From day one, attorneys are trained to identify, exploit and eliminate vulnerabilities. We look for vulnerabilities in our opponents’ arguments, in our own positions and in the work of our colleagues and subordinates. For example, if you spot a weak case in your brief before you submit it to the court, you remove the case from the brief and replace it with a stronger case. If you find a typo in your memo before you submit it to the partner, you delete the typo from the memo. If you notice a weak argument in your opponent’s motion, you exploit that weakness in your reply. It is fair to say that spotting and exploiting or eliminating perceived weaknesses is embedded in the DNA of our profession.

One of the more unfortunate consequences of this training, however, is that attorneys become so proficient at spotting and eliminating vulnerability that the practice carries over into areas of their personal and professional lives, where it weakens rather than strengthens their position, potentially placing them, their firms and their clients at risk. It should come as no surprise then that when some attorneys begin noticing the symptoms of a mental health illness—a sudden increased level of anxiety, trouble getting out of bed every morning, difficulty with drugs or alcohol—they often try to hide the problem before it becomes known to and exploitable by anyone else.