Heaven's Story

Navigating Self-Doubt and Law School with Moebius Syndrome

The voices always come back at the worst moments.

“Can she shut up?”

“You sound stupid.”

Those words echoed in my mind as I stood before three mock judges in black robes at the University of Texas School of Law. My hands were sweating slightly as I waited for my turn to begin my first-year moot court oral argument. I took a slow breath and tried to think about anything other than the knot twisting in my stomach.

I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about myself, anyway. I was supposed to be thinking about Julian Morris, my hypothetical client, whose appeal could determine whether he spent the next fifteen years in prison.

Instead, I was fighting a familiar battle with my own mind.

Since I was seventeen, I’ve known I wanted to advocate for disabled people. I didn’t know what that would look like. I certainly never imagined I would end up in law school. But somehow, after years of uncertainty, I found myself exactly where I needed to be: learning how to become the advocate I had always hoped to be.

I’m familiar with people’s facial expressions when they hear me speak for the first time. The surprise, confusion, and hesitation. I can almost see the calculations happening behind their eyes as they form conclusions before they know anything about me. Those judgments happen in seconds, often before I’ve finished my first sentence.

While I know many people are afraid of public speaking, my fear runs deeper than that; I have regular-old anxiety just like the next person. But I have spent my life trying to earn a place in spaces where people quietly assumed I didn’t belong. I have always known my voice sounded different, and years of bullying taught me to question whether people were listening to what I said or simply how I sounded while saying it. Those experiences were deeply influential, and also why I wanted to become an advocate in the first place.

But the work of becoming an advocate with Moebius Syndrome is both physically and emotionally exhausting. There is a unique fatigue that comes from constantly being aware of how your disability might be perceived. Every classroom, interview, courtroom, or networking event carries an extra layer of calculation.

Thankfully, before law school, I worked in social work, where I learned how to navigate the full range of people’s emotions, expectations, and assumptions. That experience became an unexpected gift. It prepared me for an education and profession that can be intensely competitive and, at times, unkind. It also prepared me to interact with people from all kinds of backgrounds.

Despite this, learning to be a lawyer has forced me to confront fears I thought I had already overcome. I still hear the old voices, the self-doubt, the imposter syndrome, and the lingering fear that I somehow ended up in a place where I don’t belong.

Public speaking has never come naturally to me. It is a skill I have to fight for, and I know I won’t become a great advocate by avoiding discomfort. However, along the way I’ve had to remind myself that my goal was never to sound like someone else. It wasn’t to be more “normal” or to convince people I’m intelligent enough to deserve a seat at their table. My job, and my calling, is simply to become the best attorney-advocate I can be.

My goal was never to sound like someone else. My job, and my calling, is simply to become the best attorney-advocate I can be.

Valerie Kaur, author of See No Stranger, described her law degree as a sword and shield. I want my law degree to become a weapon, a tool I can use to fight for disabled children who deserve better than the systems that have failed them. I want my law degree to be a shield that protects me from doubts about my competence. To do that, I don’t need to become someone else. I don’t have to justify why I belong. I already do, and my experiences are an asset, in their own way.

Nevertheless, law school is uniquely capable of exposing every insecurity. Most students at schools like Texas have spent most of their lives towards the top of their classes. Then, they arrive at law school, which is graded on a strict curve where only a small number of students can earn top grades. Suddenly, a room full of people used to success are forced to compete against each other, and someone has to lose.

When so much of your identity has been built around academic achievement, that reality can be unsettling. If your intelligence has always been the thing you trusted most because confidence was harder to find elsewhere, what happens when even that feels uncertain? I’ve asked myself that question many times.

Despite all of it, I have genuinely loved law school. For the first time in years, I feel intellectually challenged in a way that is exciting. I am constantly reminded that the law is more than just theory; it is a tool capable of changing lives. The work I can do matters.

That doesn’t mean it has been easy. Life has continued throwing curveballs while I’ve tried to survive one of the most demanding academic environments in the country. There are still days when I wonder whether I belong here or whether the dreams I’ve built for myself are realistic. In those instances, I try to force myself to remember why I came.

The good news is, I made it through my oral argument. The sweating stopped; I answered my mock judges’ questions and rebutted my opponent, who also happens to be a good friend. I know that every awkward and uncomfortable moment is a necessary step towards becoming the type of lawyer I want to be.

As I write this, I’m preparing to begin my second year of law school. The second year of law school provides more freedom to choose your classes and extracurriculars. This fall, I’ll serve as a student attorney in the Disability Rights Clinic. In the spring, I’m signing up for Trial Advocacy, a class devoted almost entirely to oral advocacy and courtroom skills. The thought of taking Trial Advocacy is intimidating and uncomfortable, which is exactly why I’m taking it. I know growth tends to happen in discomfort.

The legal profession needs more disabled advocates. Not just lawyers who represent disabled clients, but lawyers who have lived those experiences themselves. I want to be one of those voices.

So, I will keep going, one uncomfortable moment at a time. I chose this path, and I will own it.

A friend once reminded me that “we can do hard things.” They’re right. So, I will see y’all on the other side of this law school thing.

Written by Heaven Baylor