When it comes to jury duty, there seem to be two types of people out there — the type that loves the idea of serving on a jury and the type who will do just about anything to avoid it.
I’m a million percent the second type and have been my whole life, despite never having had to report in person before yesterday. I don’t drive, and the courthouse is relatively far from my home. Plus, I’m neurodivergent with terrible anxiety and agoraphobic tendencies, so jury duty is packed with potential triggers I’ve learned to avoid through hard personal experience.
So, when I got my summons in the mail a while back, I tried everything I could to avoid it. I asked my therapist to write me an excusal letter (which unfortunately didn’t come through in time.) I overthought and tried to plan for every little possibility. I rage-snacked. You name it.
But this time the summons stuck, so yesterday morning, I found myself seated in a government building full of strangers and unfamiliar smells, bracing for the worst.
What I didn’t expect was how human the day would feel at the end of it all. Not in a “yay bureaucracy” kind of way, because fuck that, but in a we’re all just doing our best in here sort of way. And that, more than anything else, is what I want to share today, because I think we all need reminders like this from time to time.
Entering the Machine With Dread
Courthouses and legal protocol are designed to make you feel small and insignificant. Cold lighting. Metal detectors. People barking instructions about bags, and belts, and phones. So, as a neurodivergent person with anxiety, I arrived already feeling like prey. I anticipated robotic procedures and poor treatment from cold, cruel people who serve the machine (and like it). I expected to feel like just another cog in a system that doesn't care.
But what I found instead were… people:
- An older woman who sat next to me, pulled out a pendulum, and started divining with it like it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing in a courthouse
- A bailiff with a kind voice and a sense of humor who seemed more concerned with whether we spilled juice or coffee on the carpets than ruining anyone’s day
- A judge and a state prosecutor who genuinely thanked us for being there, acknowledged our inconvenience, and took real time to listen to each person who spoke
I even had support from my awesome husband, who stayed nearby the entire day in case I needed him. It could be that I’m just really lucky to live in Monterey County where people usually value kindness and politeness. But the machine, as it turned out, still had individuals inside it. Some of them were good and decent.
And the hallways leading to the courtrooms were nice and dark, with comfortable benches, and you were totally allowed to spend your breaks there — something I’m sure my fellow neurodivergents can appreciate.
Sometimes the System Hands You a Story Instead of a Sentence
There was a point near the end of the day when I was called to come sit in the jury box for evaluation as a prospective alternate juror. I had to hold a microphone, speak directly to the judge and attorneys, and answer all sorts of questions — literally the exact scenario that made me dread jury duty so much in the first place.
I thought I’d have a panic attack… or freeze. But instead, I opened my mouth, leveraged what I’d learned from watching others undergo questioning all afternoon, and heard words coming out. I just told the truth — that I had a deeply personal history with the kind of case we were discussing (a drunk driving charge) and didn’t think I could be properly impartial.
I don’t consider myself much of a speaker, but I somehow still knew what to say. And the court actually listened to me. (Plus, at least two of the other jurors being considered were much better candidates.) I wound up getting released from service at the last minute, not with judgment or suspicion, but with understanding and thanks.
I was also reminded that even within a rigid system, stories still matter, and so do personal experiences. Because if there’s one thing I’ve always been pretty good at, it’s reading a room, choosing the right story to tell, and presenting it in a way I know will resonate with the people listening.
People Are Not Always the Problem
I expected to be tired by the time I was released and allowed to go home. What I didn’t expect to feel was surprise (and maybe even a touch of guilt for pre-judging other human beings I hadn’t even met yet).
I’d spent so long resenting this process and the fact that I couldn’t simply opt out of it (and I still feel I was justified in feeling that way, because I will always think people should have choices). But I’d also taken it for granted that everyone involved would be cold, disconnected, or uncaring — that I was walking into some den of hate run by card-carrying Nazis or something.
That wasn't true.
The judge wasn’t an abusive overlord. The bailiff wasn’t a bully looking to intimidate the rest of us. The prosecutor seemed more like someone I would have been friends with in school or college than my lifelong mental image of a prosecutor.
And the other jurors? Just people.
A few of them were nervous, like me. A few were very clearly frustrated, especially once it became clear we’d be there pretty much all day. But most were kind and considerate in quiet ways — letting others go ahead in line or cracking a joke when the room felt tense. No one was looking down their nose at anyone who didn’t want to be there, even the ones who seemed excited about it.
It reminded me that not everyone who circulates within a system agrees with it. Sometimes, they’re just surviving it too. And some of the people who work there honestly seem to be doing what they can to make the process better for those of us who don’t have a choice.
Fear Will Color Everything If You Let It
The truth of the matter was that I spent the better part of the last three weeks in a state of petrified fear because of this damn summons.
I pictured myself trapped in a courtroom, on the verge of a panic attack the entire time while some sadist of a judge just stared at me with disgust. I feared the possibility of being forced to perform, something that takes me all the way back to my childhood in the worst ways. I anticipated being judged, dismissed, and flippantly ignored.
But while I did have to perform and was certainly nervous, things thankfully didn’t play out like that. Yes, I had to go, and hell yes, it was hard. But I got through it and ultimately left feeling fairly treated.
And along the way, there were all these little synchronistic signs of support, like the pendulum woman who smelled like my grandmother’s furniture and couldn’t have cared less what other people thought of the fact that she was telling fortunes in the middle of the assembly room.
And angel numbers everywhere, even where you wouldn’t expect them.
Looking back, I realize being afraid and overprepared didn’t protect me from a different outcome. My own voice and natural gifts did. And if I had been selected to serve on that jury? I know I would have been able to handle that, too. That’s something I can carry with me into other intimidating situations in the future.
After all, I’ve already survived so many hard things. At nearly 50 years old, I should probably trust myself a little more.
Fear is definitely valid, but it isn’t always trustworthy. In fact, my therapist would probably say it’s just your body reacting to old patterns, not the current threat. So, ground yourself, and speak anyway. You might surprise yourself.
What I’d Tell Anyone Facing Jury Duty (or Something Like It)
If you’re dreading jury duty — or anything else the world forces on you that feels unbearably overwhelming — this is what I’d like to offer you, from one anxious person to another:
- Prepare your creature comforts. Bring your snacks. Pack your meds. Wear your rings and amulets. Recruit a willing friend to text with on your breaks or wait for you nearby if you’re concerned about feeling alone.
- Keep in mind that the system may be corrupt, but many of its people aren’t. So, look for the humans. They’re in there somewhere.
- Trust that your story matters. Simple honesty often works a lot better than overexplaining does. Don’t overcomplicate things.
- Let yourself be surprised. That thing you’re dreading might contain unexpected gifts. Moments of beauty. Glimpses of solidarity that help keep things from being so bad.
- And if nothing else… you’ll have something to write about the next day.
I’m not going to pretend yesterday’s jury duty was some magical transformative experience. It wasn’t.
I will probably always have a massive issue with the fact that you can’t opt out of “opportunities” like jury duty, especially when there are plenty of people out there who love the idea of serving. I still wish I’d been excused before I ever had to walk through those doors, and I honestly should have been because of my health issues.
But I did receive a needed reminder that even the shittiest, most dreaded experiences in life can surprise you. I found evidence that somewhere underneath all the systemic bullshit, humanity still flickers. Even in courtrooms and in judges. Even in other people like me — people who are scared, weary, and dog-ass tired of being treated unfairly.
It doesn’t necessarily fix what’s wrong with the world or anything to do with the system, but I do think it’s still well worth remembering.
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