Walking out of the courtroom this afternoon was jarring. The sounds of excited voices were muffled from the roaring in my head. Shocked by the outcome is an understatement. Devastated and remorseful is closer to the hollow pit in my stomach and echoing silence in my head. How did this even happen?
The juxtaposition from my feeling of confident reassurance this morning versus now is staggering. Only a few hours ago I would have broadcasted to anyone with a molecule of interest how secure I was that my plan would work: I’d saved thousands of dollars not hiring an attorney; I felt so much more knowledgeable and confident in my strategy than I had when I had an attorney for my divorce; I knew the facts, it was my life. Some time on the internet with Chatgpt and a notebook, and I felt prepared for anything. How did it go wrong?
I plopped myself heavily on a bench outside, staring blankly at the ground. I felt defeated. I was defeated. How did I lose?
Heels clip clop across the tiled floor ahead of me; I recognized them as the shoes of opposing counsel, walking past. My head snaps up so I can catch her attention, “did I embarrass myself?” I ask earnestly. Her eyes are shrewd as she contemplates my question before answering with a tinge of hesitation: “no.” But there is a clear eclipse trailing after the end of her answer.
“Then what happened?” I ask trying desperately to piece together the events from the courtroom, the Judge’s instructions, and the result. I don’t understand; I felt so solid in my case until it quickly crumbled around me.
I could tell she was mulling over how to best answer my question, whether she even could. Before she could speak, I rush to add: “I filed everything correctly. The clerk accepted it. I thought the Judge would listen. Why didn’t he listen?” More gears turned behind her eyes before she answered.
“Law isn’t simple. You can file a document, and it can be accepted by the clerk, but that doesn’t make it proper. And even when something is proper, doesn’t mean the court will grant it.” There are more silent ellipses behind her words. Before she asked, again with more trailing syllables bracketing her speech: “you relied on AI to help prepare your case. To draft your filings.”
Was it that obvious? Is it a bad thing? I nod slowly, despite her statement not really being a question at all. She sighs, the weight of her thoughts unsaid but heavy in her breath. “AI can be a great tool… but it can’t replace knowledge and understanding of the law and procedure. You don’t know what you don’t know. AI doesn’t know what you need to know. I can’t give you more specific advice than that about why your case was dismissed. But definitely talk to an attorney.” I take a giant deep breath but before I can even exhale, she has turned and clip clip clipped away.
I still didn’t fully understand what happened in that courtroom, why I lost, and what I should have done different. But I did understand that the tool that gave me confidence going into the courtroom earlier wasn’t going to be able to give me that answer in isolation. Instead, I pulled up Chatgpt on my phone and did a quick request for a family law attorney near me who could explain and educate me on what I need to change and how. Once it loaded with a few names, I made the decision to call.
Jess A. Lill
