The Unspoken Curriculum:

I'm about to cross the finish line. Three years of law school, countless hours in the library, exams that tested every ounce of my ability to think like a “lawyer”. As a first-generation Latina, I've worked hard to get here, and I know I'm not alone in that. But here's what they don't tell you in orientation: Latinas make up only 3% of all attorneys in the U.S., while white individuals represent 79% of the profession despite making up less than 60% of the population. Women of color make up 2% of equity partners in major law firms.

For me, navigating law school was a whole different beast than navigating undergrad. Not only are the people drastically different, but you're in a field where ideologies are loud. It's like you put all the opinionated people in one room and expect them to get along. As a woman of color, you must remember that YOU BELONG. You must tell yourself “yes” in a world full of “no’s”. Law school doesn't teach you that.

The women who came before me, the ones who looked like me and blazed trails I'm now walking, had to figure out things that no one taught them. They learned lessons that never appeared on any syllabus. This article is about what they know, what they've learned, and what I've discovered along the way about preparing for a career that law school alone cannot fully prepare you for.

I sat down with three extraordinary women: Marissa Gonzalez, an employment attorney at Boutin Jones practicing complex business litigation; My Tien Doan, a prosecutor with the Roseville District Attorney's office; and Antoinette Pierre-Louis, Director of Academic Success and Assistant Professor of Law at McGeorge School of Law. Their insights reveal a curriculum law school never offered, one that might be even more essential than the one we paid for.

There's an illusion that settles over you as graduation approaches. You've survived law school. You've mastered the Socratic method, you can spot an issue from a mile away, and you're ready to pass the bar. You feel prepared.

But here's the truth that hits you in your first few months of practice: the skills that made you excel in law school (cramming before exams, competing for the top grade, performing as an individual) are not the same skills that make you thrive as an attorney. The gap between academic success and professional success is real, and for many of us, especially women of color and first-generation law students, no one prepared us for it.

Antoinette Pierre-Louis felt this acutely when she started as a prosecutor. "In classes it's just you and the work," she told me. "But as a prosecutor, there are many parties: the judge, supervisors, witness coordinator, other factors to doing your work. All are a part of your work. You are one component. We really don't talk about that, that there are many people involved in the system of law and learning how to interact and get input or feedback from those people as well."

"To me, the key thing for private practice is proactivity," Marissa told me. "Not waiting for an opportunity or being too afraid to ask, but learning that you are the master of your fate. You have the obligation to ask, seek guidance, seek help, and that is not a burden but an obligation. The best associates are the ones that learn that quickly."

This hit me hard because it runs counter to how many of us were raised. As a first-generation student, I was taught to keep my head down, work hard, and not take up too much space. As an elder sister, asking for help felt like admitting weakness and seeking guidance felt like being a burden.

But Marissa reframes it entirely: asking is not burdening, it's leading. It's taking ownership of your professional development. In practice, no one is going to hand you opportunities the way professors handed you assignments. You have to seek them out. And here's Antoinette's specific advice: "Don't be afraid to ask questions. Sometimes an attorney will forget the little things, where to file or how to do something. You asking the questions reminds them that there are steps to follow and information to be taken. Check in with them after."

This is something I've had to learn even in law school. When it comes to summer jobs and internships, I used to think it was all about who picks you. But I've learned that you also get to pick them. It's not just about who wants you; it's about exploring and deciding what environment you want to be in. You get to choose what aligns with your values and your vision for your career.

Marissa also shared a truth that challenges the way law school operates: "Time management is critical, and it only gets harder in private practice. This is a lesson that many disregard. Sometimes the smartest students have the worst time management skills because they are able to coast on their ability to retain information and do well on exams. That does not last in practice. It will bite you."

If you've been the person who could pull an all-nighter and ace the exam, listen closely: that strategy has an expiration date. You can't cram for a trial. You can't coast on intelligence when you're juggling multiple cases, clients, and deadlines that have real consequences.

When I asked Antoinette what law school failed to prepare her for, she didn't hesitate: "How to interact with clients. How to have emotional intelligence. Something that is not taught in law school, the ability to handle the business side and also see a client in a vulnerable space and try to help."

