I've always loved having my own space. Now, I'm a 41-year-old lawyer with a roommate
The skyrocketing cost of living has me worried about my finances
This First Person column is the experience of Robyn Schleihauf, who lives in Dartmouth, N.S. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
My fridge reeked with the fetid rot of food gone off. After bringing the head of cauliflower to my nose, I felt confident that the smell was not from my groceries. I looked with resentment at my roommate's neglected meal kits, annoyed that he orders five of the overpackaged ingredient sacks every week when he is only home to cook two or three of them, with the rest left to take up fridge space and slowly spoil.
To be fair, it wasn't his fault. He works a full-time job, does gig work walking dogs and feeding cats and just got another part-time job at the liquor store. He's not malicious or even really neglectful; he's just overworked and tired from trying to pay the bills and ends up ordering takeout.
Cleaning out my roommate's rotten food isn't how I pictured my life as a 41-year-old lawyer.
The last time I had a roommate, I was 25. We shared a flat in a high-ceilinged historic house in Halifax. I was a waitress and she was in art school and our paths rarely crossed. Still, I craved space that was just mine. So I downgraded to have my own apartment in a ramshackle house on a busy street between the garage for the city's ambulances and the hospital. I loved that place.
The truth is, I have always craved that space. As a kid who shared a room with two sisters, I tried to draw an imaginary line on the floor to separate my third of the room from theirs.
In 2021, I purchased my first home. At the time, people commented nonstop about how much the market had gone up since COVID-19. "I know," I'd say. "If only I'd had a crystal ball."
The truth is, I felt like I had to buy a house as soon as I could because I knew if my landlord sold the house my apartment was in, I would be left to navigate the now wildly inflated rental market.
Without the help of a family member, I'm not sure I ever could have bought a home in this economy even though I was making a good living. I was grateful to find something in my budget and lucky. When I moved into my little bungalow, I spent sunny afternoons gleefully stacking wood for the woodstove on breaks between my billable hours.
Schleihauf bought a home in Halifax in 2021 and relished living by herself. (Robyn Schleihauf)
It's jarring to break my 16-year streak of blissful solo living, but sometimes life takes you in unexpected directions.
When my dad was diagnosed with cancer, I drove back and forth between Nova Scotia and Ontario. Between sleepless nights propped up on the plastic chairs in the ER and trying to run my legal practice from my parents' dining room table, I finally had to concede that I couldn't keep up with the demands of my clients and also watch my dad struggle to breathe. I took my colleagues up on their offers to take on my files and pared my legal practice down.
About a month after my dad died, my mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer and my cross-country pilgrimages continued. Resuscitating my legal practice remained on the back burner.
I debated whether I should sell my house and rent again, but I had backed myself into a corner: the cost of renting a one-bedroom apartment in Halifax was now on par with my mortgage payments. I decided to get a roommate to live in my guest bedroom in an attempt to rebuild some sense of financial security.
Nearly two years later, my parents are both gone. But even now, as my legal practice ramps up again, I am preoccupied with dread that the skyrocketing cost of living may never go down.
I'm aware that there are many Canadians who are in far more precarious housing situations than I am. I'm fortunate enough to own a home and I know it is unlikely that I will ever be unhoused. Still, as a millennial, it's difficult to believe things will ever get better or easier economically. So far in my adult life, they haven't.
"I wouldn't want a roommate," my niece said over dinner at my house when the first one moved in.
"It's not so bad," I told her, even though it did feel like an intrusion into this special space — my very first home.
Then, a few months later, my car was broken into. The rear passenger window was smashed; the thieves must have seen my purse handle peeking out from under the seat cover. I'm not sure why I didn't take it with me, but it didn't occur to me.
Sure, I'd heard of cars left unlocked in driveways in the city that had been rifled through, but for the most part, I had not been conditioned in Halifax to worry about a smash-and-grab in the middle of the day while parked on the gravel shoulder of a decently populated road.
I called my bank and credit card companies to report various cards stolen while my friend swept out the broken glass from the back seat.
Whoever had my debit card spent more than $200 somewhere before I managed to freeze it, and I spent 45 minutes on the phone being transferred to various departments of my bank reporting the fraud.
