When Cristian Farias twitted about his excellent post, detailing Rochelle Garza’s representation of Jane Doe, he used the phrase “held the hand of a once-pregnant undocumented teen in Texas.” This reminded Blake Feldman of what Bronx Defenders founder Robin Steinberg told him when he was an intern.

I’ll never forget Robin Steinberg telling me & 50 other interns that we don’t have to be “hand holders” or “trial jocks.” We can be both https://t.co/eRC2KwFDts

— Blake Feldman (@bfeldman89) November 4, 2017

Robin takes a holistic view of the relationship between criminal defense lawyers and their clients, where hand-holding is just as much of the job as trying their case. Years ago, this wouldn’t require any further discussion, as it was understood that part of the job included the emotional management of a client. Today, it’s not so clear.

In the Jane Doe case, Garza’s client was an undocumented pregnant minor. It’s hard to imagine a client more in need of, and deserving of, hand holding than Jane Doe. But not all clients share these characteristics or needs. Jane Doe wasn’t a criminal defendant, and Garza wasn’t her criminal defense lawyer. Applauding her hand-holding does little to inform us about what Robin is talking about.

So is it true that we don’t have to pick sides, hand-holder or trial jock? Is it true that we can be both? The question is both simple and complex. Of course we can be both, when called upon to hold hands and when there is no conflict between the two. But even this obvious statement demands a caveat.

Too many criminal defense lawyers confuse their abilities with those of a therapist, as if they are qualified to fix their clients’ psychological and emotional issues. Even tough guys can turn to mush in the privacy of their lawyers’ office when facing life plus cancer. They look longingly at us, telling us about their children, explaining the unpleasantness of their upbringing, seeking some form of comfort to soothe their fear of what’s to come.

Do you tell the client that everything is going to be okay? Do you tell them, “Now, now, I’m going to do everything possible to make this go away”? Much of the time, you are painfully aware that everything isn’t going to be okay, that it’s not going away. Do you tell them you’re fighting for life without cancer, and they’re not going to get an apology and tummy rub from the judge?

Then there are the clients who lie to you, testing your willingness to hold their hand and believe them rather than call out their lie and tell them that denying the existence of their written, signed statements, the physical evidence, their best pal who would never testify against them even though you know he’s already flipped. They desperately want you to believe, and if you loved them enough, you would, and in their minds, this will make them innocent. But they’re not, and believing them only condemns them to conviction.

Or the client who demands you present a position that isn’t merely frivolous, but certain to destroy their defense. They’re certain they’ve got the solution, as they’ve spent their life on the street talking their way out of problems, and some jailhouse genius told them that a UCC-108 is the magic trick to shutting the prosecution down. You can kindly explain why that’s untrue, but they just get angry with you for being a tool of the government.

Hand-holding has its place in law, and Robin is right that the choice isn’t between being a hard, cold gunslinger and substitute mommy. But one predominates, and when the conflict between hand-holding and trial jock happens, as it does in almost every case that proceeds beyond arraignment, the criminal defense lawyer has to make a choice whether to be her client’s lawyer or therapist. We’re supposed to be qualified to be the former. We’re no more qualified than anyone else to be the latter. The client has come to us to defend them. And any good mom knows that sometimes you have to tell your child “no.” That, too, is part of our job.