In my twenties, I made the decision to mark the new chapter of my life with a dramatic change. In 1994, I moved to Spain for three years and used it as a pilgrimage intended to find my purpose.
Back then, I (somewhat naively) thought it would take a few weeks to find what I was looking for. Of course, I eventually found it, but it took 30 years rather than 30 days.
When I was younger, I dreamed of becoming a documentary filmmaker. I am the youngest of five and my siblings are all brilliantly accomplished, but I was drawn to the arts. I felt my path would be creative, so I didn't see myself as smart enough to become something as traditional as a lawyer.
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I loved theater and music, and law felt like the opposite of that. Obviously as a child, I had a very limited view of the legal world. I thought it meant working at a glass high rise and being a corporate drone, which didn't appeal to me.
I didn’t feel like I belonged in that sphere, I wanted to follow my passions instead.
I attended NYU's Tisch School of the Arts and graduated in 1989 with a degree in Fine Art Photography. I worked in restaurants, as a writer and an English teacher before becoming a wedding photographer.
For 10 years, I had my own photography business that I cherished. It was small, with two other employees, but I loved connecting with families at such an inflection point in their lives.
‘Maybe My Story Was Still Unwritten’
As much as I enjoyed that work, it became increasingly hard to deny my true feelings. I was burning out, and I felt like there was more for me in this world.
I just needed to figure out what that was.
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In 2013, I wound down my photography business and became an AmeriCorps member at a local nonprofit that serves immigrants. I certainly didn’t expect it to, but that role ignited a deep desire to be an advocate within the community.
I began to consider that maybe my story was still unwritten.
By the time I reached my forties, I had a much broader view of the world and gained far more experience. I dealt with lawyers from all backgrounds and saw how they treated others, and it made me see that not all attorneys are Big Law robots.
Perhaps the view I had when I was younger was too close-minded. Who’d have thought?
I pondered my options, then it dawned on me that there really is no deadline for achievements, and there certainly isn’t a finite number of times we can change course. I was no longer a 20-something exploring the world one questionable decision at a time, I was a mother to two young children. Of course, I felt pressure to settle down and have a stable job, but I had this undeniable passion to help others.
If I wanted to achieve my dreams, only I could make it happen.
A year on from dissolving my photography business, I started attending classes at Elon University School of Law in 2014.
Don’t get me wrong, attending law school at 47 gave me the drive I had longed for. But I questioned my choices constantly. I was depressed, overwhelmed and tired. Being the second-oldest person in my class often left me thinking law school was the dumbest, most irresponsible idea ever.
I tried to keep pushing through, but halfway through my first year, I faced the most devastating challenge when my sister, Mary, died by suicide.
As I grappled with the profound loss, I almost dropped out of school. I had no idea what the purpose was anymore, or who I was even doing it for.
The more I thought about it, I realized that law school was actually an escape. It allowed me to get lost in the work and find comfort in pursuing a new mission. I kept studying and hoped that Mary would be proud.
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In fact, it is a beautiful and painful irony that Mary also wrote her own My Turn essay for Newsweek in 2002. I like to think this is a sentimental full-circle moment for us.
By 2017, I was ready to graduate law school. Yet it wasn’t some exciting celebratory occasion because I felt embarrassed to graduate at 50. I didn’t want anyone to attend the ceremony as I felt like an oddball. I began to think people were either feeling sorry for me or making fun of me (if they thought about me at all).
‘It Was a Mountaintop Moment’
With a law degree to my name, it was time for my next challenge: take the bar exam.
I studied relentlessly, poring over my books until the exam finally rolled around. Then, it was a nervous wait to find out my fate.
It was some point during those weeks that I noticed a suspicious lump in my breast in August 2017. I recently had a mammogram that was clear, so I was certain it was just a cyst.
Nonetheless, I told my doctor and he recommended a biopsy. I wasn’t worried in the slightest and thought it was an overreaction.
I was much more concerned about my pending bar results.
I went through a painful hollow-needle biopsy, and when I returned home, my results were in the mailbox. I opened the letter and stopped reading at: "We regret to inform you…"
I was devastated.
The next day, the doctor's office called, asking me to come in for my biopsy results. I was still in a fog about failing the bar, but when I arrived, they put me in a room with soft lighting and a tissue box. The radiologist came in carrying a tote bag decorated with a pink ribbon.
"You have breast cancer," is all I remember him saying.
I eventually learned I had stage 2 breast cancer. While I had the option to do a lumpectomy and get radiation, I opted for a unilateral mastectomy with no radiation. The cancer had not yet spread to my lymph nodes and I, thankfully, did not require chemotherapy.
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My surgery was October 2017, and the next bar exam was the following February. I knew I wasn’t ready to take it again so soon. I was too depressed and my heart wasn’t in it.
However, I didn’t give up entirely, so I aimed for the July 2018 exam instead.
I took the bar a second time but was already fatalistic about the results and almost didn't care. When I opened the letter, I knew it was going to say I failed—and it did.
But then I noticed something important.
I missed out on passing by just two points and increased my score dramatically from the first exam. I instantly found a surge of energy and excitement. Maybe I could do this, I thought.
I devoted myself to passing and signed up immediately for the February 2019 exam. I changed my study habits, began meditating, working out daily, worked part-time and had a shift in mindset. It didn't matter how many times I took the exam, because I was either going to pass it or die trying.
I dressed in a sleek suit on the day of the third exam because I was telling the universe (and myself) that from that day forward I would be an officer of the court. I gave it everything, fully accepting that I might have to do it again.
Then I finally got the letter saying "Congratulations" and it was a mountaintop moment.
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‘Being Able to See a Vision Come to Life Is a Gift’
When I could officially call myself an attorney, I worked at a law firm as an immigration brief writer for around six months before being hit by my next desire.
Starting my own law firm.
I filed the articles of incorporation for Camino Law on September 30, 2019. My first clients came with me from the firm I previously worked at, and we were able to grow steadily. We now have eight employees, and most of our cases are family law cases, meaning people who need help with child custody, or need help dismantling their marriage.
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We didn't set out to be an all-female firm, but we found just the right people for the jobs, and they happen to be women. Our approach utilizes our superpowers of empathy and lived experiences to provide a warmer legal service than people are used to.
I've always been an entrepreneur at heart, and being able to see a vision come to life is a gift.
If someone has the energy and interest to pursue a dream, then taking action is not something to ignore. There is so much pressure to commit to your life's trajectory, but we can’t plan the future. It's the searching, curiosity and willingness that brings us true fulfillment.
The journey from my first walk on the Camino de Santiago as a 20-something to where I am today has had more than enough twists and turns. I might not become a documentary filmmaker (who knows, there’s still time), but I do have a story to tell.
I just didn't know it would be my own.
Abigail Seymour, 59, resides in Greensboro and is the founder of Camino Law, an all-female law firm in North Carolina. She regularly documents her extraordinary journey on social media (@abigail_c_seymour on Instagram and @caminolaw on TikTok) and is also working on her memoir.
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Newsweek’s reporters and editors used Martyn, our AI assistant, to produce this story. Learn more about Martyn here.
Contact Newsweek editors on this story: Charlotte Nisbet and James Debens