When I distanced myself from my clinical practice, it wasn’t due to a lack of concern. It stemmed from a profound care—for my patients, my fellow practitioners, and the future of healthcare. I didn’t depart to flee; I left to contribute to mending a culture that was silently damaging many of us.

You can cherish medicine and choose to stop seeing patients. You can cherish medicine and alter your perspective on patient care. Following your heart, instincts, and deepest callings is a brave, compassionate, and impactful decision.

Before my departure five years ago, I dedicated decades to fulfilling the role of a good doctor. I worked diligently. I committed wholeheartedly. I practiced pediatrics for more than twenty years. I maintained a flourishing practice filled with patients who appreciated my presence. I led effective teams. I established successful clinics. I created and directed groundbreaking physician wellness initiatives. I was there for everyone.

On the surface, everything appeared satisfactory. Internally, however, something felt amiss. There was no significant downfall. I had already navigated through burnout. My enjoyment in caring for my patients remained. I had administrative time. I found significance in my leadership role. The issue was more of a subtle discomfort. I was no longer operating at my utmost potential. I was fading in roles that no longer aligned with my evolved self.

When remaining simply feels like diminishing, it’s time to pivot. Yearning for a different path isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s wisdom.

Those around me presumed I would maintain the status quo. My patients, colleagues, and family relied on me. My identity was intricately linked to being a pediatrician and a leader. What I failed to recognize was that I was already letting them—and myself—down by not presenting my complete self and inherent strengths.

As doctors, we’re educated to overlook our own needs. To prioritize evidence over intuition. To postpone happiness, bear heavy loads, and equate a “good doctor” with the extent of our struggles.

**How I made the transition**

I hadn’t intended to reinvent my career. I merely started receiving coaching while I was still practicing. Coaching provided me with clarity. It helped me comprehend that yoga teacher training and coaching education were vital—lifelines instead of indulgences.

Coupled with my years in wellness leadership, I grasped something crucial: Mindfulness and coaching are necessities, not luxuries. Mindset and mindfulness tools are essential for a healthy, fulfilling medical career. They revitalized my energy, creativity, and clarity. Like Kintsugi, they repaired the fractured parts of me with gold. They reconnected me with what invigorated my spirit.

Ultimately, I exited my practice to pursue a calling I had been uncovering during my tenure as Chief of Physician Health and Wellness: Transforming the culture of medicine into one that promotes health, sustainability, and genuine care.

Three years in, my husband left his legal career to join me full-time. He was motivated by the influence of what I had created and proposed that I bring him on board. Instead of debating for a living, he now integrates culinary medicine into our retreats and offers legal guidance for our expanding enterprise.

We relocated to a small farm in Northern California—a place we purposely acquired as a refuge for rest and renewal. A space for quiet transformations. We began facilitating physician retreats. Coaching, mindfulness, nourishing body, mind, spirit, and soul, along with sincere dialogues, formed the foundation.

One participant remarked, “What you’re doing here is a metaphor for how to repair medicine.” Initially, I dismissed it. But I’ve come to accept its truth. We didn’t aim to overhaul the system—but by crafting environments for physicians to reconnect with themselves, we’re aiding medicine in healing from the inside out.

**Why shifts feel so challenging in medicine**

The price of being a “good doctor” shouldn’t come at the expense of your well-being. Yet, that’s a message many of us have internalized. We’ve been conditioned to give until we’re depleted. To remain on course. To overextend ourselves and don exhaustion and burnout as symbols of honor.

– In medicine, martyrdom is glorified.
– Rest is deemed as weakness.
– The notion that medicine could be harmonious or rejuvenating is often met with doubt.

Time after time, I encounter physicians from various specialties, at all career stages, who yearn for something greater. Peace. Purpose. Presence. Passion. This yearning doesn’t signify selfishness. It reflects our humanity.

We weren’t taught to trust ourselves. We undervalue imagination. We tend to shoulder everything alone. Alignment doesn’t stem from sacrifice; it comes from presence, trust, and sustainability.

You don’t require a flawless plan. You just need a clear intention and the bravery to initiate. Change isn’t about forsaking medicine. It’s about realigning with what truly matters. Aspiring for change is not a burden. It’s often a signal of health.

When you’ve already achieved success, change feels