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There's a version of physician wellness we've all quietly accepted.
The physician finds something that fills them back up. Golf. The gym. A solo trip somewhere. And the family waits for them to come home.
Nobody's wrong for needing that. But nobody's talking about what it costs the spouse who's been home all week, holding everything together, watching the car back out of the driveway on a Saturday morning.
That's where this conversation starts.
Mike and Ashley Christensen are a physician family from St. George, Utah. Mike is an anesthesiologist, about ten years into practice. They have four kids. More than a decade of medical marriage behind them. Together they built the MedGolf Wellness Foundation and a golf tournament series called Clubs and Scrubs. The whole premise: physician wellness that actually includes the family, not just the physician.
But before Mike became the person who organizes those tournaments, he was the person Ashley quietly resented for golfing.
She'll say it plainly. When he'd head to the course on a rare day off, she was home with kids, running on fumes. His few hours on the fairway felt like something taken from an already thin margin. She didn't say it out loud. She just held it.
Then one day he asked her to ride along. Not to play. Just to ride.
She had never actually been on a golf course. Her dad had golfed her entire life. She got in the cart, looked around at the open air and the quiet and the people unhurried out there on the grass, and thought, "Oh! This is what you've been doing."
She plays now and genuinely loves it. But what shifted wasn't the golf. It was the understanding that a husband who fills himself back up shows up differently at home. And that was what she wanted all along.
There's a line from this conversation I want you to hear for yourself. Resentment doesn't come from your spouse having something they love. It comes from being the only one who doesn't.
If that landed for you, this episode is worth your time.
Mike and Ashley also get into something that has been frustrating physician families for a long time: why hospital wellness programs keep missing the mark. Mike's Doctor's Day story alone is worth the listen.
And in the back half, he talks about the physician families he's building this foundation for. Some of what he shares is hard to sit with. It's also exactly the kind of thing this community needs to hear someone say out loud.
What You'll Learn (with Timestamps)
Resources Mentioned
Your Next Steps
The Lindsay Clancy case opened a lot of important conversations. I was inside one of them last week, talking about the maternal mental health side of what happened. Today I want to stay inside the same story and move to a different part of the room. Patrick Clancy has filed a civil malpractice suit against the physicians who cared for Lindsay. Somewhere, in houses nobody is talking about, the spouses and families of those named physicians are waking up every morning under a cloud that has no guaranteed end date.
Nobody is asking how they are. I want to.
If you are a physician spouse, you already understand better than most what it means to carry something significant and carry it quietly. You understand the performance of steadiness when nothing feels steady. You know what it costs to make it look easy when easy is the last thing it is.
Litigation season is unlike any other hard season I have witnessed inside a medical marriage. It is not acute. It does not move through you and pass. It is ambient. It lives in the background of ordinary life, the school pickups, the dinners, the day that started like any other, and occasionally breaks through without warning when a stack of documents arrives or an application asks the one question you have started to dread.
What that does to you personally, to your marriage, to the quiet texture of your daily life, is something nobody is counting. The moral injury your physician carries does not stay at the hospital. The chronic anxiety that replaces their confidence comes home.
This episode is for the spouses in the background. The one holding everything together while the case moves at its own pace on its own timeline, entirely outside your hands. The one who has gotten very good at answering "fine" just convincingly enough to get through the next question. Who is handling it. And who is not okay. And who may not be sure, at this point, whether those two things are still different.
They are. And that distinction is where everything begins.
What You'll Learn
Resources Mentioned
The Hidden Cost of Being the Strong One — free 15-question assessment
Your Next Steps
A woman who did everything the system tells you to do... reached out early, trusted her providers, brought every insider advantage a medical family has to the table... and it still nearly wasn't enough.
When Emily E. Johnson's son was born in 2023, her husband was finishing his fourth year of medical school. Between the two of them, they had more healthcare literacy than most families walking through a hospital door. So when her anxiety started building, day by day, when small things like strapping a car seat or cleaning bottles started to feel impossible, they knew what you're meant to do. They asked for help. Early. Within the first couple of weeks.
