This guest post was written by Natalie Reysa, a third-year student at BC Law.

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“Oh boy, am I glad to see you!” This reaction was the opposite of what I expected from the first client I met in lockup, on my first duty day in the Dorchester Division of the Boston Municipal Court.

I had imagined this day repeatedly, convinced that my future clients would take one look at me and immediately doubt my abilities to represent them. The potential reasons floated in my head: young female law student, intimidated by public speaking and thinking on my feet, no background in public defense trial work…the list went on.

That first day was a blur, crafting bail arguments after a mere 15-20 minutes of speaking with each of my new clients, often straining to hear them through the cracks of the barred metal door separating us. It was nerve-racking, exhausting, and exhilarating all at once. Against all the odds I had created in my mind, I walked out of court that day having successfully secured one client’s release on bail and established the foundation for what would become a very solid, trusting attorney-client relationship with another client (in a different language).

At the end of that first day, I was reminded of why I chose to do this work in the first place: for my clients. This shifted my mindset from focusing on a lack of confidence in my own skills to a determination to fight for my clients and understand how to leverage my strengths while developing my ability to advocate effectively for them.

Words will never do this clinic justice, but I’ll try.

My clients are not just defendants or recipients of legal services; they are also my own teachers. They have challenged my assumptions, deepened my empathy, and taught me lessons about trust, resilience, communication, and dignity within the criminal legal system.

In only a few months, I have represented clients across various ages and backgrounds. For me, one of the most meaningful aspects of public defense is the human connection it demands. This work places me face-to-face with people in moments of crisis and vulnerability—moments which most of society never sees or prefers not to confront. Beyond the allegations and charges, I encounter entire lives and histories often shaped by circumstance, trauma, and resilience.

Contrary to what some may think, public defense provides me with a constant reminder of humanity. I have the privilege of encountering my clients in ways that most people never will. I get the opportunity to know them as individuals and understand their lives in contexts beyond their criminal charges and accusations.

For example, one of the clients I have connected with most has survived and endured hardships I can’t even fathom, from the tragic losses of loved ones and near-death experiences of his own, to being a victim of crimes and struggling from homelessness. Currently, he is held in pre-trial detention for months on end while facing an impossible $27,000 bail despite his lack of financial resources, no convictions, and a presumption of innocence. Yet, this client is one of the most genuine, kind, and patient humans I’ve ever met. He consistently exudes humanity, gratitude, and honesty each time we meet. His resilience and character inspire me beyond words. Neither his circumstances nor my role in defending him are easy, but sitting face to face across a table in one of the jail’s dull attorney rooms—still able to share a laugh over something small—has a way of re-centering me. Moments like that reveal how profoundly acts of advocacy can reshape my understanding of both the world and the law. 

I believe that recognizing humanity is not an act of leniency, but rather a prerequisite for fairness and for any outcome that claims legitimacy. It is easy to view cases as black-and-white, rely on assumptions, and draw conclusions without the full context. What is harder, and far more necessary, is the willingness to ask how we arrived here and what realities shaped that path. When we reduce a person to the worst thing they are accused of, we strip the system of its ability to produce anything resembling justice.

When listening to my clients’ stories, I am always struck by just how easily things can go awry and someone ends up entangled in the criminal justice system. I witness how readily the criminal legal system is called upon as an answer for problems that would often be better addressed outside of it. I see how deeply (and often permanently) the system impacts the lives and communities of those involved, regardless of whether the person committed the crime of which they are accused. It is sobering to reflect upon how easily this could be me in a different life. My advocacy is deeply motivated by observing how inequity attempts to erode people’s determination to move forward, improve, or simply have a second chance in this lifetime, and yet, witnessing these same individuals summon the resilience to keep trying anyway.

My last day in court during 2025 ended in the best words for a defense attorney: “Not guilty.”

Similar to the unexpectedness of words I heard from my client the first day in court this semester, I certainly never imagined that my 3L year would involve winning a jury trial with my remarkable clinic partner (Samantha Raymond). 

When I reflect on my personal progress from the fear of simply speaking in front of a judge to executing a whole jury trial, I am reminded of the lessons I’ve learned in resilience.

I think of the unwavering support from my supervisor (Steve Van Dyke) and incredible clinic group (Samantha Raymond, Isabelle Thorpe, Minaldy Cadet, Elias Massion, and Audrey Vila) that has continually uplifted me throughout the semester.

I think of my clients, and particularly, their willingness to trust me amidst many odds stacked against them in this legal system. Working closely with them has revealed a depth of my own abilities that I didn’t even know existed. I constantly learn from them, their experiences, and the deeper perspective that public defense affords me.

As I look ahead to another semester of the Defenders clinic and one last semester of law school, embracing challenges I never thought possible, I think about the clients I am privileged to represent and feel deeply grateful that this clinic brought us together in this lifetime. Each person and experience shapes and reshapes my understanding of humanity, what it means to be an advocate, and how I can grow into a more effective advocate for just outcomes. I feel endlessly fortunate for the ways that public defense teaches me empathy and grounds me in what it means to be a human, especially within a system that is often dehumanizing. If we want a criminal legal system that truly serves society, we must confront the realities that entrench people in that system. Progress is impossible without understanding, and true justice is unattainable without seeing people as more than the charges they carry.

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Natalie Reysa is a third-year student at BC Law. Contact her at reysa@bc.edu.