This project brings together the voices of five Black women navigating legal education and the legal profession, spaces that remain overwhelmingly white and male. Black women make up only a small percentage of attorneys and an even smaller share of judges in the United States. This reality shapes not only who is seen in these rooms, but who feels they belong in them.

Through their stories, The Only One in the Room explores what it means to enter spaces where you are hypervisible yet unseen, where silence can feel safer than speaking, and where success often carries the weight of representation. These stories are offered not as exceptions, but as truth. They are here for the Black woman questioning whether she belongs in the lecture hall, the courtroom, or the firm hallway.

You do.

The stories in this project come from five Black women at different stages of their legal journeys, including practicing attorneys working across various areas of the law, educators, and judges. Their voices are presented here with care and intention, not as representatives of a monolith, but as individuals whose experiences echo one another in meaningful ways.

Primary voices: Shawntal Mallory and Dana Washington

“I remember starting law school and expecting it to be predominantly white, but when I got there, it was extremely white. At the beginning we were a class of about 140 people and only 6 of us were Black. By the end of our first year, there were only two of us left.”

For many of the women interviewed, the first days in law school or their legal careers were marked by an immediate awareness of difference. Shawntal Mallory recalls walking into her first class and noticing how few people looked like her. That recognition, quiet but sharp, set the tone for what followed.

I remember my own first moment like this at an admitted students day. I showed up alone and quickly noticed there was only one other person who looked like me. We naturally gravitated toward each other, but neither of us spoke. It was her mother who finally broke the silence and introduced us. There was so much quiet between us, but the silence felt loud. It said everything we did not yet know how to put into words.

“It is lonely. It can be isolating. It’s not that you forget, but you can become accustomed to being in the position of being the only one.”

Across institutions and career stages, entering these spaces came with heightened self-awareness and pressure. Damier Xandrine described arriving excited, yet already bracing herself for scrutiny. Before anyone spoke, the room had already spoken.

When asked to describe their early experiences in just three words, the responses were concise but revealing:

Shawntal Mallory
Tenacious. Isolated. Proud.

Yvonnda Summers
Quiet, yet Strong.

Dana Washington
Lonely. Isolating. Infuriating.

Damier Xandrine
Lonely. Proving Worthiness. Reframing Value Proposition.

Tamara Mosby
Fear. Motivated. Earned.

Different institutions. Different paths. A shared emotional landscape. These words capture the moment before adaptation became necessary, before silence, before strategy, before survival hardened into skill.

Primary voice: Yvonnda Summers | Supporting voice: Shawntal Mallory

Yvonnda recalls her early experiences as a public defender in the South, where dismissal and disbelief were constant companions.

“When I was working in the South, I constantly felt dismissed. One day during a bond hearing, I was arguing to get the bond, and he interrupted me before I could even finish my sentence. In that moment, I just thought, ‘Well, you weren’t going to listen anyway,’ and I closed my file and walked away.”

These were not isolated incidents. They shaped how she navigated every courtroom interaction, reinforcing that her voice could be ignored even when she was prepared and advocating fiercely.

Shawntal Mallory shared a similar experience of being misread by authority figures:

“He was like, ‘The defendants aren’t allowed to sit up here.’ And I was like, ‘What? I have on a suit, I have my file out.’ But it was just assumed I was the defendant.”

In these moments, credentials were not enough. Perception overrode reality.

Primary voice: Dana Washington | Supporting voices: Yvonnda Summers and Tamara Mosby

As Dana Washington advanced in her career, success brought both affirmation and frustration. In rooms where she was recognized for her accomplishments, she was also acutely aware of who was missing.

“Even though I should not have to be the representation of every Black person or every Black woman, in some respects, I am.”

This awareness added a layer to imposter syndrome. It was not just about belonging, it was about carrying the weight of representation.

Yvonnda Summers spoke to the same tension, the fear of being perceived as a reflection of all Black women. Tamara Mosby described the pressure of both internal and external expectations.

