After nearly seven years of marriage, my ex-husband came home one night and told me that he wanted a divorce and didn't want to discuss it (he also chose not to mention that he was having an affair with his personal trainer).
I hadn't expected him to leave, but then again, many of us exist in flat-line marriages that we mistake as satisfying or "good enough." We don't see the end coming, even as it's barreling towards us.
After my partial recovery from the initial shock -- which manifested as weeks of crippling heartbreak and confusion followed by gratifying weight loss and a new navel ring -- I got moving. I did a little research, and in what seemed to be a reasonable decision, I located a copy of the "Best Of" issue of my city's largest glossy magazine. And that's where I found my attorney.
Reliable editors, consumers, and clients had given all those "Best" restaurants and ob/gyns and hair colorists and lawyers stellar endorsements. They were the city's gold standard, right? Maybe. Maybe not. It took a while, but after dealing with my lawyer and a variety of his antics (and a dangerously inattentive doctor from the same Best Of list), I came to understand that I was being embarrassingly naïve and that Best Of often means Best At self-promotion. Best At befriending magazine editors. Best At paying publicists. But by then my new attorney already had my (rather substantial) retainer, my trust, and my dependence.
To state the obvious: A divorce attorney shouldn't massage his female client's shoulders while he's teaching her how to answer questions at her deposition. He shouldn't tell her dirty jokes. He shouldn't say, prior to the judge striking the gavel that ends her marriage, that she makes him drool.
Allow me to be your object lesson. A cautionary tale.
In the interest of full disclosure, I did get a good settlement, and that's the ultimate goal. But you shouldn't have to run an emotional gauntlet with your attorney while you're running one against your ex. If you're on the receiving end of inappropriate behavior from your legal counsel, tell someone. I wish I had. I endured it, partially because I was an emotional wreck, and partially because I thought I needed him. I needed an attorney, but I didn't need him.
And then, a month after my divorce was finalized, an article about "power divorces" was published in the same magazine where I found him. Much to my surprise, there I was. I didn't know about the article until a friend showed it to me after it arrived on his doorstep. It had my name, the amount of my settlement, the fact that my ex had run off with his trainer. My private life was suddenly very, very, public. I have no proof, but I'm quite certain that my lawyer provided the information. Chalk-up another Best Of: Best at Indiscretion. Not a positive trait in legal counsel.
There are plenty of attorneys. Divorces are messy, and your lawyer doesn't need to be your best friend, but you need to trust him or her. You should feel a basic level of comfort -- if not protection -- when you're alone with your attorney in a room with a closed door. So let's hope my case is an extreme example because your attorney shouldn't be your masseuse nor should he or she out you to the world. Divorce lawyers hear a lot of secrets. They should remain secrets. Most lawyers are ethical, professional, and act appropriately. I just had bad luck and too much staying power.
I actually think the most damning indictment of my divorce attorney is this: when someone asks me for a recommendation, knowing that I had a large settlement, I offer the name of my ex-husband's divorce attorney. Although he was the enemy by association, he was balanced in tone and act. He wasn't a bully or a bulldog. He didn't waste time. He somehow convinced my ex-husband that fair means fair, and that my ex didn't get to walk away unscathed. I only wish I'd hired him first.