We were in a small conference room—just me and the sixth-year associate. He was explaining an edit to the undisclosed liabilities representation clause of a merger agreement. I could hear his words, but all I could see was blurred black ink on the page.

I knew that if I covered one of my eyes, I would be able to clearly see out of the other one, but I was petrified to do it. What would he think? And if I dared tell him the truth—that I had a rare autoimmune disease that causes muscle weakness throughout the body and frequent blurred and double vision, he would question my competence. Would he even want to work with me again?

So instead of saying anything, I scrunched up my face and squinted, praying that he would keep looking at the document and not up at me. I saw what he was referencing, made the changes in my office and took a sigh of relief, thankful that he didn’t realize that something was wrong with me.

When I was working in BigLaw, this happened often. I also experienced weakness in my hands where I couldn’t move all my fingers and thus couldn’t type. When this happened for the first time, I was on a busy M&A deal, but I still stayed silent and didn’t tell anyone. Thankfully, it happened in my office, so no one noticed. I just had to take my time and type with two fingers to finish the agreement.

Throughout my time at large law firms, I stayed quiet and felt conflicted about sharing my diagnosis. As much as I wanted the partners and my fellow associates to understand what I was going through: that a 15-hour workday felt like 24, that I needed to rest my eyes sometimes or wear an eye patch over one eye so that I could see out of the other one, I feared that if I told them, it would affect the types of assignments I would get, limit the people who would want to work with me, and affect my overall future at the firm. I also feared that my work would be scrutinized more and even feared that my fellow associates would judge me and shun me socially.

Many in the chronic illness community feel the same way. We’re smart and capable but sometimes need accommodations to thrive in the fast-paced BigLaw environment. Reflecting on that time, I believe that I could have performed better if I had felt safe enough to disclose my illness and the challenges I was experiencing, but at the same time, I’m not sure whether it would have helped.

At my first firm, I had a colleague who others laughed at because he left “early”—at 8 p.m. I’m not sure whether he was experiencing fatigue from a chronic illness or whether the long hours were just taking their toll. But this is the environment I was working in where not performing and working as expected signaled weakness to others.

Additionally, when I told the head of my group that I was having surgery, he inquired about what it was for, which was another reminder that even limited disclosure felt risky. Although I was performing and meeting my billable requirements, working in this environment made me question my value as a lawyer who had additional needs.

I worked in BigLaw at a couple of different firms for eight years, and for eight years—through blurred and double vision, weakness in my hands and difficulty walking—I remained silent. The big turning point for me in my health journey was when I was diagnosed with steroid-induced osteoporosis at age 32, a side effect of the autoimmune medication I was taking. That’s when I had no choice but to take control of my health, and I did so by changing my diet and lifestyle.

One aspect of changing my lifestyle meant establishing boundaries. I still didn’t disclose my illness but took a few minutes each day to engage in deep breathing, started taking yoga classes on the weekend, and snuck out of work once per week to see an acupuncturist and chiropractor.

Even though I experienced a shift in how I approached my illness, I realized that over the years, I had learned to privately manage it. At the firm, HR policies and the protections of the Americans With Disabilities Act applied in theory but rarely in practice. To be clear, I did not request accommodations at work, but given the general culture, I felt that I could not make this request and continue to be successful at my job.

The fact that we feel we “can’t” ask for help or request accommodations we’re entitled to by law is part of something beyond a specific organization or industry. It’s a culture we have internalized: working around the clock, not asking for help in fear of being perceived as lazy or incompetent, building our reputation by neglecting our personal needs and penalizing those who do ask for help.

Only after leaving BigLaw and seeing my health stabilized did I feel “safe” enough to share my story, and I discovered that I wasn’t alone. I’ve since met many lawyers with chronic illnesses who have felt the same way. They have managed their illnesses to the best of their ability without disclosing them to their supervisors. They are not alone.

A 2016 study from the ABA and the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation found that 23% of lawyers reported high stress, and recent surveys indicate that physical health challenges affect roughly 30% of attorneys. There is a growing body of research linking chronic stress to chronic illnesses.

This culture of silence doesn’t just affect individual lawyers; it shapes what types of talent thrive and who is forced to compromise their health to succeed. Reflecting on this has made me realize that the silence many of us felt was less about whether or not we chose to disclose and more about a lack of psychological safety.

Although the concept has been around since the 1950s, psychological safety became mainstream in 2016, after Google’s Project Aristotle, a study researching what makes teams effective, identified psychological safety as the most critical factor for successful teams.

According to Amy Edmondson, a pioneer in the field, psychological safety is the “belief that one will not be punished or humiliated for speaking up with ideas, questions, concerns or mistakes, and that the team is safe for interpersonal risk-taking.” As applied to employees with chronic illness, this means that they won’t be punished or humiliated for requesting the accommodations they need to perform at their best.

I was working in BigLaw before psychological safety became mainstream, but this is a conversation that we need to have. My silence was never about an unwillingness to perform; it was about feeling safe. Imagine what kind of talent could thrive if law firms created environments where lawyers felt safe enough to ask for what they need and show up as their best selves.

AmiCietta Duche Clarke is an attorney, a well-being advocate and a speaker who helps lawyers build sustainable success without sacrificing their health. She is the founder of Clean Body Living and the author of a forthcoming book.

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