, like secretarial work or teaching. But that wasn’t what I wanted.

Women and people from diverse backgrounds belong in the legal profession, and they should claim their space without hesitation. For too long, law has been dominated by a narrow demographic, reinforcing outdated power structures. But change is happening, and I am determined to be part of that change.

I’ve finally reached a point in my career where I can see that I do deserve to be here. I have just as much right to take up space in this profession as anyone else. And I refuse to shrink back or let others take over. This space was hard-fought, and it’s mine – I’m not giving it up.

Now, I want to make that space even bigger for the next generation. Young women and aspiring lawyers from all backgrounds need to know that the voices telling them they don’t belong are wrong. There is a place for them, and they do deserve to take it. It’s time to own that space, unapologetically.

Success in the legal profession requires perseverance. Aspiring lawyers must stay focused on their long-term goals, pushing forward despite challenges and setbacks.

Building a professional network is also crucial, even at a junior stage. Attending events – like university networking receptions – provides a great starting point. One standout example was a young woman who approached me with thoughtful questions, having clearly done her research. Her preparation made a lasting impression. More students should take this approach – researching attendees in advance leads to stronger, more meaningful conversations.

Networking and self-promotion don’t always come naturally, but they can be learned. Observing others, practicing, and using platforms like LinkedIn can help build confidence. Beyond academic achievements, aspiring lawyers need to consider what else they offer – soft skills, personal branding, and the ability to connect are all crucial in today’s competitive legal landscape.