Paul Burkhalter, NOSSCR President

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

As I reach the end of my term as NOSSCR President, I find myself reflecting on what it truly means to be a Social Security disability attorney. In the best sense of the word, it is a position of real privilege. We are routinely entrusted with the opportunity to help people tell their stories—to sit beside them as they explain their lives to an Administrative Law Judge.

As part of that process, we are invited into deeply personal spaces. We hear stories that are intimate in the truest sense of the word—accounts of suffering, confusion, resilience, and loss that few others have been willing to hear, much less accept. Often, we are the first people who have truly listened without judgment. In those moments, we hear someone’s truth in a way that we otherwise never would.

How can you listen to a mother with bipolar disorder describe planting a tree in her front yard at 3:00 a.m. in the morning, while her children cry and plead, unable to understand what is happening, and not be moved? Merely bearing witness to these experiences—and helping our clients feel heard and understood—goes far beyond securing Social Security disability benefits. It is human work, in the deepest sense.

I have shared before the story of a client who, after being told by the ALJ that he would be awarded benefits, quietly said, “I’ve never won anything in my life.” Knowing his background—the poverty he was born into, the financial instability that followed him from childhood, the health struggles he endured for years—you knew he meant it. Unlike many of us, he had never won the cake at a school raffle, the free hamburger from a fast food promotion game, or the stuffed animal at a carnival.

Moments like that force a reckoning. They make you realize how many small victories, strokes of luck, and quiet acts of grace we take for granted. While these moments may not be rare, they are certainly not universal. You simply cannot do this work for long without recognizing how fortunate and blessed you truly are.

And yet, that does not mean this work is easy.

To practice in a truly zealous way often requires enduring a kind of essential loneliness. At hearings, we frequently stand alone—without a team beside us in real time. At times, the judge may not appear receptive, and may even make you feel as though you are the problem. The client, understandably, is focused on their own fear and future. There are moments when it feels like you are howling into the wind.

Zealous advocacy also means long hours spent alone—waiting in airports, staying in budget hotels, driving to remote hearing sites—often at the expense of time with family and friends. It is work that demands presence, patience, and persistence, even when the personal cost is real.

And yet, despite the hardship, or perhaps because of it, this work matters. It is both a burden and a privilege to stand with people at some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives—and I cannot imagine doing anything else.

Paul Burkhalter

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