The Burnout Epidemic No One Wants to Talk About
You don’t have to be in medicine for long before you start to see the cracks. Sleepless nights, packed patient lists, endless documentation, and a sense of constant pressure—it wears on you. I’ve seen it in colleagues. I’ve felt it myself.
Burnout in medicine is not just real; it’s rampant. Many physicians suffer in silence, feeling trapped in a career that once brought them purpose. Some leave medicine altogether. Others stay, but the joy is gone. What’s worse, we often treat burnout like a personal failure—when in reality, it’s a symptom of a broken system.
But here’s what I’ve learned: you can reclaim your balance. You don’t have to leave medicine to rediscover your sense of well-being. Wellness in this profession isn’t about escaping—it’s about redefining the way we show up.
Wellness Isn’t Just Yoga and Green Smoothies
Let’s get something straight. When we talk about wellness, we often reduce it to a set of trendy habits—yoga, mindfulness apps, a new diet. Those things can help, but they’re not the full picture. True physician wellness starts with how we relate to our work, our time, and ourselves.
When I think about what has helped me stay grounded as a hospitalist—working across Frankford Hospital, Main Line Health, and now Penn Medicine—it’s not any single habit. It’s the mindset I bring to my day, and the boundaries I’ve learned to protect.
Wellness is not a perk. It’s a necessity. And for it to be sustainable, we have to stop seeing it as something we squeeze in after hours. It has to be integrated into how we practice medicine, teach others, and care for ourselves.
The First Step: Let Go of the Superhero Complex
One of the biggest traps in medicine is the belief that we have to be invincible. We’re trained to put patients first at all costs. While that’s noble, it becomes dangerous when we sacrifice our own health in the process.
You can’t pour from an empty cup.
I’ve learned this the hard way. Early in my career, I thought staying late, skipping breaks, and taking on extra shifts made me a better doctor. But over time, it made me resentful and exhausted. The quality of my care—and my life—began to slip.
Letting go of the “superhero” complex doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And it opens the door to more honest, compassionate medicine—starting with how you treat yourself.
Build Micro-Moments of Recovery Into the Day
I’ve found that the key to balance isn’t about major changes—it’s about small, consistent ones.
Can you pause for five minutes between patients to take a deep breath, drink some water, or step outside for a moment of sunlight? That single pause can reset your nervous system.
Can you connect with a colleague at lunch, instead of eating alone at your desk? That conversation can remind you you’re not in this alone.
Can you take ten minutes at the end of your shift to reflect on one thing that went well? That moment of gratitude can protect your sense of purpose.
These “micro-moments” of recovery don’t cost anything, but over time, they change everything.
Reclaim the Parts of You That Exist Outside Medicine
For me, wellness also lives in the places far from the hospital—among trees, birdsong, and trails. Time in nature has been one of the most powerful ways I’ve reconnected with myself. Whether it’s hiking, meditating, or simply sitting outdoors, these moments restore me in ways no prescription can.
I also find clarity and calm through chess. The focus it requires, the mental stillness, the challenge—it’s a kind of therapy that speaks to my mind and soul. Everyone has something like this. A hobby. A passion. A place they feel most like themselves. The key is not forgetting it in the rush of clinical life.
Doctors are people too. And the parts of you that aren’t medical—the artist, the runner, the parent, the thinker—deserve just as much attention.
Redefine Success on Your Terms
One of the biggest shifts that helped me find balance was changing how I define success. For years, I thought success meant seeing the most patients, earning the top teaching awards, or being the first to arrive and the last to leave. And yes, I’ve been fortunate to be recognized with awards like the D. Stratton Woodruff Award and the Faculty Award for Teaching. But now, I see those honors differently.
Today, success for me looks like making a patient feel heard. Teaching a resident not just what to think, but how. Going home with enough energy to be present for my family. Getting outside on the weekend. Laughing. Sleeping well.
These moments may not appear on a CV, but they’re the ones that sustain a life in medicine.
You Don’t Have to Choose Between Medicine and Your Well-Being
Perhaps the most important message I want to share is this: you can be a great doctor and take care of yourself. These things are not in conflict. In fact, they depend on each other.
Our system needs to change. But until it does, we can change the way we move through it. We can advocate for better schedules, speak openly about our limits, and support each other in the process.
We don’t need more martyrs. We need more balanced, whole, and fulfilled physicians who lead by example.
Final Thoughts: Healing the Healers
The work we do is sacred. It demands a lot of us. But if we lose ourselves in the process, we’re no longer healing—we’re just surviving.
Burnout doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you care. But caring for others can’t come at the cost of your own well-being.
So let’s redefine wellness. Not as something to reach when we finally “have time,” but as something we weave into every part of our day, our practice, and our lives.
Because when doctors are well, patients are better served. And when we heal ourselves, we become even more powerful agents of healing for others.