So, What Are You Going to Do Next?

The most common question I received after announcing I am leaving the office.

When friends, family, colleagues, and patients started to find out that I'm leaving my practice, one of the most common questions is, "So, what are you going to do?" I too thought this when I first embarked on the possibility of leaving my practice. I silently stayed with this question for months. I listened to podcasts and books, read articles about others leaving their jobs, asked my grandma, asked Buddha, asked my husband, asked my dogs, but no one offered anything that gave me the answer I wanted. I stalled on my decision because I felt like I needed to know what to do next.

Exit Plan A, B, or C?

Looking back, what I was seeking in others was someone to tell me the exact next steps to take to get out of my misery. This perfect exit plan would be presented neatly in a package of:

• When to leave

• How to give my notice to everyone in my life, personal and at work

  • the exact message so I wouldn't be looked down upon to walk away

  • how not to hurt anyone with my message

  • still be liked

  • have all the answers to the questions that will be asked

• What to do between giving my notice and my last day

• What to do afterwards, in the first week, the first months, first year

  • that will pay the bills

  • be happy

  • be healthy (note how I wrote this last)

No one could provide this except me, but I didn't know it at the time. Having been trained on a career path that led me from point A to B to C, with all the requirements written out, charting my own next step was foreign.

As dentists and other professions that have this linear, clearly defined academic training future, we are not prepared for what happens after graduation. Go to residency, yes, another place we know on this well-worn path, with another set of entrance requirements, graduation requirements, and a timeline of when the training will be over. And then? Oh yes, go get a job and start paying back the hundreds of thousands of dollars that funded this journey. Now this is where things can get nerve-wracking for those of us who found comfort in the pre-prescribed adventure. Now, it's pick your own adventure with a vague idea of what to expect but actually mostly ignorant of what's to come. I picked the adventure of owning my own practice, but there's no timeline of milestones and definitely none that specifies the stopping point. So as I'm seeking the perfect packaged exit plan, what I was really looking for is permission.

Last lunch break walk on the Snoqualmie Valley Trail This is where I went to refresh mid-day when working in Duvall.

The Makings of a Permission Slip to Quit My Job

It was a miserable half a year or so while I searched for the answers to an exit plan. I knew it didn't feel good to keep working in the same conditions that I had been. I was physically exhausted, mentally worn, my wrist hurt, my neck ached, and the joy of connecting with patients was muted because there were more patients waiting for me to see. Hour after hour, week after week. The outlook of spending the rest of my working years in the same capacity felt like I was stuck in a box that kept getting smaller and smaller. I imagine this is what an animal feels when trapped and can't get free. The fear sinks in each time I try to think of ways to escape and don't see a clear way out. Then something terrible and wonderful happened. I got hives that wouldn't go away. Not with all the pharmacy's allergy meds, all the supplements and tinctures available, nor with strong steroid topical gels. Physicians and specialists I had consulted and had lesions biopsied told me it was most likely bed bugs or bugs my dogs brought into the bed. When I said I sleep fully clothed while my husband doesn't and hasn't gotten a single bite, that was ignored. (I'll write about advocating for your own health in another post.) The itchiness and the idea of bugs woke me up at night when the ice packs I strapped to myself would warm up and I had to get new ice packs on me to fall back to sleep. This went on for a solid month. Each day, the older welts would sink back into my skin, leaving a darkened reminder, and a few new ones would pop up to replace them on a different part of my body. I became consumed with feeling for that "tingle" that would mean more was about to show up in that area. It was a dark time for me.

I knew it was stress-induced from what was happening at work, but I told myself I just needed to "figure it out." My husband, Tony, finally convinced me to take systemic steroids to stop the hives until then. I remember, like a sweet luxurious dream, when I slept through the night without ice packs. No more tingles and new itchy welts rising up from my skin. During my routine lunch walk after the steroids had kicked in, I was talking to Tony on the phone and quietly sobbed, "I forgot what normal feels like. Thank you." That was when I knew, I don't need to know what I'm going to be doing next to know that I won't be doing this anymore." Permission slip granted.

