My parents were working-class, first-generation immigrants. When they arrived in England, neither spoke English and both had very limited resources. I was the first person in my family to complete A-levels and attend university.
When I was called to the Bar of England and Wales, my Cypriot grandfather came to the ceremony said he was “so happy he could wet himself”. Thankfully, that was just a figure of speech.
I am a family law partner, accredited specialist, recognised as a key lawyer in The Legal 500 and I have received awards from both Resolution and Lexis Nexis. The main reason I was able to build a successful legal career was due to education and opportunities, which I accessed through means-tested scholarships.
Without social mobility initiatives, my route into the profession would likely have been impossible. It is why conversations about widening access to law matter so deeply to me – not simply as a matter of fairness – but because talent exists everywhere, while opportunity does not.
Apart from financial means, the feeling of being out of your depth or not belonging is also another huge barrier to law for those coming from diverse backgrounds. Gaining access to the profession is only part of the challenge. For many people from non-traditional backgrounds, the harder task is believing they truly belong once they arrive.
During my law conversion course was when I first encountered what we now call ‘imposter syndrome’. Suddenly, I was surrounded by students from more privileged backgrounds, many with family connections in the profession and with training contracts or pupillages already secured. I had no contacts in law at all, no training contract or pupillage. An inner voice started to question whether I belonged in this space and why I had chosen a path in law.
The same feeling resurfaced after qualification. I trained at one of the country’s leading human rights firms, surrounded by exceptional lawyers. Many were Oxbridge-educated, already recognised experts in their fields, who had an alphabet of letters that followed their names. That voice was there again: “Yanoulla, What are you doing here?”
Conversations with senior practitioners, judges and colleagues revealed that many highly accomplished people privately experience the same internal doubt. One very senior judge once confided that he often feels he reached his position entirely by chance and worries he will one day be “found out and frogmarched out of the judiciary”.
Maya Angelou, who had over 50 honorary degrees, three Grammy Awards and a Pulitzer Prize nomination once said, “I have written 11 books, but each time I think, ‘uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody, and they’re going to find me out.”
Particularly, those without inherited networks or socioeconomic privilege can spend years feeling as though they are learning a hidden set of rules everyone else already understands.
Through having a mentor and being a mentor, I have learned not to question whether I belong or suppress my individuality, but to lean into it and recognise the value it brings.
Family law is uniquely human. We advise people during the most vulnerable and emotionally complex periods of their lives. To do that effectively, the profession benefits from lawyers who bring varied life experiences, perspectives and different forms of emotional intelligence to the table.
The same is true for the judiciary and being able to make the right decisions. Social mobility is therefore not simply an access issue but is directly linked to the quality and breadth of representation and real justice within our profession.
That is why scholarship schemes, focused recruitment, mentoring and meaningful inclusion initiatives matter. They do not lower standards. They widen the pool from which excellence can emerge. For senior practitioners and law firms, we should continue asking ourselves difficult questions about recruitment, retention and culture. Who feels welcome in our firms and chambers? Who receives sponsorship and informal mentoring? Who is encouraged to speak? And whose potential might we be overlooking because it arrives in a less familiar package?
For more junior members, if you ever hear a negative voice or “inner saboteur”, on a level it means that you are pushing yourself, growing and thriving. If you do experience this negative voice, you are in excellent company and you can overcome it.
Always remember, you have a different perspective to bring to the table through your own experiences. Continue to harness your sense of individuality, diversity and difference.
Social mobility transformed my own life and career. The profession is richer for opening its doors to people from different backgrounds, and it will continue to be stronger if it keeps doing so.
Yanoulla Kakoulli, partner, Judge & Priestley and member of Resolution’s EDI committee
