According to the American Bar Association, there are more than 1.3 million lawyers in the United States. From 2014 to 2024, the legal profession grew by over 41,000 lawyers. However, while the number of lawyers steadily increased, the representation of Black lawyers has remained stagnant, holding firm at just 5 percent of the legal population, the same as it was a decade ago.
This disparity becomes even more glaring when we focus on Black women, who make up only 2 percent of all lawyers and less than 1 percent of law firm partners. These statistics reflect systemic barriers Black women face in entering, thriving and advancing within the legal profession. We are capable, qualified and determined, yet persistently underrepresented. As a Black woman and attorney, increasing diversity within the legal field is not just a professional goal, it is a personal mission.
I grew up in northeast Houston, attending grades K-12 in a predominantly Black school district that no longer exists. Despite limited resources, my schools were rich in culture and pride, particularly when it came to celebrating Black history. Every year, we held Black history programs led by students where the entire community gathered to honor those who paved the way before us.
One of my most vivid memories is from fifth grade, standing on stage reciting Maya Angelou’s, “Still I Rise,” from memory. When I reached the final line of the poem, “I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise, I rise, I rise,” the standing ovation I received was more than applause; it was affirmation. That moment planted a seed of confidence that would carry me through my career.
In high school, I poured my passion into research projects on figures like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks, earning top honors at my district’s history fair. My English classes went beyond traditional curricula, exposing me to the works of Black authors whose stories reflected my own experiences. For me, Black history was not confined to a single month, it was woven into the fabric of my education. What my schools lacked in material resources, they compensated for by instilling in us an unshakable belief that we could be anything we aspired to be.
Yet, despite this foundation of encouragement, my reality was less than ideal: I did not see many lawyers who looked like me. But every Thursday night, one appeared in my living room — Claire Huxtable. Watching her on The Cosby Show was like witnessing brilliance personified: poised, articulate, analytical, impeccably dressed, unapologetically confident and a fierce lawyer. She was a problem solver, a wife, a mother of five and a powerhouse in the courtroom. She showed me that I did not have to choose between having a career and a family. I could have both. From that moment, I knew I wanted to be a lawyer.
As a first-generation college student, my path was not paved. Attending the University of Houston was my first encounter with culture shock, and for the first time I questioned whether I truly belonged. That feeling lingered through law school, but organizations like the Black Law Students Association and the mentorship of Black law professors grounded me. They reminded me that not only did I belong, but I was also destined to thrive.
Becoming a lawyer did not magically erase the challenges. In true Claire Huxtable fashion, I married the love of my life right before my third year of law school. By the time I was a third-year associate, we welcomed our first child, and three years later, our second. Balancing motherhood and my legal career was (and continues to be) demanding, but I was fortunate to work at a firm that did not sideline me. I continued to receive meaningful assignments. I even tried and won a case while eight months pregnant. Like Claire, I was determined to pour into both my family and my career.
Still, doubt crept in. As a young lawyer, I often wondered how I would build a client base without a network of friends or family connections to lean on. But mentors and sponsors saw my potential. They opened doors, provided opportunities, and championed me when I could not advocate for myself. Their support helped me achieve partnership just seven years into my career. I often reflect on Shirley Chisholm’s words, “If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.” That quote resonates because in many rooms I have entered I’ve felt like the table wasn’t set with me in mind. I have walked into depositions and been mistaken for the court reporter. I have entered courtrooms and been assumed to be a client. I have sat in meetings where people were surprised that I was the lawyer they were waiting for.
But instead of shrinking, I showed up fully as myself. Whether wearing natural hairstyles or showing off my locs with a business suit, I have challenged the unspoken rules about what professionalism should look like. I remember for my initial interview for a partner position with Jackson Walker, I wore my hair in long braids, partly because I had just returned from vacation, but also as a silent test: Would they accept me for me? The answer was yes. I walked out of that interview feeling valued for my experience and my potential. At Jackson Walker, I found not just a workplace, I found a place where I belonged.
My focus has always been to break barriers not just for myself but to clear the path for those who come after me. Every challenge I have faced has been a reminder of the importance of representation. Through moments of doubt, frustration, and exhaustion, I have found strength in Kendrick Lamar’s words, “We gon’ be alright.” That simple yet powerful affirmation reminds me that, even when the road feels heavy, progress is both possible and inevitable when I move with purpose.
That is why I mentor and sponsor young Black women attorneys and law students. I am deeply involved in my firm’s recruiting efforts and diversity events to ensure diversity is not just a checkbox but remains a priority. I have spoken to school-age children about my journey, hoping to inspire the next generation of leaders, because I believe in the power of visibility, “If you see it, you can be it.”
The statistics on Black women in the legal profession are sobering. Progress and setbacks coexist. But I also see hope in the fearless young advocates rising, in the bold conversations challenging the status quo and in the quiet victories we achieve when we show up authentically and unapologetically ourselves.
With the same encouragement I received growing up, I now inspire my teenage sons and the next generation to dream big. The hope is that my journey is one thread in the larger tapestry of Black excellence — a testament to the power of representation, the importance of authenticity and the unshakable commitment of those who dare to break barriers to make the road a little easier to travel for those coming after.
Dawn S. Holiday is a labor & employment litigation partner in the Houston office of Jackson Walker, LLP. She is a member of the firm’s Diversity & Inclusion committee and the firm’s Diversity & Inclusion Counseling practice.