What they weren't prepared for was what came next. The providers they trusted kept offering appointments months away, then weeks away, then finally next week, while Emily was losing her ability to eat or sleep and having thoughts that terrified her. Two and a half weeks. That's how long it actually took her to land in the kind of specialised care that made the difference. Two and a half weeks doesn't sound like a long time until you're the one living inside a crisis, watching every hour stretch into its own kind of eternity.
What struck me most in this conversation wasn't only Emily's story, it was what she's since learned about the rest of the world. In many countries, new mothers are never left alone for the first forty days. Someone comes and stays, cooks, holds the baby so she can rest, treats her recovery as seriously as the baby's needs. Here, whether a mother can access specialised, mother and baby together care depends almost entirely on whether her community happened to have someone fight hard enough, or grieve hard enough, to build it. Fewer than ten of these perinatal partial hospitalisation programmes exist in the whole country, and most exist because of a tragedy, not because anyone decided in advance that mothers deserved the infrastructure.
I sat down with Emily to talk through all of it: the traumatic first weeks, the walls between healthcare systems that nearly cost her the help she needed, and what she wants every hospital system watching the news right now to actually do about it. It's a hard conversation and an important one, and I think you'll come away from it, like I did, with more hope than you'd expect.
What You'll Learn (with Timestamps)
Resources Mentioned
Your Next Steps
My kids went back to school on August 13th. I know it feels a little early, but that is our reality. And over the next few weeks, my college kids head back too, which means our household is going from seven people to four in a matter of weeks.
Some days I'm looking forward to it. Some days I'm dreading it.
The dread isn't about the quiet. It isn't about missing them, though I will. It's about the question the quiet asks. The one that surfaces every single time the schedule shifts and a little breathing room appears.
What will I do differently this time?
September has a particular energy to it, and it always has. The stores flip to fall overnight. The feeds fill with first-day photos. There's this collective permission slip that gets handed out this time of year, everywhere you look... except, it seems, for us. Because we're the ones managing everyone else's transitions. The logistics. The emotional ramp-up. The getting-everyone-ready. And then a stretch of quiet appears, or it doesn't, and we're standing in front of the same question.
What is this season going to hold for me? Not the household. Me.
Here's what I've learned after years of working on this, both in my own life and with the women I coach. Survival mode doesn't take a seasonal break. It keeps running in the background, organizing everything around everyone else's needs. When open time appears, the first instinct usually isn't to rest or begin something you've been wanting to do. It's to fill it. More errands. More organizing. More availability, just in case.
The motion survival mode requires doesn't stop just because the occasion for it has reduced.
This episode is about what it actually takes to claim a season for yourself when survival mode has been running the show. And it starts with a distinction I don't think gets talked about enough: the difference between a habit and a ritual.
A habit is something you do. A ritual is something you do that means something. The difference is identity.
I share the floor and ceiling framework I use to build habits that survive a hard week, what habit stacking actually looks like in a real season of life, and three examples from my own life, including what our two dogs and a morning hammock taught me about beginning my day as myself before I begin it as anyone else's anything.
I also address the two things I hear most from the women I work with. "I don't even know what I want." And "I'll figure it out once things settle a little bit more." If either of those has ever been your honest answer, I want you to hear what I have to say about both.
September is here. It's asking you a question. This episode is a good place to start answering it.
What You'll Learn
Resources Mentioned
Your Next Steps
On June 26th, 2014, I stopped writing. I know the date because I looked it up. What I didn't need to look up was the feeling I had when I closed that laptop.
For years I had been writing to women who were a season or two behind me on this road. Writing about arrival like it was a destination. Writing about the finish line with genuine hope, because I had it. I wasn't performing it. I believed it. I was writing to women who needed someone to tell them it was going to be worth it, and I passed that promise on with my whole chest.
And then we arrived. I sat down to write, and I had nothing.
The feeling I had been promised, and been passing on to everyone else, wasn't there. What I felt instead was hollow. And I couldn't keep writing something I no longer believed was the whole truth. So I closed the laptop.
It felt like stopping. For a long time, it felt like failing something I had built.
