The way I practice law today has been shaped as much by the people I've represented as by anything I learned in law school. Some of the most important lessons came from working with survivors of domestic violence.
Before joining McGill Law, I represented survivors of domestic violence exclusively, helping them obtain protection orders and guiding them through the family law cases that followed. People often asked how I could hear about violence all day. It was hard. But my job was never to rescue anyone or to cry alongside them. My job was to use my tools to help clients move through a system that doesn't always act with urgency or compassion.
Domestic violence is rarely as straightforward as people imagine. Abuse isn't always physical or immediately recognizable. It can be subtle, developing over time through patterns of manipulation, intimidation, isolation, and control. By the time someone recognizes what is happening, leaving may feel impossible.
There is a reason survivors may not report abuse or may return to an abusive relationship. Leaving is often the most dangerous time, because an abuser may do almost anything to maintain power and control. Survivors know this in their bones. They may fear retaliation, doubt that anyone will act, or depend on their abuser for housing and money. Staying is not weakness. It is survival.
Here is something I learned early: trauma scrambles stories. Survivors living with chronic abuse may forget important details or recount events out of order. To a court, that can look like dishonesty, when it may actually reflect how trauma affects memory. Yet our adversarial system rewards a tidy chronology and a credible narrative. Survivors deserve a fair fight, and that requires an attorney who understands trauma.
I believe survivors. My work is to help the court understand them.
Safety begins in my office, not the courtroom. For someone whose life has been shaped by control, being believed, offered choices, and allowed to set the pace can feel unfamiliar. I explain each step before we take it, I never rush a story, and I make sure my clients understand their options. When someone feels safe enough to speak without being doubted or hurried, something shifts. They begin to take ownership of a process that may have initially felt overwhelming.
My role is not to make decisions for my clients. It is to provide the legal knowledge, guidance, and tools they need to make informed choices for themselves. Sometimes that means pursuing a protection order. Sometimes it means working through a difficult custody case. And sometimes it means listening while someone finds the words to explain what they have experienced.
Working with survivors also taught me that wins don't always look like wins.
A hard-fought protection order may be dismissed after a painful hearing. In those moments, my job is to offer additional safety resources, explain what options remain, and remind my client that the court's decision does not diminish what they experienced or the courage it took to speak about it.
More clients than I can count have said some version of, "I'll be okay no matter what the judge decides, because I got to tell my story."
Those experiences changed the way I think about success as an attorney. Legal outcomes matter enormously, particularly when someone's safety or relationship with their children is at stake. But so does the way we treat people throughout the process. Being heard, having choices, and understanding what comes next can make a meaningful difference, even when the outcome is not what someone hoped for.
I carry those lessons into my family law practice at McGill Law.
Not every client I represent has experienced domestic violence, but many are facing some of the most difficult and uncertain moments of their lives. Divorce, custody disputes, and other family law matters can bring fear, grief, frustration, and decisions no one expected to have to make. My experience working with survivors taught me to listen without making assumptions, to recognize that every client's circumstances are different, and to respect the strength it takes to ask for help.
Most importantly, it taught me that advocacy is not about taking control of someone's circumstances. It is about helping people understand their options and giving them the support they need to move forward on their own terms.
I am not saving anyone. I am offering tools, standing beside my clients, and watching them grow stronger. Sometimes, they begin to believe in their own safety. That is the win.
It's what I carry into my family law practice, and it's how I hope to serve every client who walks through our door.
