She’s alone, she’s isolated. She is overworked and underappreciated. She’s expected to be a perfect human being. Any error will be examined, re-examined, pored and obsessed over. She will be criticized, with no opportunity to explain. Express no personal opinions. Don’t say anything controversial. Compliments and thanks are rare. Rewards are nonexistent. No gifts allowed. There’s little cash and not much cachet. Every action is monitored; every word recorded.

The profile of a battered woman? Yes. But also the profile of a New York State Supreme Court trial judge.

The long and winding road to becoming a judge turns into the long and lonely road of being a judge. Once you reach the bench, you can go days or weeks without ever seeing a colleague or interacting with anyone other than your immediate staff, except at a proper distance.

Giving new meaning to “walking around in circles,” walking around the fifth and sixth floors of the 360 degrees that constitute the New York County Courthouse you pass one dark brown, forbidding iron door after another — Justice X, Justice Y — but you will never see a judge. There is no lounge, no cafeteria, no inviting water cooler (judges who pay for water can have it delivered to chambers), nothing to gravitate to, no place, no time, no reason to congregate.

Just as New Yorkers accustomed to co-op and condo living don’t expect to visit  neighbors’ apartments, we don’t drop in at other judges’ chambers either. Nor do we ever enter another courtroom, see any colleagues at work, or make decisions together. Every decision is made unilaterally in solitary confinement — no boards, no committees.

There used to be a week of seminars for judges statewide. It was an educational week, but at least one filled with meals together and plenty of gossip. True, at the beginning we had to give up a week’s vacation for the experience, but eventually the Office of Court Administration did away with “judge school,” (and never gave us back the vacation week).

We can work with people for 20 years without knowing much, if anything, about them. There’s no support system, though it’s true that with a death in the family, judges may circle around the bereaved. But a judge trashed by the media or administrative agencies and officials is out there alone.

If you watch enough television, you might think that the judge is the star of the show. But no matter how much we may affect the proceedings — even call the shots — the truth is we are never really part of the story; we are always outsiders, observers in the lives of others. Even though we can sometimes make a difference, more so than in most professions, we see no more than a sliver of the story, just piece of a puzzle. Everyone leaves the courtroom, and we never know how their lives turn out.

Paradoxically, being a judge diminishes one’s participation in the real world. Not only can our courthouse, possibly the busiest in the world, sometimes feel like a morgue, but when you are part of the judiciary, your place in the community and your personal society shrinks. When lawyers come in contact with other lawyers — even adversaries — they exchange cards and meet on "away courts," such as tennis and  squash; they play golf, have drinks. But none of that is available to judges; we are the wallflowers.

And being a judge does change one's personality and brings out latent characteristics. There are those who fall in love with what the public perceives as our power (though we insiders know better); they want to be sure the dry cleaner knows them as "judge," or they make giving orders and, being, well, judgmental, part of a civilian personality. Those who (pre-bench) enjoyed controversy or picking a good political fight, will have to avoid bringing up hot-button subjects in mixed company. Unless it's pillow talk, or surrounded by one's nearest and dearest, only the most careless of judges would say, "I think charging to drive in Manhattan is ridiculous!"  or "I'd never impose the death penalty!"

In a way, we are banished from the legal community. The more lawyers want you as a judge, the less they want you as a friend. There go the dinner parties and hanging out poolside in East Hampton. Natural peers do not become friends, because you may have to recuse yourself if they ever have litigation in your courtroom. A slight connection can evolve into a hands-off lawyer-judge situation.

Take my experience with SK, an active litigator in this city. We had the same fitness trainer and exercised together . . . and then walked home together, and then had coffee together . . . leading to: recusal!

It’s one or the other, and hands-off wins every time. I’m also reminded of the time a law school friend, who would never have appeared before me, let's call her JD, invited me to a very stylish restaurant for my birthday. It was a delightful lunch until she whipped out a credit card and said, “My firm is paying for this.”  When I declined to be fed by her firm, JD scoffed,  “My partners take federal judges out to lunch every day.” Indeed. Meantime, in the State of New York, there is no such thing as a free lunch.  And, come to think of it, I haven’t heard from JD since.

We also don’t hear much from the people we knew in politics (most judges having had some contact with politics). As a judge, you say goodbye to all that, to  a world of people it was nice knowing. Or not. But contact with the political process is prohibited, and you are summarily cut off from that crowd — except for the occasional 100-percent social event. No politics, no candidates, no fundraising. There are countless rules against serving charitable organizations. Be careful if you are on a board, or your name shows up on a committee.

Whatever you do, don’t sell your kid’s Girl Scout cookies — and not because of trans fats — but because the professional consequences can be almost dire. And if a family member or a spouse is holding a meeting or a fundraising event, it is not enough for the judge to leave the room — she must not even stop to say hello, she must run away from home.

For myself, even if I run away from this judicial life, it is too painful to examine   whether I would do it all again, starting with my exhilarating first election campaign while nine months pregnant. So, you ask, would I recommend a judicial career to my own daughter? Well, the good news is that she has all the choices in the world. Yet, if she asks me, the answer will probably be, “I don’t think so.”