Despite ongoing diversity efforts, leadership in law firms and judicial positions remains overwhelmingly white and male. Within this reality, these women were not only learning the law, they were navigating institutions that demanded excellence without offering equal grace.

Primary voice: Damier Xandrine | Supporting voice: Yvonnda Summers

Law school and legal workplaces often assume singular focus, leaving little room for the realities of life outside the profession.

“I was a single mom, studying for the bar exam with a six month old and working full time. During lunch breaks, I would go pump breast milk. That’s when I realized my own resilience.”

Her experience highlights what institutions often fail to see, the full humanity of the people within them.

Yvonnda Summers echoed this:

“I just want them to educate themselves on the reality of being a Black person, being a Black woman navigating this world.”

These realities are not exceptions. They are part of the structure.

Primary voice: Shawntal Mallory and Damier Xandrine | Supporting voice: Tamara Mosby

Despite isolation, community emerged as a source of grounding and survival.

“In law school, organizations like BLSA were huge. Just having that representation and being able to ask a Black attorney questions was so important.”

For Damier Xandrine, sisterhood was sustaining. For Tamara Mosby, it was transformative:

“I used to think there’s no way I could be a judge. I didn’t see anyone who looked like me. But I had mentors telling me I would be really good at it. That gave me the courage to run.”

Representation did more than inspire. It made the possibility visible.

Primary voice: Tamara Mosby | Supporting voices: Dana Washington and Yvonnda Summers

Over time, definitions of success shifted from survival to intention.

“There just needs to be more of us. When you’re surrounded by people who look like you, you feel like you’re in a space where you can thrive.”

These women are not waiting to be included. They are reshaping the spaces they enter.

These stories do more than reflect experience. They point to what must be addressed:

Representation must increase at every level

Isolation is not incidental. It is structural. From law school admissions to judicial appointments, institutions must commit to sustained, measurable change.

Bias must be acknowledged and actively addressed

Being dismissed, misidentified, or unheard are not misunderstandings. They are patterns. Training alone is not enough. Accountability must follow.

Institutions must recognize the full realities of those within them

Caregiving, financial strain, and community responsibilities cannot remain invisible. Equity requires systems that support the whole person, not just the professional.

As the conversations came to a close, each woman was asked to finish the same sentence:

Shawntal Mallory
“I used to feel invisible, but now I feel empowered.”

Yvonnda Summers
“I used to feel invisible, but now I feel like when I walk in a room, everybody knows I’m that girl and I know I am.”

Dana Washington
“I used to feel invisible, but now I feel powerful.”

Damier Xandrine
“I used to feel invisible, but now I am no longer throwing my pearls before swine.”

Tamara Mosby
“I used to feel invisible, but now I am valuable and I know I shine.”

These stories are not about being the exception. They are about telling the truth.

And to every Black woman who has ever walked into a room and wondered if she belonged, these voices answer clearly:

You do.

I wrote this piece as a Black woman on my own journey to law school, a journey that has often felt isolating at every step. There have been moments where I questioned whether I belonged in the spaces I am working toward, and moments where the distance between where I am and where I want to be felt overwhelming.

But along the way, I have found community. Being surrounded by people who look like me and who have gone through what I am going through has reminded me that I am not alone. It has reassured me that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and more importantly, that the tunnel is not as long as it sometimes feels.

I also want to acknowledge my tribe, two Black women who stood beside me throughout my journey to law school. They are the people I leaned on, the ones who made me feel seen and heard in moments when I questioned myself the most. What we built together became more than support. It became sisterhood.

I am deeply grateful to the women who shared their stories with me. Their honesty made me feel seen, and their experiences taught me more than I could have imagined. This piece exists because of them.

More than anything, I hope these stories do for someone else what they have done for me. I hope they remind someone that they belong, that their path is possible, and that they are not walking alone.