As one of the few refugee-turned-lawyers in Canada, I spent almost four years living in a women’s shelter with my children before entering Queen’s Law. That experience shaped my entire approach to practicing law. My view of the profession is different because I was once a service-user — someone who had to navigate fragmented systems, limited resources, and the unintended harms that even well-meaning professionals can inflict.
Now, as a lawyer, I work alongside social workers, settlement agencies, and community advocates to serve vulnerable clients. This work has taught me a central truth: our role as lawyers and service providers is not about us. It is about the people whose lives are on the line.
Centering the Client
At Queen’s Law, my professor David Freedman, one of Ontario’s leading voices in estate law, offered a lesson that has stayed with me. He told us: “We need to know our clients. Talk to them. Because when we take a case, it is not about you. It is about people’s lives. It is about them.”
Those words ring especially true in immigration and refugee law, where clients often arrive carrying the weight of trauma, loss, and uncertainty. But they apply equally to every area of practice. Behind every “file” is a life — a family, a story, a set of hopes and fears. When we forget that, we risk reducing human beings to paperwork or stepping stones in our own professional journey.
Lawyers face the reality of billable-hour targets and limited time. Still, we can create practices that respect clients as people. At my firm, I follow a “first consultation rule”: during the first meeting with a refugee client, I spend at least 30 minutes simply listening without interruption. I do not rush to legal principles or strategy until the latter half of the consultation. This approach allows me to see the person first, not just the legal problem.
Why It Cannot Be About Us
It is tempting in law to focus on our own expertise, reputation, or recognition. We prepare strong arguments, celebrate victories, and want to be seen as effective advocates. But when we center ourselves, we create blind spots.
I know this firsthand. When I first sought help as a refugee, a lawyer told me, “You look too smart to be a domestic violence victim.” That casual remark erased my lived reality and left me in tears. It deepened my mistrust of the system and reminded me of how easily professionals can harm clients — not through malice, but through ego, assumptions, or carelessness.
This is why we must constantly remind ourselves: the work is not about us. Our job is to listen, to see our clients as whole people, and to align our legal strategies with their needs, not our pride.
A Story from the Shelter
When I was living in the shelter, I was briefly on Ontario Works. At one point, I asked my case manager for $150 to purchase LSAT preparation books. The LSAT organizer had kindly waived my exam fee after reviewing my bursary application, but I still needed study materials. I thought this modest request would be seen as an investment in my future and a step off social assistance.
The answer was blunt: “No. We are Ontario Works, and we are not here to help you go back to school. I have a client who is a medical doctor from Afghanistan. She is a refugee and is working as a janitor at Tim Hortons. Why are you different? We are here to help you go back to work, not to go back to school.”
I remember sitting there, devastated. I was already working part-time at minimum wage. How could I find an extra $150 after covering our necessities? In the short term, my case manager was following the rules: Ontario Works was designed to push people quickly back into the workforce. But I knew that night shifts at Tim Hortons would break me as a single mother with young children and no family in Canada. I also had a Ph.D. Becoming a lawyer would allow me to support my family sustainably and contribute far more to society.
Did my case manager do something wrong? Not really. She was following her mandate. But therein lies the problem: when clients are seen only through the lens of quotas and short-term outcomes, their humanity gets lost. They are not numbers. They are not “files.” They are individuals with stories, dreams, and potential.
This lesson continues to shape the way I practice law. Even the name of my firm reflects it. BridgePoint Law is meant to symbolize a bridge that helps clients move forward. They do not need to remember my name. What matters is that they can step on the bridge, cross their challenges, and move into a new chapter of life.
Holistic Care: Seeing the Whole Person
No client comes to us with a single, isolated legal issue. A refugee claimant may also be looking for safe housing, access to health care, or stable employment. A client facing eviction may also be struggling with trauma, food insecurity, or precarious work.
If we focus only on the legal problem, we may feel efficient but fail the person. Early in my practice, I once conducted a two-hour interview with a client of civil litigation, pressing for every detail of her traumatic statement. She broke down emotionally at the end of the appointment. I learned from that mistake. Now, I keep interviews for vulnerable clients to about 90 minutes and encourage them to seek support from doctors, social workers, religious leaders, families or friends afterward.
Holistic care means recognizing the interplay of legal, social, emotional, and cultural factors. We cannot do everything ourselves — but together, we can help clients succeed.
Collaboration in Action
Collaboration is more than a slogan; it is a practice. It begins with listening. Social workers and frontline staff often know far more about a client’s daily struggles than lawyers can uncover in a single consultation. Their insights can shape legal strategies in powerful ways.
I remember confiding in a social worker at the shelter that I did not believe I could ever make it to law school. She looked at me and said she believed in me. She even encouraged me to picture what life would look like if I succeeded. That encouragement carried me through some of my darkest days. It was the kind of small but transformative moment I would never have experienced with my refugee lawyer at the time.
Collaboration also requires mutual respect. Lawyers bring expertise in statutes, case law, and advocacy, while social workers contribute deep knowledge of trauma, systems navigation, and family dynamics. Each holds part of the puzzle, and both are essential.
Most importantly, collaboration keeps the client at the center. Every decision should be guided by one simple question: How does this choice affect the client’s well-being? If the answer serves our pride more than the client’s needs, we must pause and reconsider.
Conclusion
Since becoming a lawyer, I have sometimes caught myself slipping into the arrogance of believing a document was “so well-written” that it could stand on its own. But in my practice, I must remind myself to use my clients’ words. At its best, law is not about victories or accolades. It is about restoring dignity, fostering resilience, and empowering clients to rebuild their lives. It is work lawyers cannot do alone.
It is never about us. It is about the people whose lives intersect with ours in moments of vulnerability. That is why I want BridgePoint Law to be remembered not for me, but for what it represents: a stepping stone, a bridge clients can cross to build a new life in Canada. They do not need to remember my name. What matters is that they step on the bridge, pass over safely, and move forward.
Because in the end, it is not about us. It is about them.
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