She shared a story from her time working in family law. A client showed up intoxicated to a meeting. The attorney she was shadowing told the client, "Go get some food," and rescheduled. It was a moment of grace, of seeing the person beyond the legal issue. "It's not always about winning and losing in the legal field," Antoinette explained. "The best thing is coming to an agreement and some compromise for our clients."

This extends beyond clients to everyone in the legal ecosystem. Antoinette emphasized the importance of building relationships with clerks, paralegals, witness coordinators, and other staff. "You are relying on some of those people. Whether they do their job or not, the responsibility still falls on you to get it done. You had to develop relationships with them to make sure they know that what they're doing affects you, that you value them, so you can get the job done."

Her advice? "Be nice to the clerks. They are the experts. They can be your best friend or worst enemy. Build a genuine, respectful relationship. They see everyone." If Antoinette could add one required course to law school, it would be people management. "Being able to interact with different people that work with you in your job. Knowing how to artfully request something and follow up kindly. As an attorney, being able to artfully navigate different personalities and still get the job done is a key skill."

Law school rewards competition. The curve pits you against your classmates. The best grade wins. But practice requires something entirely different.

"Being a team player is essential," Marissa explained. "Being hyper-competitive and out for yourself is helpful in getting high grades and achieving success in law school, but it does not help you in the long term in practice where teams are critical. In my practice, I manage anywhere from 7 to 9 staff and young attorneys and work under 9 to 10 different shareholders. Being able to work well with others, stay calm, provide guidance that is constructive and efficient, and receive it without being hyper-defensive is necessary."

Antoinette adds another dimension: "You have to negotiate with opposing counsel. Trying to come up with a solution where maybe no one wins but it still worked out. Everyone gets to go home even if not how they wanted. Balance."

For women of color specifically, this creates an additional pressure. We often feel like we have to prove ourselves, work twice as hard, be twice as good. But we also have to be team players, which can feel like a contradiction. How do you stand out while also fitting in? How do you advocate for yourself without being labeled difficult? The answer, according to Marissa, is precision and reliability. "Being detail-oriented" matters. The attorneys who succeed are the ones who do excellent work, give and receive constructive feedback gracefully, and show up for their teams consistently. For many of us, our 50% is someone else’s 100%, remember that. Feel confident in your work and hold your head up high.

When I asked My Tien what she wished law school had addressed, her answer was immediate: "Discussions around imposter syndrome. This was never really touched on in depth in law school even though it is an unspoken reality for people of color or first-generation law students. Not having support around this topic made me spiral in my first few jobs, not thinking I was good enough, which ultimately led to mental health and physical health issues for me." Let that sink in. The silence around imposter syndrome didn't just make her uncomfortable. It made her physically sick.

The statistics make this even more stark. As of 2023, Latina women were found in the partnership ranks of only about three out of ten law offices. When you can't see yourself reflected in the upper ranks of your profession, when you're one of the only people who looks like you in the room, the doubt deepens. Am I qualified? Do I belong here? Did I only get this opportunity because of diversity initiatives?

I've felt this every day of law school. There will be a lot of rejection, but I've learned that it's truly redirection devoted to helping you find your own grit and determination toward the dream you want. Every “no” is teaching you something. Every closed door is pointing you somewhere else.

Antoinette knows this struggle intimately. "When walking into a courtroom, I try not to think about what people think as they are perceiving me," she told me. Her strategy? "Let the work speak for itself. Walk in prepared. Walk in with your head held high because you did all the things: school, bar, license, and you have the right to be there. Stop thinking about what they might perceive and do the work." She shared a powerful moment from early in her career doing criminal defense in Georgia, "in the oldest backwoods courthouse." Her preparation and professionalism earned her clients and respect from judges who worked with her, not against her. The lesson? "Not letting your head build a bigger situation than what it really is. You earned your way there."

When I asked Antoinette about the unspoken pressures she carried as a Black woman prosecutor, her answer revealed layers of complexity that many of our peers will never understand.

