You Belong Here: Paulina Vera’s Journey to Becoming—and Making Space for Others in Law

Paulina Vera is a Professorial Lecturer in Law at the George Washington University Law School, where she leads the Immigration Clinic, mentoring students and representing clients in immigration court.  But many, including myself, first came to know Paulina through her widely followed Instagram platform, Hermanas in the Law.   Discovering that community felt like finally finding my tribe after years of wandering the (legal) wild alone.  In that space I felt seen, safe, and at home among other Latina lawyers. 

Paulina and I have crossed paths at conferences and events over the years where she has always stood out as a not-so-quiet powerhouse.  She’s the kind of thoughtful leader who makes space, both literally and figuratively.  She has invited me to sit at her table, introduced me to her friends, and checked in with genuine care.  Like so many others watching her journey, I’ve seen her rise while never losing her warmth or authenticity. 

In this conversation, I ask Paulina the personal questions that reveal who she truly is.  True to form, she speaks with honesty, reflecting on how struggle shaped her voice, conviction guided her path, and purpose led her to create space for others to rise alongside her.

Sara Santoyo:  You grew up in Arizona to immigrant parents.  I knew your dad was from Peru, but I didn't realize your mom was from England.  Tell me what it was like for you growing up.

Paulina Vera: For me, being from an immigrant family was always a beautiful thing that was celebrated.  I grew up with the best of both cultures.  We would do presents on Nochebuena, but on Christmas Day we had my mom’s very English traditions.  

I obviously identify strongly as Latina and really embrace that side of my culture.  My mom lived in Chile for six years when she was growing up, so she's fluent in Spanish.  She taught Spanish in public schools for 20 years, so Spanish was always around me growing up—though I didn’t always answer back in Spanish.  

It was interesting to compare my parents’ immigrant experiences because they were so different.  My mom is white and came to the U.S. when she was just two, through my grandad’s job.  You wouldn’t necessarily know she was an immigrant just by looking at her or talking to her.

My dad, on the other hand, came to the U.S. at 27.  He picked up English pretty quickly but kept a thick accent his whole life.  He was darker-skinned and faced a much harder time “assimilating.”  Growing up, I saw the micro-aggressions he faced, and I watched how much harder it was for him to navigate workplaces and social spaces compared to my mom.  

SS:  That must have left a lasting impression.  I heard you first said you wanted to be an attorney during a family trip to D.C.  You were only eight!  Where do you think that inspiration came from?

PV:  I don’t know!  But I do remember playing courtroom when I was little, and always being fascinated by the idea of lawyering.  My dad did have an old-school immigrant mentality.  In his mind, there were three acceptable jobs I could choose from: doctor, lawyer, or engineer.  That was his idea of success in the U.S.  Maybe he planted the seed.  When I saw people in suits walking around D.C., I just assumed they were lawyers, and thought, ‘Cool. That’s gonna be me one day.’  And now it is.

SS:  Maybe it was some deep inner knowing that this was your destiny.

PV:  Maybe.  I've also always just been really stubborn! 

SS:  So many of us in law share that stubbornness trait.  Tell me about your law school experience.  And what would you tell your younger law-school self?

PV: The first year was really rough.  I dealt with a lot of imposter syndrome, which coincided with mental health issues.  That year was the first time I ever had panic attacks.

I was just trying to figure out how to do law school, which is hard enough on its own, while also dealing with the pressure and competitiveness of legal education.  People would say things like, ‘I read 100 pages last night, how many did you read?’ and I’d think, ‘What the hell?’  You can’t help but start measuring yourself against everyone else.

And it’s not like I had anyone to guide me through law school.  My dad worked incredibly hard and built everything for us from scratch, but he didn’t have the personal or professional connections to help me navigate that world.  He helped me get there and was always my biggest cheerleader, but he couldn’t understand why I was studying every day, every night, every weekend.  That disconnect was hard, having to figure everything out.  

Things got better in my second and third years, when I could choose my classes and get involved with extracurriculars.  The highlight was joining the immigration clinic at GW which I now supervise.  That’s where I met Professor [Alberto] Benitez, who became my mentor.  He was my first Latino professor, and working in that clinic was a revelation.  For the first time, I saw how the law affected real people.  

Now that I’m a professor, I have students, especially women and students of color, come to me with the same struggles and feelings I had.  I always try to make time for them because I know how much I needed that kind of support back then.

If I could go back and tell my law-school self one thing, it would be: You’re doing fine.  Everything is going to be okay.  Just stay true to yourself.  I put so much pressure on myself, wondering why I didn’t want to go into big law, or follow some traditional path.  But I stayed true to who I wanted to be.  I’m proud of how my career has turned out and where it’s going and that I didn’t have to sacrifice my mental health to get here.  

SS:  Tell me what it’s been like navigating legal academia as a Latina.  

PV:  Like in many parts of the legal profession, we continue to be sorely underrepresented in academia.  Just yesterday, at a lunch, Professor Benitez mentioned I might be the only person of color being recognized that day.  Moments like that are stark, and they can be discouraging.  But I try to reframe them as reminders of why I need to be here.  Faculty should reflect the diversity of our students.  The way my students respond to me, their positive evaluations, the fact that so many stay in touch after graduation all make it clear that what I’m doing resonates.  On the days I forget, they remind me that this is exactly where I need to be.

SS:  You’re opening doors for others simply by being there.  And now, you’re stepping into a new chapter as the Director of GW’s Immigration Clinic.  What are your hopes for this role, especially at such a pivotal moment in immigration law?