What I couldn't have known then is that closing it was the most important thing I ever did for the work I'm doing right now. That first blog, the raw, unpolished writing from the most disoriented stretch of my life, is now the foundation of the book I'm finishing. I had no idea any of it was going anywhere when I shut it down. None.
This is what I mean when I say meaning is retrospective.
There's a line often attributed to Kierkegaard that I come back to often: that life can only be understood backward, even as we're required to live it forward. You don't get to understand what you're doing while you're doing it. You only get the view from far enough down the road to look back and see the shape of it. And what that means practically is that the seasons that looked like nothing were not nothing. They just hadn't found their meaning yet.
Today I'm pulling back on my own pivots and stops, two separate stretches of going quiet in my writing, a marathon I trained for and then walked away from without a single regret, and the scrapbooking supplies I moved through four houses because letting them go felt like admitting the investment had been wrong. I also take you back through Aditi Pemmaraju's story from last week, and what it looks like to understand a life only from the far side of it.
And then the harder question, the one I want to sit with you on: what are you still carrying through every move? What old chapter are you treating like a quiet accusation instead of a complete one? What season are you still making mean something about your character when it might just be a vote you haven't stood far enough back to see yet?
Because most of what looked like quitting from the inside wasn't quitting at all. It was a pivot toward something true. And sometimes a stop is honest discernment. That deserves to be treated that way.
This one is for you if you're sitting in a season that doesn't add up yet. Come listen.
What You'll Learn
Resources Mentioned
The Hidden Cost of Being the Strong One (free assessment)
Your Next Steps
There is a word Aditi Pemmaraju refuses to use. "Trailing spouse." She won't say it. She says "lighthouse spouse" instead, and by the end of this conversation, I think you'll understand exactly why.
Aditi met her husband in calculus class freshman year of college. He was all in on pre-med from day one. She was still finding her way, and she told me with a laugh that she still kind of is. Over the next two decades, medicine would shape not just his life but hers, one city, one overnight call, one pivot at a time. Residency in the Mid-Atlantic. Fellowship in Houston. An academic medicine career that has never really slowed down. And alongside all of it, Aditi, rebuilding from scratch in places where she knew nobody.
She graduated law school the same year he started internship. She took the Texas bar exam pregnant with her second daughter. She worked as a legal editor, taught barre classes for a year, returned to a law firm, left when the environment became toxic, and eventually found her way into real estate, physician relocation specifically. None of it looked like a plan. All of it, she now understands, was one.
The part of this conversation I keep returning to is when Aditi said she had always felt like a bit of a failure for not being able to sustain her legal career. And then she sat with that in her journal and arrived at something different. Those weren't wrong turns. Those were the building blocks. The negotiation skills from law. The ability to breathe through a high-stakes moment from barre. Every experience she had once written off as a detour had been quietly preparing her for Homes for Healers, for becoming the guide she never had when she arrived somewhere new and alone.
We also talked about the spreadsheet. The one that supposedly proves a physician spouse shouldn't bother working once you factor in childcare and taxes. And Aditi said it plainly: you cannot put a price on what a woman needs to feel like a person again, not just a spouse on the sidelines. That doesn't show up in any formula. It shouldn't have to.
And then there's the moment everything shifted. About a year ago, after two decades of standing in the wings of her husband's career, Aditi had a thought she had never let herself have before. He has done what he's wanted with his career this whole time. It's my turn. Four words. And she went all in.
If you have been waiting for something outside of you to change before you feel like you can move, this conversation is for you.
What You'll Learn
Resources Mentioned
Your Next Steps
There was a stretch of residency when I couldn't tell you what month it was without checking my phone.
The days just bled into each other. Getting the kids up, breakfast, nap time, pickup, dinner, bedtime, and then the same thing again. I was physically present in my life, doing everything that needed to be done, and I was completely, quietly gone.
For years I told myself I was a homebody. An introvert. Someone who just didn't need a lot of social connection. I believed it because it was easier than sitting with what was actually happening, which was depersonalization. Physically present. Mentally checked out. Not breaking down. Just disappearing.
