Two Careers, One Life
This month, I'm writing about something that doesn't come up often enough in conversations about physician wellbeing: what happens when both partners are physicians, and two careers have to fit into one life. It's a reflection drawn from my own thirty-year marriage - the compromises, the unequal loads, and the one question that has helped Becky and me find our footing through every season.
When I entered medical school, I was single and remained that way through graduation, residency, and the first eight years of my clinical practice. By the time I married my wife, Becky, a clinical psychologist, I had been living the life of a physician for a long time.
And I had grown accustomed to believing that medicine came first.
It took me some time to accept the fact that my life partner was not going to simply stand by my side supporting my vocation while I prioritized the needs of patients over my own—and sometimes over those of my family.
I knew I wanted to be a good pediatrician. But I eventually came to realize that I wanted to be a good husband and father even more.
As it turns out, Becky and I weren't unusual in choosing another healthcare professional as a life partner. Nearly half of physicians are married to another physician or healthcare professional, and somewhere between 20–26% are married to another physician.
It makes sense. If you enter medical school without a partner, you spend much of the next seven to twelve years surrounded by medical students, residents, and other healthcare professionals. These are the people who understand why you missed dinner because a patient crashed at 5:00 PM, why you're exhausted after a night on call, or why a difficult encounter stays with you long after you've left the hospital.
There can be great comfort in sharing your life with someone who understands this world.
But when both partners are physicians, there is another reality:
Two careers have to fit into one life.
For some physician couples, these negotiations begin with the Couples Match, when decisions about specialty, geography, and whose career opportunities may take precedence are already on the table.
And those decisions don't stop after training.
Where should we live? Should we have children? When should we have them? Who cuts back when the children are young? What happens when one partner receives an opportunity that requires more time, travel, or another move?
And perhaps the hardest question:
Whose career gets priority when both careers can't?
I see versions of these questions frequently in my coaching practice.
I've worked with physicians who feel trapped in jobs they no longer enjoy because their physician partner is thriving professionally and leaving would require relocating the entire family. Others feel compelled to reduce their clinical hours because their partner's schedule offers virtually no flexibility. Still others struggle with guilt because they rely heavily on childcare when what they really want is more time at home with their children.
These compromises are not always shared equally.
For female physicians, this can be particularly complicated. Even in dual-physician households, women often continue to shoulder more of the responsibility for children and family life. Research has found that female physicians with children reduce their work hours considerably more than their male physician partners.
What begins as a practical decision—one partner has the more flexible schedule, earns less, or takes time away after having a child—can quietly become the default arrangement for years.
A temporary accommodation can eventually feel like a permanent sacrifice.
There are also real advantages to sharing your life with someone who practices medicine. Your partner understands call schedules, unpredictable emergencies, difficult patient encounters, professional disappointments, and the emotional weight of caring for others—often without lengthy explanations.
The challenge isn't necessarily avoiding compromise.
It's making sure the compromises remain conscious, mutual, and open to change.
One thing I've learned through my own marriage is that what works during one season of life may not work during another.
A decision made during residency doesn't have to determine the next 30 years. The arrangement that works before children may become impossible with a newborn. What works with young children may no longer make sense as they grow older. And when those children eventually become independent, opportunities that once seemed impossible may suddenly become possible again.
Career decisions don't always have to be permanent.
Becky and I have been married for 30 years. During that time, each of us has changed jobs multiple times. Both of us have worked part-time at different points, and both of us have taken time away from work altogether. We raised two children who have now graduated from college and entered young adulthood.
None of it was easy.
And if I'm being truthful, especially when our children were young, Becky carried more of the child-raising responsibilities than I did.
Looking back, I can see more clearly the accommodations she made that allowed me to pursue opportunities in my own career. That awareness matters.
But something else mattered too.
Over the years, we gradually learned that neither of our careers could automatically be the center around which everything else revolved. There were times when my work took priority and other times when hers did. Sometimes our children needed to take priority over both.
We did our best to keep the lines of communication open and re-evaluate whenever something changed or another opportunity arose.
The goal was to keep asking:
What matters most to us now?
That may be one of the most important questions dual-physician couples—or any couple trying to navigate two meaningful careers—can ask each other.
What are we willing to sacrifice for our careers?
What are we not willing to sacrifice?
Is the arrangement we made five years ago still serving both of us today?
And does the life we are building together reflect what we say matters most?
Medicine has a way of convincing us that every professional opportunity is urgent and every sacrifice is temporary.
Life has a way of reminding us otherwise.
Our careers are important. They can provide purpose, identity, service, and tremendous meaning.
But they are still only part of the life we are building together.
Be kind to yourself—and to each other.
—Dr. Joe
Pediatrician, Physician Professional Development Coach, Retreat Facilitator
Whether you are facing uncertainty, burnout, seeking direction, or striving for greater fulfillment in your career, know that support is available. If you or someone you know could benefit from coaching, I invite you to reach out. Together, we can explore how to transform challenges into opportunities for personal and professional growth.
Contact me at joe@joeshermanmd.com or schedule a free video consultation.