Kristdel Bolog

Kristdel, can you tell us what first inspired you to pursue a career in law, and specifically, family law?

My pursuit of a legal career was born from a deeply rooted sense of justice, not just in the adversarial courtroom tradition, but in those everyday human moments where someone simply needs to be seen, heard, or protected. Law, for me, was never about prestige; it was about purpose. I was always attuned to fairness and driven to create structure and clarity in moments of chaos. It became increasingly apparent that the law offered a framework through which I could meaningfully serve people during times of immense vulnerability.

Family law, in particular, called to me because it is one of the few areas of law that directly impacts the day-to-day lives of individuals, especially children. I have seen firsthand how the breakdown of relationships does not happen in isolation. It ripples across financial security, housing, parenting, identity, and mental health. Family law engages with those complexities in a deeply personal way. It demands both legal excellence and emotional intelligence.

Our role as family lawyers is not simply to advise on the division of assets or the allocation of parenting time; it is to ensure that decisions are grounded in accurate, balanced information and that the human cost of litigation is always considered. Whether I am assisting separated parents in crafting a co-parenting arrangement that reduces conflict or helping someone retain access to their family home or companion animal, the work we do shapes futures. This field carries immense responsibility, and that responsibility is what continues to inspire me every day.

What were some of the biggest challenges you faced early in your career, and how did you overcome them?

In hindsight, the early years of practice felt deceptively smooth, largely because I lacked the self-awareness to recognise the scope of what I did not yet know. Law school had equipped me with legal reasoning, but not with the interpersonal and emotional intelligence necessary to navigate the unpredictable terrain of family disputes. Working in family law is unlike any other jurisdiction; there is no clear binary of right and wrong, and the stakes are heartbreakingly personal.

I frequently experienced imposter syndrome. I would agonise over whether I had cited the correct authority or drafted the most persuasive affidavit, questioning whether I belonged in the room. It felt like a series of first dates where you walk around hoping you do not have spinach in your teeth, except there is no mirror, and the stakes are someone's children, home, and safety.

The most difficult challenge, however, was learning how to manage emotional boundaries. As family lawyers, we are not just exposed to trauma—we are immersed in it. In the early years, I was not taught how to recognise the signs of vicarious trauma or burnout in myself or my colleagues. At that time, discussions around lawyer wellbeing were almost taboo.

Through years of experience, and necessity, I developed strategies to preserve my emotional stamina. I learnt to compartmentalise without becoming desensitised, built a peer support network, and sought out supervision and debriefing. I prioritised self-reflection and developed clear boundaries with clients while still holding space for their emotional experience. These practices are not just self-preserving; they are essential to being a clear, effective advocate.

Looking back, is there a case or client that has had a lasting impact on your approach to law?

There are countless matters that have left an imprint on me, but one particular case significantly reframed my understanding of justice within the family law system.

I represented a father who was falsely accused of serious family violence. The allegations, in my assessment, were retaliatory in nature and appeared to be part of an effort to sever his relationship with his children. There was no corroborating evidence, only very vague assertions. Yet, based on those assertions alone, my client was evicted from his home, denied access to his personal effects, and most painfully, separated from his children. He was treated not just with suspicion, but as if he had already been convicted. It was a stark reminder of the power of narrative, and the danger of substituting allegation for evidence.

That matter forever changed my approach to advocacy. It exposed the risk of procedural injustice where allegations, particularly of family violence, are accepted at face value without proper scrutiny. While I remain unwavering in my commitment to protecting genuine victims, and I have acted for many, I have also seen the misuse of complex concepts such as coercive control in ways that ultimately harm both parties and children.
Cases like these are not isolated. Reports from the Australian Institute of Family Studies and recent commentary in judgments point to a growing tension between ensuring victim protection and reaffirm the need for a measured, evidence-based approach and highlighted the urgency of early intervention to prevent protracted and adversarial litigation.

Family law should never become a proxy for punishment. It must remain a space for truth, justice, equitability, healing, and the best interests of children.

We fought long and hard and ultimately, after three years in and out of various courts, resolved the matter with a set of orders that were beyond the client's wildest dreams and saw his time move from mere hours a fortnight to a reversal of care.

A few years after the matter concluded, I happened to run into the client and his children at a local grocery store. They were beaming, full of life, laughter, and ease. He shared that they had just returned from a family holiday, and seeing them together, smiling and thriving, was a rare and fortunate experience. In that moment, the human impact of our work was undeniable. It reminded me why we fight so hard — for restored relationships, healing, and hope. Even now, just recalling that moment brings tears of joy to my eyes.

Family law can be emotionally charged and complex. What core values guide your practice when supporting clients through difficult family matters?

Three values form the foundation of my practice: empathy, accountability, and respect.

Empathy is not just a value; it is a practice. It means truly listening, suspending judgement, and understanding that clients often come to us in their most distressed, defensive, or fearful state. When people feel seen and heard, their anger and fear lose their grip. I tell clients regularly: it is okay to not be okay. That permission, simple as it sounds, is often the first step in helping them stabilise.

Accountability governs everything I do. I hold myself to a high standard, especially when the advice is difficult for the client to hear. I make a point of setting clear expectations, because unclear advice leads to disappointment and further conflict. As lawyers, our duty is not to say what is comfortable; it is to say what is necessary, backed by law and guided by integrity.

Respect is non-negotiable. It extends to clients, opposing counsel, judicial officers, and the system itself. Strong advocacy does not require hostility or condescension. The most persuasive advocacy is principled, composed, and backed by evidence.

Have you noticed any changes in the types of cases or client needs emerging in family law in recent years?

Yes, there has been a distinct shift in the landscape of family law, both in the types of matters coming through the door and in how clients approach them.

Most notably, there has been a sharp increase in family violence allegations, particularly with the broader public recognition of terms like gaslighting and coercive control. While the increased awareness is essential for acknowledging the nuanced nature of abuse, it has also led to misuse and confusion. We see this reflected in the courts, in frontline services, and in media discourse. There is often little understanding of what coercive control legally entails, and in the absence of proper guidance, these complex psychological concepts are sometimes reduced to catchphrases.

In practical terms, this has resulted in a surge of interim family violence orders being granted on the basis of vague or untested allegations. The implications of such orders are profound. I have represented clients, predominantly men, who have been evicted from their homes, unable to retrieve their belongings, cut off from their children, and forced into homelessness. In some cases, the flow-on effects include job loss and severe mental health crises. Studies by the Coroners Court of Victoria and data from the ABS suggest that male suicide in the context of family law conflict and separation is an issue that remains grossly under-acknowledged.

Even more troubling is the increasing tendency to treat a family violence intervention order as though it were a “parenting order” and I am hearing it referred to as such with alarming frequency. This mischaracterisation not only undermines the integrity of both legal frameworks, but also weaponises the law in a way that entrenches conflict, prolongs litigation, and causes further harm, often fuelled by misconceptions or strategic misuse.

How does your firm balance assertive legal representation with empathy and care, especially when children are involved?

At The Family Lawyer, I have championed the adoption of a child-centred, evidence-based approach that draws on both legal principles and psychological research.