PV:  That’s a big question.  It’s both scary and exciting.  Professor Benitez has led the clinic since 1996, so there’s a huge legacy there and big shoes to fill.  As my professor, mentor, and colleague, I’ve learned a lot from him.  I plan to carry forward many of the strategies that have made the clinic what it is.  At the same time, I'm trying to embrace this as a chance to introduce fresh ideas.  Of course, I don’t want people thinking, ‘Why did we hire her?  She’s going to burn it to the ground.’  But as a younger professor, I need to be comfortable trying new things, knowing not everything will work perfectly at first.  Professor Benitez learned through trial and error, and I have to give myself that same grace.

I also just want to keep showing up for the communities we work with.  We're at a time when noncitizens are under attack in this country, so I want the clinic to be responsive to current community needs while training the next generation of attorneys who will hopefully go on to do this work.  But even if students don’t pursue immigration law full-time, I hope they leave with a deeper understanding of how broken the system is and have the courage to challenge injustice wherever their careers take them.

SS:  That’s powerful.  You recently stepped down as president of the Hispanic Bar Association of D.C.  What leadership lessons did you learn from that experience? 

PV:  I learned that organization is crucial.  There are so many moving parts in running an organization, especially working with a team of very busy attorneys.  At the end of the day, it falls on you as the leader to keep things moving.  People have demanding careers and family responsibilities, so I learned to step in, offer support, delegate tasks, and give gentle reminders.  I drove my board crazy with shared calendars and Google folders but centralizing everything made a huge difference.    

The other lesson I learned is that leadership means standing up for yourself.  Not everyone will agree with your decisions, which is fine.  But sometimes people disagree disrespectfully or without having all the facts.  There were several times I had to firmly and clearly explain my position.  Sure, there’s always room for conversation.  I’m not always right, but sometimes—I’m not wrong.  As a leader you have to be prepared to defend your decisions and hold your ground.

SS:  Let’s talk about Hermanas in the Law, the community you started in 2018.  What has that community meant to you?

PV:  It’s been inactive for a while, which makes me sad.  I wish I had more time for it, because it was really meaningful.

There are other amazing platforms like Latinas Uprising by Nubia, which filled a much-needed void.  I remember reading her blog in law school and thinking, ‘There’s another Latina lawyer out there who’s actually talking about the things I’m feeling!’  She was definitely a big inspiration.

But I still saw a gap in spotlighting Latinas from different regions, backgrounds, and law schools, and I wanted to amplify those stories.  I also tried to bridge the resource gap by posting scholarships, internships, and job opportunities—anything that might help.  People would message me saying they learned about opportunities through the page.  One of the best parts was watching people connect organically.  Seeing those relationships take root was incredible.

Hermanas in the Law did a lot.  I just wish I could clone myself to keep it going.  

SS: I’ll share that back in 2018, you posted about the Latina Leadership Academy in Philadelphia and I flew out from California to attend.  It was a professional turning point for me.  I met an incredible mentor who has continued to help shape my path ever since.  And many followers have stories like that.  So, even if the platform is paused, what you created continues to ripple through in powerful ways.  If you ever bring it back, we’ll be here cheering you on, like always.  

Let’s talk about your authenticity.  You’ve shared openly about mental health, salary transparency, and the loss of your father, who meant so much to you.  That kind of honesty is part of what draws people to you.  Where does that realness and permission to be yourself come from?

PV: I spent a lot of my twenties, especially early in my legal career, trying to fit the mold of what I thought a lawyer should look and act like.  I was deeply unhappy, which contributed to my mental health struggles.  Eventually, I realized it wasn’t serving me.  I became happier when I started showing up authentically.

I understand authenticity isn’t feasible for everyone due to safety or professional concerns.  Practicing in a more progressive city helps, as does being a clinical professor because it aligns with community lawyering.  Professor Benitez was a huge influence.  He’s authentically himself, always.  He’s like “Who else would I be?”  Watching him, and other Latina law professors, inspires me to model authenticity for my students.  Our profession is better served when people show up as themselves.  

SS:  I couldn't agree more.  Here’s another big question: what legacy do you hope to leave in the legal field?

PV:  It might sound simple, but I hope my legacy is that I uplifted and empowered people in this profession who might not have had support otherwise.  That I showed them someone like me could do this work, and that they can too.  And hopefully, they’ll go even further and do it even better than me.  For my clients, I hope my representation gave them compassion, dignity, and a sense of security.  And that in some way it negated some of the harms they experienced in having to navigate our awful [immigration] system.  

SS:  Last question.  What advice would you give to young lawyers who are currently struggling with a sense of  belonging?

PV: First, know your very presence is needed, even if you're made to feel otherwise.  You bring valuable perspectives, ideas and qualifications that are needed in these spaces.  So, to the extent that you’re doubting any of those things, let me be the one to say “You got this.”  

Also, find your community, inside and outside the profession.  I need my non-legal people just as much as I need my law communities, because sometimes you need to disconnect from that too.  And stay open!  Mentorship and support can come from the most unexpected places.  You never know who’ll have your back.  At the end of the day, it’s your people that will carry you through. 

SS: We’re all in this together.  Thank you for taking the time to share your insights and your truth.  I’m glad to have reconnected and I hope to see you in person soon!  

PV: Thank you!  Sending love to your family.  I hope we do see each other soon.

Paulina is an authentic influencer, not in the commercial sense, but as a fearless voice who commands attention by empowering women in the legal profession with no agenda other than lifting as she climbs.  Her story reminds us that real influence isn’t measured by platforms, but by the lives you change and the tables where you make room for others to belong.  You can stay connected with her work here.

Sara Santoyo is on a mission to diversify the field of law, one woman of color at a time. As a first-gen attorney who passed the hardest bar exam in the nation and who overcame the barriers she faced as a WOC in law to land her dream attorney role, she developed the skills and confidence that comes from knowing that she can turn any adversity into an advantage. Sara now devotes her professional life to coaching young WOC lawyers to do the same and more.