The Weight of Being Seen

An anonymous reflection from an Ohio judge

When I accepted my appointment to the bench, I understood that my life would change. I knew I would have to make difficult decisions, work long hours, and incorporate a level of responsibility unlike anything I had experienced as an attorney. What I didn't expect was how often I would think about being a judge when I wasn't at the courthouse.

No one really prepares you for that part.

Woman at a restaurant eating a salad

For me, it began in ways that seemed almost insignificant. I would get ready to meet friends for dinner and find myself changing my clothes because I could possibly run into attorneys from the courtroom. I would walk into a restaurant and instinctively look around to see who was there. Before making an offhand comment in public, I would pause, not because it was inappropriate, but because someone might hear it without knowing me well enough to understand my sense of humor. After a while, those moments became so familiar that I stopped noticing them.

For years, I assumed that was simply part of being a judge. In many ways, it is. As judges, we occupy a unique place in our communities, and with that comes a responsibility to uphold public confidence in the judiciary. I have always believed that responsibility is worth protecting. What I didn't recognize was how much mental energy it takes to carry that awareness every day, even when court is not in session.

The interesting thing is that nothing dramatic ever happened. I was never confronted at the grocery store or criticized for attending a community event. Most of the time, people were kind and respectful. The pressure wasn't coming from those interactions. It came from the constant awareness that they could happen at any time. Before long, I wasn't simply deciding where I wanted to go after work. I was also thinking about who might be there, how I might be perceived and whether it would be easier to stay home instead.

Looking back, I can see that my world slowly became smaller. I declined invitations that I would have accepted years earlier. I skipped community events that I genuinely wanted to attend, and I found myself choosing the quieter restaurant or deciding that another evening at home would simply be easier. None of those decisions seemed important on their own, but together they changed the way I lived outside the courthouse.

I was gradually giving up many of the things that had always helped me recharge. Before becoming a judge, spending time with friends, volunteering in my community, attending local events, or simply enjoying a night out without thinking twice gave me an opportunity to disconnect from work. Those experiences reminded me that my identity was bigger than my profession.

As I quietly began saying no to those opportunities, I also lost many of the things that helped me recover from the demands of the bench. I didn't recognize the pattern because each decision made sense on its own. Looking back, I can see it much more clearly than I could while I was living it.

Judges spend much of the day making decisions, managing conflict and carrying responsibility, which requires focus, patience and emotional discipline. We often talk about those demands, but we rarely talk about recovery. Like physical exercise, the work itself isn't the problem. The problem comes when there is constant output without enough opportunity to recharge.

Over time, that imbalance begins to show itself in subtle ways; you become more tired than you used to be; you find it difficult to leave work at the courthouse; you lose interest in activities you once enjoyed because they require more energy than you feel you have; you may become less patient at home or feel emotionally drained before the workday has even begun. None of those changes happen overnight, which is exactly why they are so easy to dismiss as simply part of the job.

Serving as a judge has been one of the greatest privileges of my life, and I wouldn't trade it. But I have learned that protecting the integrity of the office and protecting my own well-being are not competing responsibilities. In fact, I think they depend on one another.

Somewhere along the way, I had convinced myself that being a good judge meant always thinking like a judge. I don't believe that anymore.

Being a judge is what I do, but it is not all that I am. I'm also a spouse, a parent, a friend, a neighbor and a member of my community. Those parts of my life deserve the same care and attention that I give to my work because they are the parts that allow me to return to the bench with perspective, patience and renewed energy.

If I could say one thing to a newer judge, it would be this: Protect the person you were before you put on the robe. Stay connected to the people who know you by your first name. Keep making time for the hobbies, traditions and relationships that have nothing to do with the courthouse. Continue showing up at family dinners, community events and the places that remind you there is a life beyond your title.

The public may always know me as "Judge,” but the people who matter most simply know me by my first name.

I've learned that I need both.

If This Reflection Resonated with You

If parts of this reflection felt familiar, you're not alone. Many judges quietly carry the weight of the role long after the workday ends. Sometimes simply talking with another judge who understands the unique responsibilities of the bench can make a meaningful difference.

The Ohio Lawyers Assistance Program and its Judicial Advisory Group provide confidential support for judges who want a trusted place to talk, ask questions or simply connect with someone who understands the profession. You don't have to be in crisis to reach out. Many judges connect with OLAP simply because they recognize they have been carrying more than they realized.

The Judicial Advisory Group was established to ensure that judges have access to support from peers who understand the unique ethical, professional and personal challenges of judicial service.