A couple of days later, my online banking showed that the $200 was spent at the dollar store. My heart shattered into little pieces for whoever stole my debit card. That $200 at the dollar store made me believe the person likely needed essentials like groceries and hygiene items and maybe some small wants — snacks and little crafts and toys.
I recognize that we're all just trying to get by — me, my roommate and the person who stole from me — and I know that if I'm this worried, there are many more people who are far more than worried.
I'm aware that a few rotten groceries sharing fridge space with my produce won't kill me. Still, I miss the quiet richness of my solitude.
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While courts still use fax machines, law firms are using AI to tailor arguments for judges
AI can read a judge’s entire history of decision-making and spit out an argument based on what it finds
This column is an opinion by Robyn Schleihauf, a writer and a lawyer based in Dartmouth, N.S. For more information about CBC's Opinion section, please see the FAQ.
It is no secret that the courts — and other bodies, such as provincial and federal human rights commissions, landlord and tenant boards, workers compensation boards, utility and review boards, etc. — are behind the times when it comes to technology.
For decades, these bodies repeatedly failed to adopt new technologies. Many courts still rely primarily on couriers and fax machines. The COVID-19 pandemic forced a suite of changes in the justice system, bringing things like virtual hearings to reality, but as we move back to in-person appearances, some courts and administrative decision makers are showing their continued resistance to adopting technology — debating things like whether to allow people to submit their divorce applications via email post-COVID.
Meanwhile, law firms and private sector lawyers are more technologically enabled than ever.
Law firms and lawyers can subscribe to legal analytics services, which can do things like use artificial intelligence (AI) to "read" a judge's entire record of decisions and sell that information to law firms so their lawyers can tailor their arguments to align with the judge's preferred word use and, arguably, their worldview.
What this means is that legal analytics can root out bias, and law firms can exploit it.
While the use of AI to understand a judge may seem alarming, it has always been the case that lawyers could exploit some judges' biases. Lawyers have become increasingly specialized over the years and familiarity with the system — and the people within it — is part of what some clients are paying for when they hire a lawyer.
The difference is the scale
Lawyers practising family law know which judges will never side entirely with the mother. Lawyers practising criminal law know who is generally sympathetic to arguments about systemic discrimination and who is not. Lawyers aren't supposed to "judge-shop," but stay in any circle of the law for long enough and you'll know which way the wind is blowing when it comes to certain decision makers. The system has always been skewed to favour those who can afford that expertise.
What is different with AI is the scale by which this knowledge is aggregated. While a lawyer who has been before a judge three or four times may have formed some opinions about them, these opinions are based on anecdotal evidence. AI can read the judge's entire history of decision-making and spit out an argument based on what it finds.
The common law has always used precedents, but what is being used here is different — it's figuring out how a judge likes an argument to be framed, what language they like using, and feeding it back to them.
And because the legal system builds on itself — with judges using prior cases to determine how a decision should be made in the case before them — these AI-assisted arguments from lawyers could have the effect of further entrenching a judge's biases in the case law, as the judge's words are repeated verbatim in more and more decisions. This is particularly true if judges are unaware of their own biases.
Use AI to confront biases
Imagine instead if courts and administrative decision makers took these legal analytics seriously. If they used this same AI to identify their own biases and confront them, the justice system could be less vulnerable to those biases.
Issues like sexism and racism do not typically manifest suddenly and unexpectedly — there are always subtle or not so subtle cues — some harder to pinpoint than others, but obvious when stacked on top of each other. But the body charged with judicial accountability — the Canadian Judicial Council — relies, for the most part, on individual complaints before it looks at a judge's conduct.
AI-generated data could help bring the extent of the problem of bias to light in a way that relying on individual complainants to come forward never could. AI has the capacity to review hundreds of hours of trial recordings or tens of thousands of pages of court transcripts — something that was previously inconceivable because of the human labour involved.
AI could help make evident the biases of judges that were known among the legal profession, but difficult to prove. And then bias and discrimination could be dealt with — ideally before those decision makers cause immeasurable and unnecessary harm to those in the justice system, and before hundreds of thousands of dollars in appeal costs are spent to overturn bad law.
AI is here to stay and there is little doubt that judges will find bespoke arguments compelling. The question is not whether AI should be used — AI is already being used. The question is whether our court systems will continue to struggle with technology from the 1980s and 90s, while 21st century tech is rewriting our case law.
