A Law Student’s Silent Battle: When the Strongest Go Silent

“She’s just not serious anymore.”

That’s what they said when she began missing lectures.

She was once the model law student  articulate, punctual, top of her class. The kind who quoted case law without flinching and had outlines ready before the semester began. Her name was often mentioned in the same breath as “future Supreme Court Justice.”

But midway through her third year, something shifted.

She stopped sitting in the front row. Her assignments got shorter. She no longer volunteered for moot court or stayed after lectures to engage professors. It was as though the bright, driven student simply vanished.

But she hadn’t vanished.
She was battling depression  silently, deeply, and in a system that neither saw nor understood it.

The Quiet Crisis in Law Faculties

The legal profession even at the student level  is built on an illusion of strength. In lecture halls across Africa, law students are trained to be tough, competitive, and mentally resilient.

But rarely are they taught how to handle failure, fatigue, or fear. There’s no course in the syllabus called Mental Wellness 101, no lecture on how to deal with imposter syndrome, panic attacks before presentations, or the gnawing anxiety of “not being enough.”

Instead, law students master the art of appearing okay.

They dress the part. They debate. They smile. But behind the performance, many suffer in silence  with no language for their pain, and no permission to be vulnerable.

“I Knew Something Was Wrong, But I Didn’t Know What to Call It”

When the student finally confided in a friend, she said:

“Every morning, I wake up with this heavy feeling. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to leave my room. And I hate myself for feeling this way.”

She feared being seen as weak. She feared being laughed at. She feared her parents would be disappointed if she took a break.
So she kept going  barely.

This is not a singular story. It’s the quiet truth of many law students in Ghana, Nigeria, Kenya, South Africa  and beyond. And it is costing lives, futures, and peace of mind.

Breaking the Silence — One Story at a Time

Legal training demands excellence  but it must also allow for humanity.

We must begin to normalize conversations about burnout, depression, anxiety, and emotional exhaustion within our law faculties. Mental health support should not be a luxury reserved for elite institutions or private therapy. It must be systemic. Accessible. Urgent.

Law deans, student leaders, and bar associations must act.

• Law faculties should provide on-campus counselors trained to handle legal academic stress.

• Peer mental health ambassadors should be integrated into student governance.

• Mandatory wellness days, open forums, and anonymous reporting tools must be introduced.

A Message to Every Law Student

If you’re reading this and it feels too familiar — you are not alone.

Your worth is not measured by your grades, internships, or court eloquence. The law is important, but you are more important. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to slow down. It’s okay not to be okay.

Because behind every law student is a human being — and being human is not a weakness.

It’s the beginning of healing.

If this article spoke to you, share it. Talk to someone. Start a conversation in your class or chamber. Let’s unlearn the silence — and build a legal profession where mental health is not hidden, but heard.

DON’T MISS THIS: “I Was Winning Cases but Losing Myself”: A Lawyer’s Silent Battle with Mental Health