So. I’m 46 years old. Middle Aged. My children think I’m just plain old. But I’m freer now, I think. Technically, with luck and healthy habits, I am only ½-2/3 of the way to the “end” of my life. And I have, in my 40s, achieved many layers of freedom. I’ve achieved a degree of parenting freedom: my children can (for the most part) wipe their own butts, feed themselves, and entertain themselves safely if given the right tools. I am not too far away from the point where they will be able to stay home alone, or drive themselves places. I have achieved a degree of financial freedom: I could fairly easily go part time or not work in medicine at all and still be able to live with comfort, and I am working on passive income sources that would let me make a lot of “work choices” that enhance my happiness in my job. And, most recently and I think importantly, I have achieved “mental freedom” by making a major shift in my frame of mind towards a willingness to choose myself and my family over my job. And believe it or not, this is something that I think has made me BETTER at my job.
Something happened to me about 2 years ago. I realized that I am comfortable with the idea of quitting my job. Why do I now feel comfortable? Many reasons…but mostly because I have clearly replaced my JOB with my FAMILY as my number one priority in my head and heart. And, I have made consistent frugal financial decisions that would let me and my husband do that. And, I have realized that the only person looking out for me is…me (and of course, my family).
Let me flesh out my journey so that you can see what I mean. I have wanted to be a pediatrician since I was about 8 years old. I am a “bleeding heart”, I “baby” my patients, I want to fight against social and economic injustice, I want to join people in their healing process. I gave everything in my young years to achieve this goal. I gave my time—I didn’t find my spouse until after training (in my 30s), and indeed had thought I might have to give up my dream of becoming a mother as I did not have my first child until I was 35 years old. I gave my money—I paid my own way though undergrad and medical school. I gave my soul—I lived and died based on my professional successes, my patients’ physical and mental health. I gave my mental health—I ultimately became so anxious and agitated with the broken systems of health care that I made my own family miserable.
I was trained that these sacrifices were necessary (you chose this, you knew what you were getting into, you knew what it would cost), that they were life long (you can’t let down your colleagues, your patients, your hospital by taking extended breaks for maternity leave, mental health, etc), and that only if I continued to buy into this line of thinking would I be rewarded (with a continued job, pay check, pat on the back). These thoughts are so ingrained in me, that I was willing to sacrifice what is truly most important to me (my family, my health) for this job, this hospital. But while I found fulfillment in my work, I realized that my job and hospital didn’t necessarily reciprocate in the way I hoped they would. My emotional bucket was near empty.
For a pediatric endocrinologist, there is very little incentive to “stick around”. Pay increases are minimal. Every time I look at the Doximity pay scales for physicians and see peds endo DEAD LAST (or near it) when compared to other physician specialties, I want to vomit. When financial times are tough for hospitals, pediatricians and pediatric endocrinologists are reminded that we lose money, that our staffing model is expensive. It is a highly resource intensive field, built on service to some of the most vulnerable patients-children with diabetes. I feel that I was drawn (“called, really) to one of the most needed and underserved areas of medicine. Unfortunately, this type of service line is repeatedly shown to be undervalued by hospitals, payors, and society. (Although my colleagues and patients are always profuse with their appreciation).
I now realize where my particular field stands on the financial totem pole. And to some extent that is OK. I did choose this area of medicine. But I also think that I am able to choose to make it better: better compensated, better appreciated, better able to service my patients. I am happy knowing that I can chose to fight to make it better, and because I can also chose to walk away from the fight. I can choose me.
Now that I have the mental and financial freedom to choose whether or not to work, it feels like I’m choosing something joyful. Each day in clinic, when a patient comes in with a challenge, it no longer feels like an obligation—it feels like an honor. I get to choose to help someone move toward better health, and that choice fills my bucket and makes the work lighter.
When patients come in with successes, I get to celebrate with them. Just recently, I saw a child in my diabetes clinic who had made remarkable progress in his own care. We laughed together, talked about how his present choices shape his future health, and even shared a celebratory dance that left us both doubled over in giggles.
When work is something you can choose, it transforms into something fun. But the only way I have found that has allowed me to reach that point is to also have the option not to work. That takes striving for at least some financial freedom—and then, just as importantly, making the conscious decision to balance life with work, every single day. That is my secret to THRIVING.
For part II of this story…click here.
Discover more from Thrive: Life as a Doctor-Mom
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