The Day I Realized Hustle Was Hurting My Patients (and Me)
I remember the exact moment I realized something was off.
It was 3:45 p.m. on a clinic day that was already running behind. My inbox was overflowing, my stomach was growling, and I still had a stack of charts waiting for me after I got home to the kids.
I walked into the exam room, smiled, and went into my usual rhythm.
My patient started talking about her symptoms, but my brain was split in five directions:
I need to sign that prior auth… I’m going to miss pickup if I don’t leave on time… Did I ever answer that message from the hospitalist?
At one point, I heard myself ask, “Any other questions?”
But my hand was already on the door.
She paused. Looked down.
And said, “No, that’s it.”
Something in my gut knew that wasn’t true.
That night, I woke up at 2 a.m. replaying that visit.
Did I rush her? Did I miss something? Was she really done, or just matching my pace?
That’s when the truth hit me:
I was hustling so hard…
I was starting to become the kind of doctor I never wanted to be.
When Hustle Becomes the Default
Medicine trains us to normalize extremes.
Long calls. Skipped meals. Five-minute lunches eaten standing up. Charting at midnight. “I’m fine” on repeat.
And if you’re a high performer by nature—doctor, executive, founder, athlete—that grind can almost feel like an identity.
You get praised for what you can carry.
You get rewarded for how much you can push through.
But there’s a cost we don’t talk about enough:
Exhaustion quietly dulls empathy.
Fatigue blurs judgment.
Constant rushing disconnects you from your own body.
I realized I was still performing well on paper—my notes were done, my procedures were solid, my patients liked me.
But I wasn’t always present.
And presence is where real medicine happens.
The Subtle Ways Burnout Showed Up
My burnout didn’t arrive as a dramatic collapse.
It showed up in small ways:
• Feeling irritated more quickly with “complex” patients.
• Labeling someone as “non-compliant” instead of wondering why they were scared or overwhelmed.
• Charting while the patient was still talking.
• Giving good medical advice… but in an energy that was rushed, drained, or distracted.
Physically, my body was also talking to me:
Tension in my jaw and shoulders I ignored.
Nights where my mind wouldn’t shut off.
That sense of being “tired but wired” at the end of the day.
I would warn my patients about stress, inflammation, gut health, and nervous system overload…
Then go live in the exact pattern I was telling them to avoid.
That misalignment did not sit well with me.
The Shift: My Nervous System Is Not Optional
The turning point wasn’t just, “I’m tired.”
It was, “My hustle is becoming a liability—for my patients, my family, and myself.”
I had to rewrite a belief I’d carried for years:
Old belief: “A great doctor sacrifices herself for everyone else.”
New belief: “A regulated doctor is a safer, wiser, more effective healer.”
Once I saw that clearly, I couldn’t unsee it.
I started treating my own nervous system like I would treat one of my VIP patients.
No, I didn’t suddenly quit medicine and move to a beach.
What changed first were the micro-habits.
The Micro-Habits That Helped Me Reset
I didn’t have three extra hours a day to “self-care” my way out of burnout.
But I did have 30–90 seconds between moments.
Here’s what I started doing:
1. One Breath Before Every Room
Before walking into a patient room or meeting, I pause for one slow inhale and one slow exhale.
I feel my feet on the ground.
I ask myself: How am I entering this space?
That alone changes how I show up.
2. Sit Down, Even for 60 Seconds
Instead of hovering by the door, I sit.
Body language matters. When I sit, patients open up faster.
They feel less rushed—even if the visit is the same length.
3. Non-Negotiable Basics
Nothing fancy:
A real snack or meal during the day.
Hydration I would nag my patients about.
Protecting a sleep window whenever possible.
Is it perfect every day? Of course not.
But my baseline is no longer “depleted by default.”
4. One Boundary at a Time
I started saying no to the things that didn’t align with my mission, so I could protect the things that did:
No more adding “just one more” thing after a certain hour.
Protecting time with my kids.
Creating space to build what I was called to build—Unlocking GI and Game Beyond the Game.
What Changed
As my nervous system softened, my medicine sharpened.
I started:
Listening more deeply instead of just collecting symptoms.
Catching details I might have missed on autopilot.
Feeling less guilty and more grounded at the end of the day.
Patients felt it too.
They opened up more. They trusted more. They followed through more.
And beyond the clinic, it gave me the clarity and energy to step into my other lanes—supporting high performers, curating experiences with Prince, and helping people protect both their health and their purpose.
If You’re Reading This and Feeling the Tug…
Whether you’re a physician, executive, founder, or high performer in any field, you might recognize yourself in this.
If so, here’s a simple starting point for today—not next month:
Name your signal.
Where is hustle quietly dulling your empathy, judgment, or joy?
Take one mindful breath before your next conversation.
Just one. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Feel your feet on the floor.
Choose presence once today, on purpose.
Sit down. Look someone in the eyes. Don’t rush the last sentence.
The day I realized hustle was hurting my patients was not my worst day as a doctor—it was one of my most important ones.
Because it was the day I decided I could still be a high performer…
But not at the expense of my health, my family, or the people who trust me to care for them.
