There comes a moment in many women's careers when the questions begin to change. Not “How do I get there?” But “Is this what I want?” For decades, you've been climbing, leading and delivering. Leaning In. Then, just as the biggest opportunities begin to appear, something else quietly arrives. You forget a word you've used a thousand times. You wake up at 3 a.m. for no reason. Your patience feels shorter. Your confidence feels shakier. You wonder if you've changed. You have. B

Every woman carries her own story in her body. And sometimes the hardest part of medicine is realizing there is no universal right answer. Just the right answer for you. Recently, I made a deeply personal decision: I chose to have a double mastectomy with a reconstruciton. It wasn’t an easy decision. But it was the right one for me. Twelve years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I underwent a lumpectomy, radiation, and nine years of tamoxifen. And then came the pa

I’ve loved my years in medicine. When I started, being a doctor felt personal. There was time to listen, to understand, to connect. Care wasn’t just about symptoms; it was about individuals. Somewhere along the way, that changed. Visits became rushed. Care became fragmented. Conversations about prevention and about how everything in a woman’s body connects quietly disappeared. Medicine became reactive. We started waiting for things to break instead of asking how to keep t