This month, I write about two retreats I took part in over the last month and what happens when physicians are given a safe place to tell their stories. It's a reflection on how vulnerability can be the pathway to connection.
Over the past month, I’ve had the privilege of attending two physician retreats that left a profound impact on me.
The first was the inaugural Stand Up for Doctors retreat in Ossining, New York, where I joined about 40 other physicians who share a passion for supporting physician well-being. The second was a retreat I facilitated for a large multispecialty medical group from Eastern Washington, entitled “Connect, Renew, and Lead,” held in the foothills of the North Cascades.
Both retreats took place amid spectacular fall scenery and shared many common themes. But what made them especially meaningful wasn't the beautiful surroundings or even the carefully planned programs. It was the opportunity for physicians to connect with one another through the simple, yet powerful, act of sharing their personal stories.
Stand Up for Doctors was founded by Kim Downey, a physical therapist and cancer survivor who lost one of her own physicians to suicide while undergoing treatment. Kim opened the retreat by sharing her deeply personal journey through cancer, her gratitude for the physicians who cared for her, and the shock and grief she experienced upon learning of the death of her radiation oncologist.
Her willingness to share so openly created an invitation for the rest of us to do the same. Throughout the weekend, physicians shared stories of struggle and loss, joy and gratitude, resilience and hope. As we listened to one another, the usual professional boundaries began to soften. We were no longer simply physicians gathered around a common cause. We were human beings connecting through our shared experiences.
At the “Connect, Renew, and Lead” retreat, I drew upon the Circle of Trust® approach developed by the Center for Courage and Renewal to create a space where physicians and advanced practice providers from different clinics and hospital settings could reflect on how they care for themselves, support one another, and relate to their larger organization.
I began by sharing my own experience of burnout and recovery. My hope was that by allowing myself to be vulnerable, others might feel safe enough to share their own stories.
And they did.
Over the course of the weekend, participants who had previously known one another primarily through their professional roles began to see each other in a different light. They discovered common struggles, unexpected connections, and a deeper appreciation for the people with whom they work. By the time we parted, there was a palpable sense of connection and community that was far greater than we arrived.
These experiences reminded me of something I have come to believe deeply through my own journey as a physician and my work as a coach.
We cannot truly connect with one another if we feel we must always hide the parts of ourselves that make us human.
From the earliest days of medical training, physicians receive powerful messages about what it means to be a good doctor. Put the patient first. Remain strong. Don't show uncertainty. Keep your emotions in check. And above all, don't let your own needs get in the way of caring for others.
There are certainly times when our ability to remain calm, focused, and composed in the face of uncertainty or crisis is essential. At times, it may even mean the difference between life and death.
But when we carry these expectations into every aspect of our professional and personal lives, they can come at a tremendous cost. We begin to believe that admitting our struggles is a sign of weakness, that asking for help means we are somehow inadequate, and that we are alone in what we're experiencing.
Over time, this can lead to isolation, disillusionment, and burnout.
So how do we begin to break this cycle?
I believe it starts by creating opportunities for physicians to be seen and heard, not just for what they do, but for who they are.
This requires more than simply bringing people together. It takes intentionality, time, and a willingness to create spaces where individuals feel safe enough to speak honestly without fear of judgment, rejection, or professional repercussions. It requires trust, compassion, confidentiality, and the freedom to choose what we are ready to share.
And often, it begins when someone is willing to go first.
I've witnessed the transformative power of this kind of connection in physician retreats, coaching groups, and the confidential Physicians Anonymous support groups I help facilitate (see below). Again and again, I've seen how hearing another physician share a familiar struggle can bring an almost immediate sense of relief.
I'm not the only one who feels this way.
Sometimes, simply knowing that we are not alone can make all the difference.
We spend so much of our professional lives listening to the stories of our patients. Perhaps it's time we made more room to listen to one another's stories as well.
Because beneath our white coats, professional titles, and carefully cultivated images of competence, we all share a fundamental human need.
To be seen. To be heard. To be understood. And to know that we belong.
With Compassion,
Dr. Joe
Whether you're facing uncertainty, burnout, or seeking greater fulfillment in your career, know that support is available. Through individual coaching and retreats for physicians and healthcare teams, I create opportunities for reflection, connection, and growth.
If you or your organization could benefit from this support, I invite you to reach out. Contact me at joe@joeshermanmd.com or schedule a complementary video consultation.
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