April Collins

Sponsored by RebuttalPR

Can you share your journey into plaintiff law? What sparked your interest, and how has your motivation evolved over the years?
Well, I guess I’ll start from when I was a little girl. I don’t even know why my dad thought that just because I talked too much, I needed to be a lawyer—but I remember him saying, “You talk so much, you should be a lawyer.” And that idea just kind of stuck with me. I was the kind of kid who loved watching trials—I mean, I was 11 or 12, coming home after school and glued to the O.J. Simpson trial. I was so enamored by the arguments, the strategy—I just loved it all. But, you know, life happened. Things weren’t always easy. There were times when I thought, “Maybe I can't go to law school. Maybe this isn’t possible.”

I became a teenage mother, and that definitely took me off track for a bit. But the dream never left. After I had my son, I went to college and ended up working at a personal injury law firm while I was there. That experience changed everything. I started as a case manager, talking to clients, learning their stories, doing so much of the work. By the time I went to law school, I knew—this is where I belonged. Personal injury was the right path for me. In between, I worked for the federal government doing civil rights work. After law school, I spent five years at the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. That was in 2010, right after the recession, when jobs were tough to find. It wasn’t a lawyer position, but it was a solid career job with great pay and benefits. So I thought, “Let me take this opportunity.” And I did until I finally said, “You know what? I’m starting my own law practice.” And here I am now. That’s the short version of the story—of course, there are a lot of twists and turns in between, but I’m sure we’ll get into those.

What inspired you to leave government work and start your own practice?

I loved working for the government. I’ll just start by saying that. I loved my coworkers. But I was young, in my twenties—maybe 27 or 28, or even younger than that. Most of my colleagues were in their fifties and sixties, so there was a big age gap. I was the youngest, and they had been there for 30 or 40 years.

They used to tell me, “Don’t burn yourself out,” because I was a total workaholic. I’d be putting in all this effort, thinking, “I’m young, I can do this!” And they were like, “Girl, pace yourself.” After being there for a while, I started to understand where they were coming from. I could see how, over time, the urgency faded for them. They still did their work, but they weren’t as engaged. And I started feeling that shift in myself too. That’s when I realized I needed a challenge. I wanted to actually use my law license. I had gone through the process, been admitted to the bar, and I was ready to do more.

One thing I didn’t mention earlier—I talked about my son, but I was actually pregnant with him in high school. I had him just a day or two before I started college. I think classes started on August 20th, and he was born on the 19th. And I was also pregnant when I walked across the stage at my law school graduation. That was a big reason why I initially chose a federal government job. I was eight months pregnant when I sat for the bar, and I needed stability. I had a child on the way, I was married—it just made sense at the time. It was a solid, steady job while I figured things out. But after a while, I started thinking, I went to law school for a reason. I want to actually use my license. Even though I loved that job, and I think I did really well—I was getting awards and recognition—I knew it wasn’t my long-term path. I really believe life moves in seasons. That job was the right fit for that season of my life, when I needed stability while raising kids. But eventually, I was ready for something more.

What led you to start your own firm instead of joining an existing one?
Oh, I knew from the start that my family dynamic—and just who I am as a person—meant that working at a firm wouldn’t be the right fit for me. I had come from a government job, which was very flexible. We were already working from home back in 2008, 2009. So, we had that balance of being in the office but also at home. I knew that wouldn’t be the case at a firm. I knew I’d have to be "on" all day, every day, and I just wasn’t ready for that. I wanted the flexibility to be there for my family.

One of my law school professors even told me that working for the government had spoiled me, and honestly, I think it did. It gave me a level of autonomy that I knew I wouldn’t have in a firm setting, and I probably wouldn’t thrive in that environment. Plus, before law school, I worked at a law firm and got a firsthand look at what it was like to work for someone in that kind of setting. It just didn’t align with what I envisioned for my life and my family’s future.

Can you share a case that had a significant personal or professional impact on you?

A lot of people, when asked this question or something similar, might talk about the big million-dollar cases—the ones that make headlines. But the case that sticks with me wasn’t even close to a million dollars. It involved a young woman, just 20 years old. She had moved to Birmingham from South Carolina that very day. She had just driven into town, but her apartment wasn’t ready yet, so she planned to stay at a hotel for a few days. Then, that same day, she got into a wreck. She still made it to the hotel, but after that, she lost her car. Thankfully, she had a work-from-home job, but where she had moved, there was nothing around. She didn’t realize how isolated she’d be without a car. She was walking miles just to get to a store for basic necessities. And on top of that, her case was a tough one—it was a "he said, she said" situation, which meant I had to file a lawsuit and really fight for her. We eventually got a settlement, but during the process, she reached a breaking point. One Saturday, she texted me and said, “I’m going to kill myself. I can’t do this.” She had been struggling, feeling completely trapped without her car. To her, it wasn’t just transportation—it was her freedom, and she felt like she had lost everything. The moment I got that text, I knew I had to act fast. I have a friend who’s a counselor, so I called her immediately. She reached out to a psychiatrist, and together, we begged my client to call the police. She finally did, and they sent an ambulance. She was admitted to a psych ward for a few days—just enough time to stabilize her and keep her alive.

