‘All stand,’ the usher’s voice boomed in the courtroom as he opened the door for the judge.

Here it was: my first ever court case as a barrister. Donned in a wig and gown, a plethora of thoughts swirled around my head…

‘Is my wig on straight?’ 

‘I do call the judge “your honour”, don’t I?’ 

‘Do I need to drink some water before I begin?’

Everyone in the room stood, the judge bowed and we bowed in return. They sat, we copied, and finally the case began.

My opponent – a gentleman who was 25 years my senior and had been a barrister longer than I’d been alive – was across from me. 

The case was a criminal case, and I was the prosecuting a domestic abuser and stalker. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as I knew that, at home, awaited an anxious victim who was dependent on me securing a custodial sentence so that she could rebuild her life. 

I relish in the doubt from my male counterparts as they take one look at me and think they have the upper hand (Picture: No5 Chambers)

Knowing that someone was relying on me doing a good job was more pressure than I imagined. 

When I secured a win, the wave of relief that washed over me was tidal.

My interest in law started when I was 16. I was watching a television programme featuring barristers and I couldn’t believe that this job existed – these people were actually being paid to argue for a living! 

I googled: ‘How to become a barrister,’ and read a few articles before telling my teacher the next day that I was going to apply for a law degree. She looked at me, puzzled, and said: ‘You’ve never studied law before, and it can be really dry. Why don’t you do a history or English degree and then a law conversion?’ she added.

I understood the logic, but I knew what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to waste three years getting a degree I didn’t care about before I could embark on the journey of becoming a lawyer. My parents agreed and encouraged me.

I was invited to do a Ted Talk (Picture: Grace Rose Gwynne)

In 2013, I secured a place at the University of Manchester to study law. After university came the Bar Professional Training Course as it was then called, which is like a barrister bootcamp. It’s a one year course to convert academic training into practice. 

During this year we learned how to cross-examine our witnesses, conduct client conferences and deliver the most powerful closing speeches. The pressure was immense and the expectations high. 

I can remember the day I became a barrister, it was 2017 and I was 21 years old. I’d done it! I was one of the UK’s youngest.

I had always grown up with the image that a barrister was a man in his forties and fifties. This was the stereotype that was captured on television, in films and my mind as a teenager but there I was, a 21-year-old, blonde woman, being declared to the public for the very first time as a barrister of England and Wales. It was surreal.

I’m writing a book about my experiences, too (Picture: Grace Rose Gwynne)

Since qualifying though, I’ve experienced first hand the blatant gender and age bias that exists, and encounter it on a daily basis. 

I’m frequently assumed to be the client, the court usher or the work experience kid – the first thought is never my actual role. I’ve even had male barristers comment on my breasts, my outfit, my hair and my make-up, insinuating that I couldn’t possibly have the job due to my appearance.

It does become disheartening when people question you and your ability, just on the basis of your gender or looks. I was left with a choice that it could either become a sad theme of my career or I could use it as a weapon in my artillery to my advantage – I chose the latter.

Now, I relish the doubt from my male counterparts as they take one look at me and think they have the upper hand. I nod and smile; playing into their perception of me being a young, junior, female, inexperienced barrister – until we get into the courtroom and I have no mercy. 

I show them exactly what I’m capable of.

I’ve also documented my journey on social media, giving an authentic insight into the life of a young, female barrister and it led to me being invited to do a Ted Talk.

I show comments that have been made towards me, experiences I’ve had and I provide a true microscope into the reality of this profession for young women. I’m writing a book about my experiences, too.

The reality of this career is that it is an old boys’ club and us young women are desperately trying to pave a way for ourselves – without judgement.

I tell myself, ‘Let the old boys’ doubt disarm them and then, when they least expect it, show your ability, show your strength and let them regret the moment they ever decided to doubt you.’

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I’ve had male barristers comment on my breasts, my outfit, my hair and my make-up, insinuating that I couldn’t possibly do the job.