According to a Johns Hopkins University study, lawyers suffer the highest rate of depression among workers in 104 occupations. A University of Washington study found that 19 percent of lawyers suffered depression compared to 3 to 9 percent in the general population. So says the The California Bar Journal, the “official publication of the State Bar of California,” in a May, 2008 cover story.

Depression among lawyers is apparently such a big issue that a third-year law student who chairs the ABA’s Law Student Division, Daniel Suvor, has declared a national mental health day for law students. I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s depressing.

Tim Willison, a licensed clinical therapist who treats lawyers suffering from depression, describes the telltale signs: fatigue, low energy, a sense of being overwhelmed. Willison says, “They may have come to the point they can’t bear to open another envelope from the State Bar, and those unopened envelopes are piling up in a drawer somewhere. They don’t feel they can deal with one more demand from a client. They can’t answer the phone. If they’re at the beach on a beautiful, sunny day, it’s “So what?” They can’t experience pleasure. Nothing is fun. They may have trouble sleeping. There may have been a change of appetite.”

Willison says things are particularly hard on solo practitioners, who besides working long hours, do everything in the office, from making copies to filing papers at the courthouse. And as solos, they are isolated. California Lawyers’ Assistance Program Director, Janis Thibault, believes lawyers belong to a ‘lonely profession’ and have difficulty making connections because of the adversarial nature of their work.

Some readers of this article and these studies may say, “what’s going on, here?” I say, “why is anybody surprised?”

Recent articles about amazingly high attrition rates among lawyers, including those in their first few years of practice, are no longer news. It’s undoubtedly true that many lawyers leave because they can’t get a (high-enough paying) job or make it on their own. One law school graduate actually sued his law school for misrepresenting career prospects. But what’s equally true, and obvious for those of us who have “been there and done that,” is that being a lawyer is a thankless, lonely, and mentally punishing way to make a living, and it’s just not wroth it.

I don’t speak for everyone, of course. There are many happy lawyers. But there are just as many who, while not depressed in the clinical sense, range from disillusioned all the way to seriously unhappy with their chosen occupation. I was one of the latter.

My father is a lawyer. When my daughter recently graduated from college, he encouraged her to go to law school. He had done the same thing with me, and I bit. I knew it was a mistake almost right from the beginning of my career, but it was twenty years before I “got out.” Not surprisingly, I told my daughter not to go to law school. Yes, it’s a good education, but for too many lawyers, practicing law is not all it’s cracked up to be.

By most definitions, I had a successful career. I made money and I helped a lot of people. But if I added up all the pluses and minuses, I would have to conclude that for me, a law practice was too demanding, too stressful, and not rewarding enough. Overhead, employees, deadlines, responsibility, stress, lack of time, ethical compliance, CLE. I’m sure you can compile your own list. I don’t want to sound bitter, because I’m not. My legal career prepared me for who I am, and what I do today, and I am thankful for that. But would I do it over again? No way.

I have on my desk the form to submit to the California Bar formerly tendering my resignation. I was sworn in in 1979, and went “inactive” in 2001 and I’ve had this form for months. I don’t know why I haven’t sent it in. Maybe it’s because I worked so hard to earn my degree and license and build a practice. Maybe it’s because it’s difficult to say goodbye to something that identified me for so many years. The finality and quasi-irreversibility of the act (re-instatement is possible, but difficult) surely has something to do with it. And maybe it’s just ego.

I didn’t even read the letter that comes with the form, until yesterday, when I realized that I’m never going back. I signed the form, put it in the envelope, but still couldn’t mail it! But today, having written this piece and remembering what life was like “back in the day,” I’m ready. Off it goes, formerly closing that chapter in my life.

It feels good. Liberating. The right decision. The only weird part: my father is still practicing.