That experience will stay with me for the rest of my life. Even now, long after her case was resolved, she still messages me to say, “you literally saved my life.” She ended up moving back home after everything, and now she has a baby. She’s living her life, and she seems to be doing well. But I always think, “What if I hadn’t answered that text? What if I had been too busy?” Or worse, what if I had dismissed it? She told me later that she had been taking pills, actively trying to end her life. I’m just grateful that my friend had the right connections, and that we were able to get help to her in time. And, funny enough, it was one of the strangest cases I’ve ever handled. Because it was a "he said, she said" situation, both insurance companies ended up paying out—his insurance paid her, and her insurance paid him. I guess they just figured, well, we don’t know whose fault it was, and settled it that way. But in the end, the biggest win wasn’t the settlement. It was being there for her in that moment. I had written a book a few years ago about my own challenges, and I gave her a copy. She told me that reading my story helped her see that she could get through this too. And that’s why I do what I do. It’s not just about winning cases—it’s about being a voice for people when they need it most. I truly can’t imagine doing anything else.

How do you build trust with your clients and community, especially when handling sensitive personal information during such difficult times?

I think trust in any relationship starts with honest and open communication. At our firm, we prioritize that. We make it a point to really get to know our clients and to understand their stories because every client has one. They’re not just a case to us. They’re real people who have been through something significant, and we want to help them through it. And to do that effectively, we have to know who they are.

That’s why I emphasize communication with my team. We make it a priority to check in with our clients regularly—at least every 30 days. And beyond just keeping in touch, trust comes from following through on what we say we’ll do. If we tell a client we’re going to call them tomorrow, we make sure we actually call them tomorrow. It’s those little things that build trust—knowing that we’re reliable, that we mean what we say.

Trust also extends beyond direct communication. It’s about how we present ourselves in the world, in the community, and on social media. I always want to make sure that our public presence reflects the responsibility we have to our clients. Not that anyone should feel like they can’t live their life, but when people are putting their faith in you to fight for them, I think they want to know that you take that responsibility seriously.

As a young mother balancing school, career changes, and a young family, what challenges have you faced as a woman in this industry? Have you encountered any pushback, and how have you navigated it?

I think just being a woman in the world can be challenging because we have so much to navigate. But being a mom in the legal industry? That’s a whole different level. You’re expected to always be “on.” You’ve got people’s lives—literally—in your hands, and at the same time, you have a family that depends on you. You’ve got kids to take care of, meals to make, schedules to juggle. I know a lot of women have experienced situations where male counterparts make them feel undervalued, and maybe I have too. But honestly, I can’t even think of a specific example. I guess it’s because of how I grew up—I’ve always kind of felt like the underdog. So, at this point, that stuff doesn’t even phase me anymore.

For me, the bigger challenges right now are managing my staff, my clients, and their expectations—doing the best possible job for them—while still being present at home. Making sure my kids have lunch in the morning, figuring out logistics when I have to be in court two hours away but also need to pick them up from school. Those are the things that weigh on me more than, say, what some guy in the office thinks. Maybe I’ve just built up a tough shell over time, but that kind of noise? It doesn’t even register anymore. If you’ve been put in a box for so long, at some point, you just decide—whatever, I’m doing my own thing no matter what anyone else thinks.

Have any mentors or communities influenced your career? Can you share a meaningful experience?

I have two women that I always talk about, and I mention them in my book as well. One of them has since passed away. She was my law school professor, Luevonda Ross.. She was a Black woman, and at my law school, there were maybe five Black students total. It was a small percentage of us, and she was the only Black female professor. Having her in that space meant so much because I could identify with her, and she identified with me. She was incredibly encouraging. She was our trial team coach, taught criminal law, and gave me an opportunity that truly changed my life.

I was about to drop out of law school—I didn’t have the money to stay. During my first semester, I was in her office crying, telling her I didn’t think I could afford to continue. And she just looked at me and said, “You’re going to get through this.” She encouraged me, reassured me, and then told me she might have an opportunity for me to earn some money. She made me her research assistant, and while it wasn’t a lot, it was enough to help me stay in school. More than that, her encouragement let me know that there were people who wanted me to be there, people who believed in me. I needed to push through.

She left the school after my class graduated and later became a judge in Arkansas. Sadly, she passed away from cancer. But I truly believe my law school experience would have been so different without her. She was the one who helped me—and the other Black women at the school—navigate challenges that she had faced herself. She shared her experiences, including the obstacles she encountered even at the school. Having her support made all the difference.

The other woman who had a huge impact on my life was my manager at HUD when I worked for the government. She was another Black woman who saw my struggles and helped me through them. At the time, I was pregnant, in law school, and trying to complete the required hours to be converted into a career position. It was tough—I was commuting two hours back and forth between Birmingham and Montgomery, exhausted, and just trying to make it all work.

