To the Lawyer I Thought Would Hate Me

I remember how hopeless it felt when I realized I had a problem I couldn’t solve myself. My daughter was being denied a right that seemed to be clearly present in our state law. I’m no attorney, but even I could tell this just wasn’t okay. But what’s a mom to do? Well, this mom got to writing.

I had a list going of every individual, agency, organization and advocacy group I thought might care about what we were facing. I started with the ones I felt most aligned with our values. I went to people I knew would like me. They voted like me. I had supported them in the past. They were comfortable and familiar. I set a goal to contact one of them each day as we worked to find answers.

Some of them responded with kindness, but no ability to help. They told us what they believed to be true— it was a sad situation, but there was nothing to be done. Some wished us well on our quest, but couldn’t offer us anything. Some were less empathetic and just told us this was the way of things and we needed to accept it. Some never got back to us at all.

And then there was your organization.

I didn’t want to contact you. I knew you were there and that in theory, you might be interested in our case. But I didn’t think you’d like me. I thought if you knew my values, you’d decide you couldn’t partner with us to fight for the rights of our child. I thought I knew what kind of causes your organization supported and I didn’t think we’d fit the profile of people you liked to help. In my worst-case-scenario moments, I imagined you hearing me describe our situation and my family and then deciding you were going to take up the case of the opposition and fight against us. I didn’t want to call you at all, but I was all out of options.

These were the days leading up to the 2016 election. The country felt polarized. Our neighborhoods felt polarized. Every single interaction felt polarized. I felt defined not by my passions and my heart, but by how I might poll on a given set of issues. I had moments when I looked at other people through that filter as well. And here I stood. Out of options. Out of allies. My side of “the aisle” looked sadly deserted.

When I contacted my state senator to see if she had any ideas of avenues we could pursue to figure out why a governmental agency wouldn’t be following the laws of their own government, she gave me your name. It was a name our favorite attorney had also recommended. I knew it was time to swallow my pride, face the risks and give you a call. As a family we put our trust in your hands, not knowing if you could help us or even if you’d decide we were worth helping.

You’ll never know how nervous I was before making that first phone call. All my preconceived ideas felt like a mountain I had to scale just to dial the number. And then we talked.

I can’t tell you what it meant to us in the months that followed to have a knowledgeable, empathetic advocate like you in our corner. You were willing to do whatever you could. You were honest about our chances and our obstacles. You treated us with respect and kindness. You responded quickly to my never-ending questions and never made me feel dumb for asking them. You wanted updates as things progressed. You talked to other attorneys on our behalf. You told me when the Nebraska Supreme Court was debating an issue relevant to our case and then debriefed me about it afterwards.

As we progressed from trying to address our individual situation to moving towards systemic change, you asked for my opinion. You included me in discussions when every other person offering feedback was an attorney. You kept me updated on the progress even when I no longer had a part to play. Even if you did disagree with my values or how I vote or where I go to church (which honestly never came up), the focus always remained on what we could do together to make needed changes for these kids. The rest didn’t matter.

I think the greatest compliment I can give you is that you advocated for our daughter and her rights as though she were your daughter. You fought for the needs and rights of foster and adoptive kids as though it mattered to you personally. You were dedicated and tireless, like a parent always should be.

Being able to partner with an organization I thought wouldn’t want to help me has changed my perspective. When I look at politics on a national scale, I see things differently. I have a little taste of how tricky it might feel to hand an issue you care so personally about over to those you aren’t sure care very much for you. I can imagine how our own preconceived ideas can keep us from true consensus building or from seeing common ground. And I know that sometimes when we risk reaching across that aisle, even in our own small, personal ways, we can actually make progress towards the goals we care about.

Finding common ground on a national level seems overwhelming. It’s discouraging and I get frustrated with both sides as they seek to vilify and demean those who don’t see things the way they do. It becomes harder to do that when you have true friends, people you love and respect, on both sides of an issue. You lose the luxury of misrepresenting someone else’s opinion to make your point more powerful when you actually have regular conversations with those who think differently than you.

Maybe making progress on the issues that matter starts small. Maybe it starts with looking for what we have in common and how we can partner together. There will be areas of disagreement, but when we can think about them charitably, imagining our friends who wholeheartedly believe those things, we may be able to speak the truth in love. If we can do this on a local scale, maybe we’ll see change on a national scale.

To the Lawyer I Thought Would Hate Me, thank you for fighting so hard for my family. Thank you for teaching me that when we focus on what we can do together, what we might disagree about becomes much less important. I’m proud of the progress we’ve made for kids in our state and I know we couldn’t have done it unless we worked together. If you ever need an ally, you know I’m in your corner.