You went into medicine because you wanted to help people. And you do.

Every day, often at significant cost to yourself. The long hours, the impossible decisions, the patients you couldn't save, the system that asks more of you than any human being should reasonably give. You carry all of it, usually without complaint, because that's what you were trained to do.

But here's the thing about carrying everything: eventually, your body and mind find a way to let you know it's too much. Maybe it's the irritability that crept in somewhere between your second and third year of residency and never quite left. Maybe it's the emotional numbness that makes you wonder if you've lost something you can't name. Maybe it's the intrusive thoughts after a hard case, the insomnia, the drink you need to wind down, or the quiet but persistent feeling that you are disappearing inside a role that used to feel like a calling.

None of that makes you weak. It makes you human. And it makes you someone who might benefit from having a space that's just for you.

What Healthcare Providers Are Actually Dealing With

The mental health challenges facing physicians and healthcare providers are well documented, even if they're rarely talked about openly. Burnout affects nearly half of all physicians at any given time. Depression and anxiety rates among medical professionals are significantly higher than in the general population. Physicians experience PTSD at rates comparable to combat veterans. And tragically, physicians die by suicide at higher rates than almost any other profession.

These are not personal failures. They are the predictable consequences of a culture that glorifies self-sacrifice, pathologizes vulnerability, and systematically under-resources the people doing the hardest work. You were trained to care for others in their worst moments, often without adequate support, sleep, or time to process what you witnessed. The surprise isn't that so many providers struggle. The surprise is that more people aren't talking about it.

Common experiences I hear from healthcare providers include:

• Burnout and emotional exhaustion that doesn't resolve with a vacation or a day off

• Moral injury from being unable to provide the care you know your patients deserve

• Anxiety, hypervigilance, and difficulty switching off after difficult shifts

• Intrusive thoughts, nightmares, or emotional numbing following traumatic cases

• Imposter syndrome and perfectionism that no amount of achievement ever quiets

• Relationship strain from the demands of your career bleeding into your personal life

• Grief, often unprocessed, from patient losses and the weight of bearing witness to suffering

• A loss of identity or meaning, wondering who you are outside of your work

Therapy That Actually Gets It

There is a meaningful difference between a therapist who has read about physician burnout and one who has spent years working shoulder to shoulder with the people experiencing it. I have been in your world. I have worked in the PICU, the emergency room, and on the floor. I have seen what medical culture does to the people inside it, up close and in real time. When you walk into a session with me, you won't spend your energy explaining why a 28-hour shift is disorienting or why you feel guilty for struggling when your patients have it so much worse. I already understand the culture, the hierarchy, the dark humor that gets you through, and the particular loneliness of being the one everyone else depends on.

My approach is integrative and tailored to you. I draw on evidence-based treatments including EMDR, CPT, Prolonged Exposure, CBT, and ACT to address trauma, anxiety, and burnout at their roots, not just their surface. I also work relationally, because for many providers the experience of being genuinely seen and understood by another person, without having to perform competence or hold it together, is itself part of the healing. Therapy with me is not about handing you a list of self-care tips. It is about doing the real work, at whatever pace makes sense for your life.

Scheduling That Works With Your Reality

I know your schedule does not look like a typical nine to five. Residency doesn't pause for appointments. Call schedules don't care about your mental health needs. And finding a private, consistent hour in the middle of a medical career can feel like one more impossible thing on an already impossible list.

That's why I've built my practice to be as flexible as I can make it. Telehealth means you can join a session from wherever you actually are, whether that's your car in the hospital parking garage between cases, a quiet corner of the call room, your home on a rare day off, or anywhere else you can find fifteen minutes of privacy. You don't have to have it all figured out before you reach out. You just have to reach out.

You Spend Every Day Taking Care of Other People. You Deserve the Same.

The strongest thing I see physicians and healthcare providers do is finally decide that they matter too. That their suffering is worth addressing. That they are allowed to need something.

If any part of this page felt like it was written for you, it probably was. I'd love to connect.