She gave me grace. She saw how hard I was working and did what she could to help, even when it meant bending the rules a little letting me work from home an extra day when she could, giving me just enough flexibility to stay on track. Some people would have just said, the rules are the rules, but she understood that I needed a little bit of grace to get through. If she hadn’t fought for me, I don’t know if I would have been able to meet the requirements for my career position at HUD. I truly owe that to her. I am so grateful for women like that—women who see another woman trying to make it and reach back to pull them up. They both did that for me when I needed it the most.

What aspects of your profession are you most passionate about? What excites you the most?

I’m really passionate about helping people through some of the darkest moments of their lives. In this field, the remedy we can provide is money. And yes, we work hard to get as much as we can for our clients because that’s the system we operate in. But what good is the money if the person who’s been harmed feels ignored—like they don’t matter? I’m passionate about making sure our clients have a good experience, not just with their recovery but with the entire process. A million dollars, two million dollars—none of that makes a difference if they feel like no one stood by them, fought for them, or cared about them along the way. That kind of experience can diminish even the best financial outcome.

So, for me, it’s about more than just the result—it’s about guiding people through, helping them see the light at the end of it all, helping them find moments of happiness and joy on the other side. That’s what drives me. I’ve told my team that we’re getting back to the basics—making sure our clients feel heard, that they know we’re there for them, and that communication is always a priority. That’s something I want to ensure continues for as long as this firm exists.

What advice do you have for new attorneys, especially women, entering the field?

I think it really depends on what they’re going into, but generally, I’d say: be where your feet are. I know we always want the next thing – “Okay, I got my law degree, now I want to be making this amount of money or I need to have 100 cases right away.” But take it slow. Be present. Enjoy the journey. Learn as much as you can and apply it where you can. But don’t get caught up in what everyone else is doing and start feeling inadequate or like you’re not doing enough.

I remember when I first started my firm in 2015—actually, we’re at the 10-year mark this year. At the time, my third child was just two months old, and I was starting my firm out of my basement. I stayed there for three years. That was one of the hardest times for me because I couldn’t get out and network the way I needed to in order to grow the business. I had young kids at home, and I was trying to build something while working out of my basement. I felt so inadequate, like, what am I even doing? Is this going anywhere?

But now, ten years later, I see that the journey itself was just as important and just as rewarding as where I’ve ended up. So, take it slow. Just because you’re not where someone else is doesn’t mean you’re not making progress. The people you see excelling have been at it for 20 or 30 years. Understand where you are and take it one day at a time.

Why are organizations like the Society of Women Trial Lawyers important to you in your career and professional growth?

Organizations like this are so important for a community. You need a network of like-minded people to grow not just in your practice through networking, but professionally and personally. For me, the Society of Women Trial Lawyers has been incredible. I’ve had the chance to meet people from all over the country—people I probably never would have crossed paths with if I had stayed in my Alabama bubble.

It broadens your horizons, helps you build relationships, and gives you a network of people to refer cases to and ask questions. And especially with this organization, you’re surrounded by people who truly get you, who understand what you’ve been through. I appreciate the big organizations too, but there’s something about this one that makes you feel like you belong, like you’re really part of something. That’s one of the biggest pieces of advice I’d give to a young lawyer: get involved in organizations. And if you join a larger one, find the women’s section or a smaller group within it. Having that tight-knit community makes all the difference.

What is the title of your book, and can you share a brief synopsis, including its main themes and inspiration?

It’s called Only the Strong Thrive, and it’s available on Amazon. I wrote it back in 2018, and it’s kind of like a memoir—a life story. Like I mentioned earlier, I grew up in a lot of chaos. My dad went to jail; he sold drugs. My parents were divorced. There was a lot of domestic violence. And through all of that, I ended up becoming a teenage mother.

The book is about my journey—how I made it to the other side. It was published in 2018, and now, in 2025, I look back and think, “Wow, I really thought I had made it to the other side back then.” But even years later, I see how much more growth has happened. Going from poverty to owning my own business—it's been a journey. And that’s what I share in the book. Writing Only the Strong Thrive has been life-changing, not just for me but for others too. I’ve met so many people through it, people with similar stories, and we’ve connected in a powerful way. I’ve also had clients tell me that reading my book helped them get through their own struggles, which means everything to me.

Looking back on your career, what accomplishments are you most proud of? And as you look ahead, what goals are you striving to achieve?

I’m incredibly proud to say that I’ve been in business for ten years. I’ve been a law firm owner for a decade, which is something I’m very proud of. But I’m just as proud of my humble beginnings because, looking back, I can say, “Wow, I built this from scratch.” I started in my basement with a two-month-old in my lap and two other kids running around. And now, to be here, having served hundreds—maybe even thousands—of clients, making an impact not just through my firm but also by giving back to my community, it’s surreal. I don’t know if I ever imagined I’d be in this position.

I’m really proud of myself for saying, “Yes, you can do this.” And I’m grateful for the people who supported me—my husband has always been a big supporter. But maybe what I’m most proud of is not letting fear stop me. Because fear is always there. At every level, there’s something new to be afraid of. Right now, I’m at a point where hiring an associate feels like the next big leap. And sure, there’s some fear there, but I’m pushing past it. We’re already looking for someone. That’s just how it goes. You acknowledge the fear, push through it, and keep moving forward. And that’s exactly what I’ve done.