"I had to tell folks I was the woman on the inside," she said. "I could see and check in on the officers. It was evident when I worked with colleagues that didn't have the same experiences. I was reminding them that it was a person on the other side of it, and they would be taken from their families."

She learned to balance fairness differently than her peers. "When I would review cases and negotiate, I could see this history. Do you think this person could successfully complete rehab and are they willing to do that? I'd negotiate to help the person. While other prosecutors would judge, to me it was about the person behind the charge."

There's another silent pressure Antoinette named: moving up. "It's cute to be an associate until you have to make more money," she said bluntly. "Pressure about performing well and who you have to compete against in order to move up. Promotions and opportunities have that unfortunate pressure of still having competition, and you're not always first in line. So, you have to succumb to that mentality of outperforming others to try and succeed."

Her advice to us? "Make it be about you and your work. You're doing this, opening doors for the next generation. Focus on that aspect of doing the work."

My Tien didn't mince words about the demands of private practice: "The grind of the private sector, especially in litigation, can be really demanding and can break certain people who aren't accustomed to the hours, the lack of sleep, and the amount of work. Everyone goes in thinking this is what they want to do to make lots of money, but few people understand the expectations, which led to burnout and breakdowns. I would have loved to hear from people who navigated this and how they got through it, or not."

That last part is crucial: "or not." Because sometimes people don't get through it. Sometimes the grind wins. And for women of color, the stakes are often higher. We're carrying additional weight: family expectations, financial pressure to succeed, the responsibility of being a trailblazer, the burden of representation.

My Tien's wish for law school curriculum was clear: "Discussions around preserving your mental health while working a high-performing job. Mental health was lightly touched on in law school but it was more philosophical. We were required to read books about stress and burnout without further context. I wish we got to hear from people's first-hand experience with this and how they navigated it."

Antoinette offered concrete, practical strategies. When I asked her about balance, she was refreshingly honest: "Balance comes from recognizing and accepting that you can't do everything and you should not do everything. You can't do the work unless you are in your best state."

Her daily practices are simple but intentional: "Take breaks. Walk for coffee. Get some sunlight. Take moments in the day for breaks from case talk. Balance isn't about jumping on a plane or complete shutoff. You can breadcrumb it into the day." As a professor now, she has a routine: "I've been on the computer all day. My routine is to go walk my dog and then reset. Maybe 30 to an hour of no work stuff. My head is clearer when I get back to work."

On support systems, Antoinette emphasized both workplace and home connections. "Having a friend at work that was in a similar position, a person that can validate you and you can vent to. They survived and can tell you it gets better. Make sure you keep good family things tied. Family routine. Family dinners. Make sure you keep your key moments to ground you and treat them sacred." And my personal favorite piece of her advice: "Go to networking events for fun!" Not everything in this profession has to be about climbing or proving yourself.

One of the most important lessons I've learned in law school is this: seek out femtors. And here's what I used to get wrong about that.

I used to think that I needed femtors who looked like me and had similar paths like me. I thought the only people who could truly understand my experience were other BIPOC womxn who came from backgrounds identical to mine. But the allies have truly allied! I met incredible womxn who had nothing in common with me but still understood me, carried me, and encouraged me every step of the way. They saw something in me I could not see… and for that I will always be grateful.

Just like you get to pick your firm, you also get to pick your femtor. Marissa, My Tien, and Antoinette come from different backgrounds, practiced in different areas, and have walked different paths. But each of them saw something in me worth investing in. Each of them offered wisdom I desperately needed, and they remind me that I belong in this profession.

Be open to meeting new people and trusting your gut. Sometimes the mentor you need isn't the one who looks like you, it's the one who sees you. When Antoinette told me about the public defender who first made her feel like the legal profession was possible for her, she said: "He saw how excited I was about how all these rules work. He allowed me to shadow him and connected me with another female public defender. He could see my passion and wanted me to see where I could see myself in the future."

That's what mentorship looks like. Someone who sees your potential and actively helps you realize it. Someone who opens doors and makes connections. Someone who believes in you before you fully believe in yourself.