Hi healers,
Last month, life threw me a curveball.
What was supposed to be a surprise party and joyful family visit for my mom’s 70th birthday unexpectedly turned into us saying goodbye to my dad.
And as I'm sure you can imagine, a lot came up for me.
Grief obviously. Sadness. Fear. Disorientation. Numbness. But also something I wasn’t quite expecting: scarcity.
Which was interesting because objectively, I’m okay.
Over the years, I’ve worked really hard to build stability into my practice and life. I have a consistent rhythm in my schedule. I know my numbers. I know my expenses. I know my savings goals. I’ve built systems and structure that support me really well.
And still… when this happened, it's like my body reacted like the rug had been pretty violently ripped out from underneath me.
I think that’s because when something like this happens, your world may feel like it stops 🚫 but everyone else’s keeps moving.
Patients still email wanting appointments.
Bills still auto-withdraw.
Messages still come in.
People still need things from you.
And many of them have no idea your entire inner world has just been turned upside down.
What caught me off guard wasn’t just the grief itself.
It was how quickly being thrown off my normal rhythm affected me.
🏋🏻‍♀️ My gym routine disappeared.
🍽️ My eating habits changed.
đź’¤ Sleep changed.
📆 My work schedule changed.
The little rituals and rhythms that keep me grounded every day suddenly vanished while I was sitting in hospital rooms.
When your nervous system is already carrying something so heavy, even small decisions suddenly feel enormous.
At first, I was hesitant to cancel too much while we were still in that “wait and see” phase. In fact, I actually went into work for a half day while my dad was in the hospital.
And before I even finished that shift, I got a call from my mom telling me I needed to get back to the hospital right away.
I remember sitting there thinking:
"Gen, you built a system for the worst case scenario, and that scenario is here now.
You need to stop trying to hold everything together like everything is normal"
I think sometimes when we’ve worked hard to build stability — financially, emotionally, structurally — there can still be this strange feeling that leaning on that support somehow means we’ve failed.
Like we’re allowed to build safety nets… but emotionally we still believe we should never actually need them or use them.
Building systems was the whole point.
So life can happen.
In that moment, the most supportive thing I could do for myself was be with my family.
- To not worry about my schedule.
- To not worry about work.
- To not worry about trying to be the perfect practitioner holding it all together for everyone else.
- And when I leaned into that, you know what showed up? Kindness.
My patients were so understanding. So compassionate. Even with last-minute cancellations, something I almost never do. The thoughtful messages, the grace, the humanity of it all… it really stayed with me.
It reminded me that maybe people don’t need us to be perfectly polished all the time. Maybe they just need us to be real.
As practitioners, I think we can sometimes fall into this belief that professionalism means overriding our humanity. That being “good” at this work means functioning no matter what is happening in our lives.
But difficult seasons are part of being human.
Whenever I go through something physically or emotionally painful, I try to remember: this is also part of what allows me to understand my patients more deeply.
I don’t think difficult seasons make us worse practitioners. I think they make us more honest ones.
This is the first email in a series I want to dedicate to something we don’t talk about enough in healthcare: how to keep practicing when you’re not okay.
Because life happens to practitioners too.
And maybe sustainable practice isn’t about how well we function when life is easy. Maybe it’s about whether the life and practice we’ve built can hold us when life gets hard.
Have you had any hard moments of not being ok in your practice? Reply to this email if you need a reminder that you aren't alone and that doing good work is sometimes hard work.
Talk soon,
Geneviève 🌿
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