The Three Women Who Convinced Me to Go to Law School

By Law Clerk Oliver Calliwell

Law School Was Never on My Mind

Law school was never part of my original plan.

In my late teens and early twenties, I was living in California and working as a songwriter. My schedule involved staying up until four in the morning and sleeping until noon. Eventually, at 22, I decided to go to college and studied psychology. I have always been the sensitive, emotional type, a classic Type B personality. In many ways, I am the opposite of what most people imagine when they picture a law student.

My plan was to become a therapist or social worker. But slowly, through the encouragement, example, and wisdom of the three women closest to me, the idea of law school began creeping further and further into my mind.

On this International Women’s Day, I want to honor the three women who convinced me to go to law school.

Sarika Showed Me That Speaking Up Is Worth It

The First Time Advocacy Felt Like a Calling

In 2022, I found myself crying in my office after a meeting with a client.

Fresh out of undergrad, I had landed a job developing violence-prevention programming at the university I had just graduated from. Part of my role involved serving as a victim advocate for survivors of interpersonal violence. While I viewed the job as an incredible opportunity, I constantly felt like I did not know what I was doing. I was insecure and lacked confidence when speaking with clients.

My supervisor was Sarika, and she was fabulous.

I was constantly in her office asking a million questions about things I had said in meetings.

“Do you think I said the right thing?” I would ask.

She always reassured me that I was doing well and reminded me, often, that I needed to stop doubting myself. I respected her immensely, and over time we became close.

That fall, all university staff were required to attend a diversity training seminar. The presenter began by outlining how employees should respond when someone says something offensive in the workplace. Her main point was that people should assume the offender simply did not realize they were being offensive.

A Black colleague raised his hand and respectfully challenged that idea. He argued that some comments are harmful enough that they deserve to be called out directly, rather than softened with benefit-of-the-doubt explanations. The conversation between him and the presenter went back and forth, but it did not really move anywhere.

Then Sarika raised her hand.

When the microphone reached her, she spoke about the burden that approach places on marginalized people, especially Black women. She explained the emotional toll of constantly being asked to give others the benefit of the doubt when they say something offensive, particularly in environments where you may already feel isolated.

She spoke with honesty, clarity, and conviction.

When she finished, the room erupted in applause.

I remember that moment vividly, even now. People stopped by her office all day to thank her. Watching her advocate so eloquently, not just for herself but for someone else in the room, made me realize how powerful it is when someone uses their voice to defend others.

That was the first time I remember thinking seriously about advocacy as a calling. It was probably the first moment law school even crossed my mind.

Thank you, Sarika, for showing me that speaking up is worth it.

Katie Showed Me That Who I Am Is Enough

There Is No One Right Way to Become a Lawyer

When I become a lawyer this fall, I will not be the first in my family.

I will be the second.

I am currently following in the footsteps of my little sister.

Yes, before you ask, she is absolutely my parents’ favorite.

Katie is a juvenile public defender in Lincoln, Nebraska. Growing up, she was always the responsible one: organized, disciplined, and academically brilliant. She was the valedictorian of her high school class.

Meanwhile, I dropped out of high school.

I like to think I am at least partially responsible for my parents’ high blood pressure.

Despite our differences, Katie and I have always been very close. I grew up as an openly gay kid in a small town in western Nebraska, and she spent much of her childhood defending me from the kind of small-town bullying that too many kids experience. Looking back, it is not surprising she became a defense attorney.

When Katie was in law school, I saw firsthand how demanding it was. I remember thinking, There is absolutely no way I could do that.

Around that same time, I was working as a victim advocate and constantly encountering legal questions I could not answer. Clients would ask about protection orders, divorce, or custody issues, and I would feel completely out of my depth.

One day I called Katie, frustrated.

“So many legal questions keep coming up,” I told her. “And I have no idea what I’m doing.”

She paused for a moment and said, “Well… you could always go to law school.”

We both laughed.

The idea of me going to law school seemed completely ridiculous. I was too sensitive, too unconventional, and too Type B to survive anything like that.

But a few months later, Katie graduated. Watching her cross that stage was incredible. She had known since childhood that she wanted to be a lawyer, and it was powerful to see her finally take that breath after years of hard work.

Around that time, I also started spending time with her law school friends.

And I discovered something shocking.

Law students are weird.

Actually, most of them might be a little weirder than me.

That realization changed everything. I started to think that maybe there was not just one way to be a lawyer. Maybe I did not have to become the stereotypical version of one. Maybe I could still advocate for people, even if I did it in my own way.

Maybe who I was did not have to disqualify me.

Thank you, Katie, for showing me that who I am is enough.

My Mom Taught Me to Keep Fighting

Resilience, Risk, and Refusing To Stay Quiet

I am probably going to cry while writing this one.

I am incredibly lucky. I truly have the best mom.

In the small town where I grew up, my mom has something of a reputation. She is well known for two things: being an excellent nurse practitioner and not tolerating nonsense from anyone, especially men who think they can talk down to her.

Over the years, that reputation sometimes got her into trouble.

She spent decades working in healthcare, often navigating environments where sexism and workplace politics were unavoidable. More than once, doctors labeled her “difficult to work with.”

Anyone who knows my mom understands how unfair that label is. She is generous, compassionate, and deeply committed to helping people. But she also has a trait that some workplaces struggle with: she refuses to stay quiet when she is treated with disrespect.

A few years ago, after a particularly frustrating disagreement with a physician, she decided to do something bold.

She started her own healthcare clinic.

And it took off.

For the first time in years, I saw her thriving. Running her own clinic was difficult and overwhelming, but she finally had control over her own environment. She no longer had to navigate the sexism and administrative politics that had worn her down for so long.

She was finally behind the steering wheel.

Her business grew. She expanded to additional clinics in western Nebraska and eventually built a successful real estate business as well.

Watching my mom take risks, embrace her authenticity, and refuse to let others define her limits taught me something powerful: even when the odds are stacked against you, you can still build something meaningful.

When I told her I was thinking about going to law school, I honestly expected her to laugh.

Instead, she said something I will never forget:

“You’ve been cranky and arguing with people since you could talk. You’ll be great.”

I took that as a compliment.

Thank you, Mom, for showing me that taking risks is worth it, and that sometimes the only way forward is to keep fighting, even when the path ahead is not clear.

Looking Back, I Can See Exactly How I Got Here

The Women Who Quietly Changed My Life

In three months, I will graduate from law school.

If you had told me five years ago that I would one day be preparing to sit for the bar exam, I would have laughed. Law school was never part of my original plan. But looking back now, I can see how each of these women quietly nudged me in this direction.

Sarika showed me that using your voice to defend others can change a room.

Katie showed me that you do not have to fit a stereotype to belong in this profession.

And my mom showed me that resilience and courage can build a life that no one else gets to define.

This International Women’s Day, I am grateful for the women who shaped my path, sometimes without even realizing it.

Three women convinced me to go to law school.

Three months from now, because of them, I will be a lawyer.