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ABOUT ROBYN SCHLEIHAUF
Robyn Schleihauf is a lawyer with over 7 years of experience assessing complaints and conducting investigations for regulatory bodies, employers, and National and Provincial Sports Organizations. She practices exclusively in matters involving alleged violations of codes of conduct.
Robyn sits on the Board of the Nova Scotia College of Nursing. She is a CBC freelance contributor and recently published an opinion piece on the use of AI and large language models in litigation. In 2023 and 2024 Robyn was an associate professor at the Schulich School of Law at Dalhousie University and taught the Introduction to Legal Ethics Course.
Robyn is a graduate of Osgoode Hall Law School (2015), where she received the Cassels Brock & Blackwell Award for Professionalism and the Ian Scott Public Interest Internship Award. For her internship, she worked at a Community Legal Aid Clinic for the Baamseeda program, along with the Indigenous legal coordinator, providing legal assistance to Indigenous communities and individuals.
Robyn worked as a Pro Bono lawyer for the North Preston Land Pro Bono Initiative and was successful in assisting her clients to gain title to their land. Robyn has appeared on CBC news and in The Coast to speak on this issue. She has also guest lectured at her alma mater, Osgoode Hall Law School with respect to the Land Titles System in Nova Scotia.
In her free time, Robyn is a writer, with a focus is on creative non-fiction, personal essays and opinion pieces. Her work has been published on CBC.ca and in The Coast. Robyn formerly served on the Board of Directors for the Afterwords Literary Festival in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Robyn Schleihauf
About
Services
Education
Experience
- But that's not fair · Freelance
- Halifax, Nova Scotia
- Jul 2015 to Jun 2016 · 1 yr
- May 2013 to Aug 2013 · 4 mos
- Community and Legal Aid Services Programme (CLASP) Sep 2012 to Dec 2012 · 4 mos
- Rogues Roost
- Halifax Refugee Clinic
- Metropolitan Immigrant Settlement Association (currently ISIS)
But that's not fair is a collection of personal essays and creative nonfiction by Robyn Ashley Schleihauf
Robyn is a writer, a lawyer and a consultant in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. She enjoys making scones, swimming in the ocean, reading, and listening to people speak earnestly and genuinely about just about anything. She lives with a tailless cat named Bobby and a corgi named Chips.
Find out more about her law practice:
Conduct unbecoming: What should the Society do when it comes to social media gossip, posts and behaviour?
written by Robyn Schleihauf
As the public interest regulator of the legal profession, we receive concerns about lawyers’ conduct. With the rise of social media, we have increasingly received calls with concerns about what lawyers post online, whether it be on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or dating sites.
Social media are platforms for speech and their use ubiquitous: most lawyers have at least some online presence either personally or professionally.
While lawyers have the same Charter guarantees as anyone else, including the s. 2(b) right to freedom of expression, this right is restricted by the ethical obligations a lawyer owes as a licensed member of the legal profession.
There are limits placed on lawyers, even in their personal life, when it comes to speech.
The paper, “Conduct unbecoming: What should the Society do when it comes to social media gossip, posts and behaviour,” explores to what extent the Society should regulate the speech of its members, in the public interest.
This paper, written by Robyn Schleihauf, NSBS Staff Lawyer, Early Resolution, identifies the three rules in the Nova Scotia Barristers’ Society Code of Professional Conductthat explicitly engage a lawyer’s conduct in their private life, and three categories of speech that may fall within the Society’s jurisdiction to review.
It also provides an overview of the Supreme Court of Canada’s decisions in Doré and Groia and draws out four principles from the caselaw to help evaluate these complaints when they are received.
Questions or comments? Connect with us at info@nsbs.orgor comment below.
Read more at: https://www.thecoast.ca/news-opinion/250-years-later-the-province-is-still-trying-to-shirk-its-promises-in-north-preston-24491363
Read more at: https://www.thecoast.ca/news-opinion/250-years-later-the-province-is-still-trying-to-shirk-its-promises-in-north-preston-24491363
Read more at: https://www.thecoast.ca/news-opinion/250-years-later-the-province-is-still-trying-to-shirk-its-promises-in-north-preston-24491363
Read more at: https://www.thecoast.ca/news-opinion/250-years-later-the-province-is-still-trying-to-shirk-its-promises-in-north-preston-24491363