Tough Days In Direct Primary Care
I had just come back from a walk on a beautiful morning, feeling ready to start the day. My assistant and I had planned a “Media Friday” to map out social posts and dream a little about the future. Before showering, I thought I’d sneak in a quick email check to get ahead on a few tasks.
“Oh boy,” I said out loud, seeing a message from a patient I’ll call Joe. He was unhappy with his care and wanted more from me. A piece of anxiety ran through me, and I let it move through my body instead of pushing it away. He’d made some fair points, and I could see his side of it. Then imposter syndrome showed up, fear and nausea in tow. I decided to let them in and see what they had to teach me.
Meditation was the only answer. I sat down on the floor and just listened. There it was: self-judgment, a side of shame, a sprinkle of catastrophizing. I let it all settle and kept breathing. Some days, the next breath is all I’ve got.
A couple of weeks before that, another patient (I’ll call him Raul) messaged to cancel his membership. He admitted he’d hoped I could offer a quick fix, and he was disappointed to be going back on antidepressants from his psychiatrist. It was clear he’d believed a few supplements and lifestyle tweaks could undo years of anxiety and depression. Looking back, there were things I could have explained more clearly. I understood where he was coming from, even as I sat with the truth that I still haven’t found a fast route out of chronic illness myself. He was gracious about it, telling me more than once, “Your heart is in the right place”, a phrase that never once landed as comfort. It felt less like reassurance and more like being told I wasn’t a good enough doctor, with a pat on the head to soften the blow.
Ugh. I feel flustered, a little fumbling, and also aware that I need to slow down. And still, I’ve come a long way. Years of therapy have done their job, because even mid-belly-flop, I still love myself. I can keep working on who I am while also telling my patients the truth: I’m human, and I don’t have more to give than I’m already giving. That boundary isn’t just healthy. It’s lifesaving, and I can feel the relief of holding it.
Thankfully, Joe and I found our way to a healthy resolution, and I let Raul go with love. What matters most through all of it is that I keep holding myself close, knowing I will disappoint people no matter how hard I try. We’re all worthy of love simply because we exist, and I’m letting that truth wrap around me like a warm blanket in the dead of winter.