Then I joined a book club, a small group of women reading the classics, the kind of conversations I hadn't had since college. I remember looking forward to those meetings in a way that genuinely surprised me. That book club wasn't entertainment. It was the first time in months I actually got to exhale.
Around the same time, I heard an NPR segment on caregiver burnout, and something in me just stopped. That's me. I went home and looked it up and checked almost every box. The fatigue that sleep didn't fix. The blurred days. The going through the motions. I didn't have a clinical term that fit, so I made one up: protracted medical training spouse burnout. PMTSB. Not exactly catchy. But it was real, and naming it mattered.
What I've come to understand since then is this: burnout isn't a character flaw. It's not weakness or ingratitude. It's what happens when the demands on your life exceed your personal resources for an extended period of time. Think of a scale. On one side, everything being asked of you: the household, the kids, the emotional atmosphere of your home, the unpredictability of his schedule. On the other, everything you have to give. Burnout isn't one terrible week. It's the slow, quiet tipping of that scale, weight accumulating on one side while the other side empties, until one day you can barely remember when it was balanced.
This whole episode circles back to one question: are you adequately resourced? Not "are you okay," that one's too easy to deflect. I walk through two frameworks that completely reframed this for me. Emily and Amelia Nagoski's concept of human giver syndrome, the cultural expectation that women be pretty, calm, happy, and available at all times at the cost of their own needs. And Dr. Saundra Dalton-Smith's seven types of rest from her book Sacred Rest: physical, mental, emotional, social, creative, spiritual, and sensory. Not as a rest strategy, but as a resource inventory. Because if burnout is demand exceeding resources, the real work is knowing exactly where you're running low.
That's where we start.
What You'll Learn
[00:00 - 01:30] What depersonalization looks like from the inside, and why it presents as "fine" to everyone around you
[02:00 - 05:30] The book club that turned out to be social rest, and why proximity is not the same as connection
[05:30 - 07:00] How I named physician spouse burnout in 2013 before anyone else was talking about it
[07:00 - 10:00] The scale analogy, the three clinical components of burnout, and why this life qualifies
[10:00 - 11:30] Human giver syndrome and why the physician spouse world is one of its most concentrated environments
[11:30 - 17:00] All seven types of rest used as a resource inventory, and how to find where your depletion actually lives
Resources Mentioned
Burnout by Emily and Amelia Nagoski
Sacred Rest by Dr. Saundra Dalton-Smith
The Hidden Cost of Being the Strong One Assessment
Your Next Steps
Take the Assessment: The Hidden Cost of Being the Strong One
Listen on Apple Podcasts
Listen on Spotify
Find me on Instagram: @Kendra_ItGetsBetterNow | @SupportingPhysicianSpouses
When we're deep in the hard seasons, we invest so much imagination in what's missing, what we don't have just yet, what life will look like on the other side. We almost never turn that same imagination toward the woman we're actually becoming while we wait. And here's what nobody warns you about: she doesn't just show up on the other side, fully formed, rested, and ready to receive the life you built. She has to already be there.
This episode is about the thought "we'll do it later when the season is better," and what it quietly costs you while it sits there feeling responsible and true.
James Clear writes in Atomic Habits that every action you take is a vote for the type of person you want to become. That idea stopped me. Because most of us are waiting to feel like a different kind of wife, a different kind of woman, before we act like one. When it actually works the other way around. You act your way into the identity. You don't always think your way into it.
"We'll reconnect after residency" is a vote. "I'll rest when things calm down" is a vote. "We'll get serious about money once the attending paycheck comes" is a vote. And a decade of "we'll do it later" doesn't disappear the day the schedule finally clears. It becomes the identity.
The good news is that the process of becoming who you actually want to be starts small. A 5-minute conversation where nobody mentions the schedule. Noticing what money actually means to you. Doing something that feels like joy, not another item on the list. That's the vote. And when the season does change, you want the habit already built so it can scale with you, not something you're starting from scratch when you finally have the room.