My Guidance Counselor

In high school we had gudiance counselors. In college we had advisors. In dental school we had mentors. Those who know the landscape that most of us young, naive, unafraid human beings were embarking on. But what about life as a 43 year old? Whose door do I knock on to ask for advice? Turns out, it was me. No one knows me, like I know me (is there a Disney song that speaks to this?). No one knows what makes me joyful, the feeling only I feel in my heart that feels bright like a sun peering over bouncy clouds. On the other hand, no one also knows what makes me feel misery and trapped, like being caught in a nightmare that I can't wake myself from. And maybe, just like when I was young and didn't listen to some of the advice I received from my advisors and mentors, I also didn't hear my own voice. She had been warning me, attempting to steer me in a different direction, giving permission to move on.

But like my young defiant self, I knew better than to listen to her. I didn't listen to my inner voice when this work situation wasn't sustainable. I convinced myself by thinking my way out of it, by rationalizing it, by waiting for the answer to what's the next step before taking the next step. Well, that inner voice, when dismissed, started to scream in a voice and a language I couldn't ignore. For me, it happened to be hives. I consider myself lucky to have it manifest in nothing more than chronic hives (later diagnosed correctly by an allergist). Sometimes, prolonged stress mechanisms in the body will show up in more severe conditions, such as autoimmune disorders or turning on genes for cancer cells.

Once the hives completely calmed down, I began to respect that inner voice, my guidance counselor. I definitely don't want her screaming at me again, but I had to learn to reconcile that intuitive voice with my rational, overly pragmatic mind. Serendipitously, around this time, I stumbled upon the author Martha Beck on an episode of the Mel Robbins podcast. After hearing her story, I was drawn to her book, "Finding Your Own North Star." I downloaded the book to listen to on my way to work, completing the exercises when I was able to sit down long enough. I looked forward to the exercises and found that in the quiet moments of the mornings, before the world wakes up and the dogs start to bark at absolutely nothing, it was my time to reconnect with a part of me that I had told to stay quiet for too long. I started to hear that guiding voice and became more familiar with her. I believe that feeling is there to guide and help us, to spare us from danger and heartache, and lead us to a place of safety and love.

Choose Your Own Adventure Time, Again!

Now, I set my sights on the future me. The me that no longer traps myself in situations where it doesn't feel good to be in my own skin. A future that fosters health in body, mind, and meaningful relationships with myself and others. This means saying goodbye so I may say hello to that future. (Read the goodbyes here - It's Hard to Say Goodbye Parts 1 and Part 2) 

Though I have been reacquainted with my inner guidance counselor, tuning into her is a continual practice. Her voice presents itself more like a feeling in the heart and gut that one would describe with texture and color, nudging like a physical push towards one path versus another. It was the initial feeling that presented in my gut when the work life was unsustainable. At that time, I called it stress and exhaustion. But what I felt was dark and murky, and constrictive. Something I wanted to get away from. The idea of removing myself from this situation, to create space, to let light in and breathe expansive, nourishing breaths was where my compass pointed. And the longer I sat with it, the scary idea of leaving my practice was replaced with the feeling of clear waters, open fields, softness in between the spaces of time and the unknown. By now, I know I'll be okay.

With this conviction in my heart and the support of knowing what I'll be doing is right for me, I set the course. Was it still scary? Just a little. The excitement of living a more well balanced life was much more monumental than the nerves. I set my last day of work and planned backwards. Everything fell into place naturally. The annoucements, the answers to the many questions that came all settled in as if it was meant to be. Days leading up to my last were calm and tranquil, which further confirmed that the decision was right.

I still consider myself to be at the infancy of my rediscovery with my inner guidance counselor. But I trust her advice. And to answer the question of, "What are you going to do next?" I'm going to do what will feel like a nudge toward the life path that is in alignment with what brings loving relationships, a healthy body, and a peaceful spirit.

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