What It Means To Be a Female Partner in 2025

Until recently, I never gave much credence to these phrases.

Sure, I’m a woman, a female. But, mostly, I’m a lawyer, litigator, professional, in Big Law. What does my gender matter to that?

I started law school in 2010. I don’t recall the exact statistics, but I’m confident my class was close to 50% men and 50% women — that’s the new norm in law schools, with a lot (if not most) skewing 50%+ female.

Associate classes at bigger firms follow suit. With graduating classes of law students being mostly women, it follows that law firm junior ranks are too.

But something happens in private practice as you climb the ranks.

Women leave.

Yes, men leave too, but women leave more often.

There are lots of very valid reasons for this: realizing private practice isn’t for them (in favor of public interest or a smaller firm), changing practice areas (which can often require changing firms too), leaving the law altogether (becoming a coach, a recruiter, a marketing professional, etc.), going in-house (something women are increasingly being poached for) — and, of course, having children (something I, personally, choose not to do).

I must also acknowledge my privilege and responsibility. Balancing the partnership track with family responsibilities and barriers (and biases) faced by my diverse friends and colleagues is particularly difficult. Women (and lawyers) of color face additional obstacles, as do members of the LGBTQIA+ community, those with disabilities, and religious minorities. These lawyers must navigate unique challenges that compound the existing hurdles within the legal profession, and especially in Big Law. I do not personally face many of these intersectional challenges. I recognize both my privilege and my responsibility to advocate for those who do.

In 2021, I joined my firm’s associate leadership committee (NextGen) as an at-large board member and local (Milwaukee office) representative. In that role, we hosted a holiday-time happy hour for associates at the distillery and bar across the street from the office.

We sat down for appetizers and cocktails. My office is very collegial, so, as best we could, we squeezed around a couple of tables and on couches, pulling up extra chairs. It didn’t take long to realize that if there were 12 of us in this huddle, 10 were women. I clocked it almost immediately. A few minutes later, a first-year associate acknowledged it. With a smile on her face, she proclaimed: “I love seeing all these women here.”

My immediate and aloud response? “I need at least half of you to stay and make partner at this firm.” Since then, four of us have.

Growing up, I never felt less than or called out because I was a girl. My parents, both attorneys, raised me under the guise of achievement — of being able to accomplish things academically if I worked hard, without any reference to my gender or stereotypical gender roles.

In classes, it was no different. If I worked hard, followed directions, and played by the rules (checked boxes and collected gold stars), I achieved — regardless of my gender. I never felt less than or even competitive with the boys. It was me against myself most times.

I lived most of my young adult life that way, moving from college to Teach for America to law school, doing what I did best: working hard, checking boxes, and moving on to the next goal.

And then, in 2016, following a clerkship (in a chambers of all women to start, then 4-1 women to men at the end), I joined private practice as a Big Law commercial litigator.

I didn’t notice the “mostly male” environment to start. It didn’t seem to matter. I was comfortable doing the work, eventually making friends with my co-associates, and moving from junior to midlevel associate as planned. Although there was only one, then two other female litigation associates (and two, then one, then zero, and back to one female litigation partner), office- and firm-wide the numbers were much more even.

But slowly, I felt it. My conscious started questioning: Do I fit in here? Can I be myself here? I realized that you can be comfortable in the “boys club” as a woman, and it can still hold you back.

It can still hold you back.

I think this mostly stems from trying to fit a stereotype — the white male partner who has done private practice the same way for probably 100 years and few people stop to ask, “Is there a different way?”

I’m the square peg in that round hole — many of us are, regardless of gender, but more often for us women.

So, women leave.

I rose through the ranks of Big Law with other women — from my law school, from the Milwaukee legal community, at both my firms.

As I sit here today, two (whom I’m close with and “grew up” with on this career journey) are partners alongside me. The rest left (although I think one, who recently lateralled to a big firm, is likely on her way).

It is so striking.

My firm, like many others, does the best it can (probably does better than most, honestly), and yet there remains much work to be done — both can be and are true. As an associate in our Milwaukee office, the vast (and I mean vast) majority of associates were and still are women.

In early 2024, after making partner, I attended my first Milwaukee partner meeting. I walked into a room of, let’s say, 20 partners. Five women present (two couldn’t make it). Today, we’ve added two more female partners to that mix, but still, the ratio of men to women partners in our office is jarring (not to mention the lack of other types of diversity in the group).

And, for the first time in my career, it really feels like it truly matters.

I don’t know for sure what flipped this switch.

Maybe it was realizing I had settled into the role of “caregiver” on a team — you know, the attorney tracking deadlines, sending all the calendar invites, keeping things organized, always saying yes, and routinely saving the day. Women’s work — housework.

Maybe it was just one too many times being asked to do things and find documents — requests that shouldn’t have been coming to me as a senior associate, as a partner, maybe even as an attorney altogether.

Maybe it is a compliment to my work on attorney mental health and lawyer well-being — a still taboo topic in the law. The job is stressful for everyone, but studies show it is more stressful for younger lawyers, female lawyers, attorneys of color, and members of the LGBTQIA+ community. Surely it is not controversial to say that this is because those of us in those groups are often hiding parts of ourselves — contorting our natural instincts, strengths, and interests to fit the norm of this very traditional and hierarchical profession. Many of us are battling these stereotypes while trying to build a sustainable and thriving practice (and life outside of work).

Looking ahead, I realize my role has evolved. It’s no longer just about my own career trajectory. It’s about creating space for the women who will follow. When that first-year associate smiled about seeing all the women at that happy hour, she wasn’t just celebrating our presence — she was seeing her own possible future.

The path to partnership shouldn’t require women to choose between authenticity and advancement. We shouldn’t have to perfectly mirror a century-old model of what a partner looks like. The very qualities that make us different — our perspectives, our approaches to problem-solving, our ways of building relationships — aren’t impediments to overcome, they’re assets to embrace.

Being a “woman partner” isn’t just a descriptor anymore. It’s a responsibility and an opportunity. An opportunity to show those first-year associates that there isn’t just one way to make it to the top. That they don’t have to contort themselves to fit into spaces designed for someone else. That, perhaps, together we can reshape those spaces entirely.

Because when I think back to that holiday happy hour, to those 10 women gathered around the table, I realize my goal isn’t just for half of them to make partner. My goal is for all of them to have the choice — a real choice — about what their legal careers can look like. And maybe, just maybe, by the time they’re sitting in partner meetings, no one will need to count how many women are in the room.