What You'll Learn
Resources Mentioned
Your Next Steps
That gap, between how capable you are and how out of control your money feels, is exactly where James lives professionally. He's a fee-only fiduciary who works specifically with physician families. We started with the basics, why money is the number one household stress for most American families and why none of us were ever taught how to actually talk about it. But it moved fast into something deeper. Values. The real ones, not the ones you say out loud at a dinner party.
James walked us through an exercise from the Gottman Institute, essentially money love languages, security, freedom, success, love, wellbeing, significance, survival, contribution. He has couples guess each other's top three before they even talk about it. Nine times out of ten, the answer traces straight back to childhood. Mine did. I grew up hearing save, save, save, like something terrible was always one purchase away.
We also got into the law of familiarity, why the people closest to us are often the hardest for us to actually hear, and why sometimes you need someone else in the room to translate. And we talked, honestly, about trust. About the fancy dinner early in our marriage where someone sold us a bunch of products and called it a plan. About how a physician family can start to feel like a revenue opportunity instead of a person. James gave me the actual questions to ask a financial advisor to know the difference, and one of them might make you a little uncomfortable in the best way.
If you've ever felt like you and your spouse are speaking two different financial languages, this one is for you.
What You'll Learn (with Timestamps)
[00:01:00 - 02:00] The real gap James sees in almost every physician family he works with, and why it isn't about intelligence
[00:11:00 - 13:00] Kendra's own money story growing up, and how it shaped years of financial anxiety
[00:13:00 - 15:00] The Gottman Institute's "money love languages" exercise, and what it reveals when you guess your spouse's top three
[00:17:00 - 19:00] The law of familiarity, and why your own spouse might be the hardest person to hear you
[00:24:00 - 25:00] The fifteen minute weekly money rhythm James recommends to every couple he works with
[00:26:00 - 29:00] The exact questions to ask a financial advisor to know if they're actually a fiduciary
Resources Mentioned
Free Financial Wellness Diagnostic, IM Wealth
The Life Well Lived: A Physician's Guide to Wealth, James Nutter's podcast
Relationship Plans That Work
Your Next Steps
Grab the Relationship Plans That Work Guide
Follow James Nutter on Instagram
Listen on Apple Podcasts
Listen on Spotify
Three posts landed in my feed within a few days of each other. None of them were mine to write, but I couldn't stop thinking about how all three were describing women.
If you see your spouse as a paycheck and he sees you as a role, you don't have a marriage. You have a transaction, and a transaction is the shallowest version of a relationship there is. I went looking at what the Harvard Study of Adult Development has tracked for 85 years, the longest-running study of adult life that exists, and the single strongest predictor of happiness isn't income or career. It's the quality of your closest relationship.
I walk through what it actually looks like to self-fund that protection, in dollars, in babysitters, in a rule I call 2-2-2, and in one meeting a month that might be the least romantic, most important hour on your calendar. Grab a coffee and give this one a listen. There's a free guide waiting for you too if you want to take it further.
What You'll Learn (with Timestamps)
[00:00 - 03:00] The three posts that sparked this episode: the second-income math, the "doctor built for a wife" confession, and the comment about who the real gold diggers actually are
[03:00 - 06:00] Why "house spouse" is the same job as a house manager, minus the paycheck, and how that framing turns a marriage into a transaction
[08:00 - 09:00] What the 85-year Harvard Study of Adult Development says is the real predictor of happiness
[09:00 - 12:00] Kendra's 25 years back, teaching financial workshops for women navigating the "three Ds": death, disability, divorce
[11:00 - 13:00] Why divorce is five to eight times more likely than death or disability, and why no one will sell you a policy for it
[14:00 - 20:00] The three-part protection plan: financial visibility, protected personal time, and the 2-2-2 rhythm plus a monthly relationship meeting
Resources Mentioned
Harvard Study of Adult Development (referenced in-episode)
The 2010 Safeguard Wedlock divorce insurance (referenced in-episode)
Relationship Plans That Work (Free Guide)
Your Next Steps
Grab the free Relationship Plans That Work guide
Work with Kendra
Connect on Instagram @Kendra_itgetsbetternow or @supportingphysicianspouses
Listen on Apple Podcasts
Listen on Spotify
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