Many years ago, I opened my end of year bonus envelope with the kind of hopeful anticipation that comes from months of long nights, tough cases and the steady belief that hard work pays off. Instead, the check inside was so small that it felt like the air had been knocked out of me. I remember staring at it and feeling completely defeated. I had pushed myself as hard as I knew how, and yet the reward didn’t match the effort. I didn’t know what else I could do or how I was supposed to “get ahead.”

As a first generation lawyer, I didn’t have a parent or an older sibling in the profession to help me understand the unwritten rules of practice. I didn’t have someone to tell me, “This is normal,” or “Here’s what to expect next.” I felt stuck — so stuck, in fact, that I briefly considered returning to teaching. I loved the law, but I did not yet know how to thrive in it.

It took every ounce of courage to request a meeting with the compensation partner. I can still picture myself walking down the hallway, rehearsing my words, reminding myself that advocating for my own professional worth was the right thing to do. As you can imagine, the conversation did not go well. The partner seemed uncomfortable and unsure of what to say. I left more discouraged than before.

And then something unexpected happened — something small, quiet and profoundly life changing.

Our firm had an outside accountant who attended board meetings. The partners had asked her, rather unceremoniously, to meet with me because no one wanted the uncomfortable conversation. At the time, it felt like I had been passed off, but in truth, it was one of the greatest gifts of my entire career. She accepted the task kindly, without hesitation, and with a genuine spirit of wanting to help.

I owe that accountant more than she will ever know.

She walked into my small front room office, sat across from me and truly listened. Not surface level listening, but the kind that makes you feel seen and understood. I poured out my frustration. She nodded, asked thoughtful questions, and then looked directly at me and said the words that forever shifted my path:

“Heidi, you are going to be a rainmaker.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant at the time, but she explained it with warmth and clarity. If I wanted fulfillment — both professionally and financially — I needed to build my own book of business. “There aren’t enough hours in the day for you to get where you want to go by working only on other lawyers’ files,” she told me. “You have what it takes to bring in clients. You need to start now.”

Her confidence in me opened a door I didn’t even know existed. At my firm, there was no expectation that young lawyers develop business. We had more work than we could handle. It had never occurred to me that there was an alternative — one filled with independence, opportunity and ownership of my professional future.

Her kindness changed everything.

She saw potential in me that no one else had articulated. She offered clarity and encouragement when I needed it most. She gave me the first real direction I had received in my early career. And she did it simply by being a mentor — without a title, without a formal role, without any announcement. She showed up, listened and believed in me. Over 30 years have passed since that conversation, and she was right. I took her advice to heart and spent the next three decades building relationships, cultivating connections and seeking out opportunities to grow. Today, I have built a practice that I love. I have my own clients and the freedom to choose my cases. I enjoy helping my partners, but I am no longer dependent on anyone to hand me work. It is one of the most rewarding and liberating feelings in the profession.

Not long ago, I saw that accountant again and told her what her words had meant to me. She looked genuinely surprised — stunned, even. She didn’t remember the conversation. To her, it had been routine. To me, it had been transformational.

This is one of the great truths about mentoring: Mentors rarely realize the full impact they have.

• A brief conversation.
• A word of encouragement.
• A thoughtful question.
• A moment of kindness.

These can alter someone’s career — sometimes even their life.

Because of her, I now try to take every opportunity to pay that gift forward. Not because mentoring is an obligation, but because it brings me joy. It is a source of energy and connection. It helps me remember why I became a lawyer. And most importantly, it gives younger lawyers the support I once needed so desperately.

What I’ve learned is that mentoring does not have to come from a formal program. In fact, some of the most meaningful mentoring moments happen informally — in hallways, after hearings, during CLE breaks or at receptions. They happen when someone looks lost or overwhelmed and you pause long enough to ask, “How are you?” They happen when you offer a kind word, introduce someone to a colleague, or share a piece of advice born from experience.

• Anyone can be a mentor.
• Any time.
• Anywhere.
• And the impact can be profound.

We need this now more than ever. Over the last decade, mobility in the legal profession has increased dramatically. Just when a lawyer becomes confident and independent, another opportunity often lures them away. But research consistently shows that lawyers with mentors are more likely to stay at their firms, feel connected to their colleagues and have a stronger sense of belonging.

Mentoring strengthens our profession. But more importantly, it strengthens our community.

This profession can be lonely. We carry heavy burdens — clients in crisis, difficult cases, ethical dilemmas and ever present deadlines. But when we build genuine relationships, that loneliness fades. We gain sounding boards, trusted advisers and friends. These are the people we call for referrals, guidance, encouragement or reality checks. Over time, these connections become the backbone of a fulfilling legal career.

And that is the gift of mentoring:

• It connects us.
• It steadies us.
• It reminds us that we are part of something larger than ourselves.
• It brings joy.

So here is my invitation to you: be the person who says yes. Say yes to the quick hallway conversation. Yes to the associate who looks unsure. Yes to nominating someone for a board or committee where you know they will shine. Yes to giving the kind of encouragement you wish someone had given you.

Look around your firm, your courthouse or your community. Choose one lawyer — just one — and take a step toward mentoring them. Invite them for coffee. Ask how their week is going. Offer one piece of advice that helped you. Share one lesson you learned the hard way so they won’t have to. You just need to show up. Because when we show up for each other, we strengthen our profession, deepen our community, and — without realizing it — change lives.

• Be the person who makes that difference.
• Be the mentor who opens a new door.
• Start today. |||

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HEIDI BARCUS is a shareholder in Lewis Thomason’s Knoxville office where she practices health care liability law. Before joining Lewis Thomason, she served as a staff attorney and assistant general counsel at the University of Tennessee Medical Center, a Level IV trauma center. Barcus received her law degree from the University of Tennessee College of Law (now Winston College of Law) and is a past chair of the American Bar Association (ABA) Law Practice Division and currently serves on the ABA’s TECHSHOW Board. She is chair of the Knoxville Bar Foundation and a former president of the Knoxville Bar Association.

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