Somewhere Between Too Nice and Not Nice Enough

I’ve become fascinated by how much our upbringing shapes us — and how, at the same time, life reshapes us into someone entirely different. Somewhere between childhood innocence and adult responsibility, we change. Sometimes beautifully. Sometimes painfully. It feels like just yesterday I was almost three years old and meeting my baby sister for the first time in a small innocent world that revolved solely around my family. Now, twenty-five years later, my world has expanded far beyond my immediate family. Only recently have I truly come to appreciate how the various chapters of my life are puzzle pieces that connect together and form who I am today.

When I was in law school, I was actively involved in the Board of Advocates and regularly competed in moot court and mock trial competitions to improve my “lawyering” skills. At my very first mock trial competition, I walked into the room to present my opening statement, as nervous as could be. I was doing well to keep my legs from visibly shaking. There were 2 judges - one male and one female. I was told to write my name on the whiteboard before I began, so I did. The female judge asked me how to pronounce my last name, which was Williams Koeller at the time. She asked “is it pronounced ‘Koehler’?” “It’s actually pronounced ‘Keller,’” I said — softer than I meant to — “but I’ll answer to anything.” As soon as I finished my sentence, she looked me dead in the eye and said “you’re too nice to be a litigator.” I was frankly caught off guard by her comment but was also too focused on not forgetting any of my carefully memorized words to meaningfully respond beyond a chuckle. Needless to say, I gave my opening - doubting myself more than I even did before - didn’t even come close to winning the competition, yet that female judge’s words have stuck with me since then. I couldn’t tell if they bothered me or confirmed something deep inside me that I was trying to bury to be a good litigator - at least in the minds of others. 

Fast forward nearly 6 years, I am sitting in my office dealing with a particularly aggressive and ridiculous opposing counsel via email and my boss walks in, asking me how I’m doing. Visibly annoyed by the email on my screen, I told him “I’m living the litigation dream defending our client, but this opposing counsel is being an a**, trying to make everything about this case difficult when it shouldn’t be.” Still annoyed by the email, I rhetorically asked him, “why can’t there be one reasonable or mildly nice opposing counsel or Plaintiff?” He responded, “I haven’t met a nice one yet.” At some point in the conversation about dealing with people who don’t have their heads on straight, my boss jokingly rattled off “well you could be nicer.” I instinctively responded “I can be nicer when they start acting more reasonably. Aggressive people don’t listen to nice anymore and we have a duty to protect our clients.” Immediately thinking back to the female judge’s comment, I added “I was told in law school that I was too nice to be a litigator. Never thought I’d see a day when I’d be told I could be nicer.” 

But my boss’ comment stuck with me, and I’ve spent time contemplating both of these uninvited but remarkably contradictory comments. I am not who I was in law school — and certainly not the same girl I was in college or high school. I used to be the quiet girl who studied all hours, recharged by being alone, and would instinctively hug someone who I sensed needed some comforting. I struggled to find my voice, had to write down my thoughts in order to properly convey them, and avoided confrontation at all costs. Now, I’m a litigator whose job is quite literally to argue on behalf of others and defend against allegations, lawsuits, and sometimes blatant lies. Who I am today is starkly different from who I was growing up. Part of the transformation was beautiful because I worked hard to find my voice and now I have no issue being “loud,” debating, or “agreeing to disagree” with anyone. But part of this transformation wasn’t as beautiful. In finding my voice, I also built armor. I learned the hard way what it means to be deceived, used, and abused because of my personality, my work ethic, and my historic avoidance of confrontation. Those lessons leave invisible scars — the kind that don’t show but reshape you all the same. After so many lessons, I hardened. My softer, nurturing side is curtailed by all the pressure and emotional rollercoasters that come with each day. My hopes and dreams remind me that deep down I’m still the nurturer I was born to be, but I wrestle with the transformation that sometimes leaves me feeling tainted - different from who I want to be.

I’m learning that growth doesn’t have to mean hardening. Strength doesn’t have to mean sharp edges. The real work isn’t choosing between who we were and who we’ve become — but integrating both. That’s the journey.