It’s been just over a year since I first walked into the courthouse with a bar card in my pocket and a stomach full of nerves. Today, I can honestly say: I love this job. I really do. I’ve defended everyone from a kid picked up for petty theft to someone accused of killing a cop. I’m a public defender—a PD—and most days, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I get a lot of questions about what I do, especially after a high-profile case hits the news. Most people have only seen lawyers like me on TV or in the movies, so their ideas are shaped by Law & Order, My Cousin Vinny, or, god help us, Legally Blonde. (For the record: Legally Blonde is a gem, but it’s not exactly a how-to guide.) People assume the courtroom is always dramatic, the bad guys obvious, and the DA and I are sworn enemies. The truth is more complicated, more human, and, honestly, more interesting.
Prosecutors Aren’t the Enemy
Let’s start here: DAs and public defenders spend a lot of time together. It’s less “mortal enemies,” more “siblings forced to share a room.” We argue, we negotiate, sometimes we cuss each other out. But we have to keep working together, so we move on quickly. You’d be surprised how often we grab coffee after a heated debate. There’s a mutual respect because we know how tough both jobs are. Sure, there are games played, but at the end of the day, we know we’ll see each other again—probably tomorrow morning, bright and early.
Who Do I Defend?
Another thing people don’t get: Most of my clients did do something wrong. I’m not saying every person charged is guilty, but let’s be real—charges don’t just materialize out of thin air. What I’ve learned, though, is that even the folks who’ve made terrible choices aren’t monsters. I love a lot of my clients as human beings. They’re complicated, messy, sometimes infuriating, sometimes heartbreakingly honest. Almost every time someone is accused of something awful, if you look back far enough, you’ll find something just as bad—if not worse—happened to them first. It doesn’t excuse what they did, but it gives you context. It makes you pause. Even if I genuinely can’t stand a client—and it happens—I still fight for them. If everyone doesn’t get due process, no one does.
The Real Burden: Upholding the Constitution
What keeps me going isn’t just the paycheck (and for the record, it’s a decent salary in my area—double the local median income, not the poverty wages TV suggests). It’s the principle. I’m not defending a crime; I’m defending the rights of a person against the full force of the state. The prosecution has to prove guilt—not me. If you want to see how fragile those rights are, spend a few days in court. Every day, I see cops violate constitutional rights, mostly around searches. You want to help yourself? Never consent to a search. Ever. And stop talking without a lawyer. (Why is that so hard for people?!)
Law enforcement officers, with a few months of training, are handed the keys to people’s lives. I studied law for years and I’m still learning. And yeah, the system incentivizes arrests, stops, and convictions. I’ve watched good DAs get chewed out for dropping bogus charges. Everyone is under pressure to “win.” It’s why I stay laser-focused on the rules, the law, and the process. I don’t argue with cops. I don’t try to “beat” the prosecution. I just make sure every “i” is dotted and every “t” is crossed. If my client’s rights are violated, I fight to have that evidence thrown out. Sometimes, those little wins mean everything.
Workload, Stress, and the Human Cost
I work in a rural area, so my caseload is reasonable. I’m in court maybe two days a week. The rest is prepping cases, meeting clients, and writing motions. It’s not like the big city, where PDs are so swamped I wouldn’t want them representing me, honestly. Here, we help each other out, cover for each other, and collaborate on tough cases. My work-life balance is actually pretty good. I don’t have to bill hours or chase clients for money. I get paid the same whether someone takes a plea or goes to trial.
But yes, it’s still heavy. Sometimes unbearably so. I’ve lost clients to suicide. I’ve watched people I was rooting for relapse after months of progress. I’ve represented people accused of the most horrific crimes you can imagine. Some of those cases are the hardest—not because I can’t stomach the accusation, but because those are the cases where it’s most important to get every fact right. False accusations do happen, especially with something as serious as child abuse. I take those investigations deadly seriously. The stakes are just too high.
Detachment, Empathy, and Survival
People ask if it’s hard to defend someone I know is guilty. Truth? I don’t see it as my burden. What happened is between my client and the universe. My job is to ensure the law is followed, their rights protected, and the state meets its burden. That’s it. Some clients make me groan when I see them on caller ID. Others surprise me—a “cop killer” who was unfailingly polite, a petty thief who tells the same bad jokes every time we meet. I try to detach from the crime, and mostly from the client, but sometimes I root hard for someone to turn things around. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
Justice, Outcomes, and What Counts
How do I measure success? If my client is happy, I’m happy. Sometimes a good outcome is getting charges dismissed. Sometimes it’s getting a plea deal that keeps them out of jail and into treatment. Sometimes it’s just getting through a trial knowing I did everything I could. The best moments? When a client thanks me, or I get a compliment from a juror. I could live off that feeling.
Why I Chose This
I grew up poor. Public defenders helped my own family more than once. In a way, this is me paying it forward. I could never see myself as a prosecutor; I don’t want to represent an “entity.” I need to represent people. I need to feel like I’m actually helping someone, even if it’s just making sure their rights are respected. Some days are crazy, and I’ll admit, not every office is as functional as mine. But I’ve found my place. I don’t see myself leaving.
If you take anything from this, let it be this: Public defenders aren’t here to help people “get away” with crimes. We’re here because, in a just society, everyone gets a defense. We hold the line against the worst impulses of the system. And sometimes, against our own worst days, too.
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(Signed, A Public Defender)