They crucify you for following your heart. But they don't get the last word.

What nobody tells the clinician who's ready for a profound pivot.

You're a woman in healthcare and your body is speaking. You can feel it. The thing you're supposed to do next. And it terrifies you.

A new job, a new career path, a whole different approach to your life.

Yet you believe so hard in it. You can’t hold it secretly inside of you any longer.

You take steps towards it. It feels really good.

And then your biggest fear comes true.

People start to push back.

Your family questions why you’d leave a stable career — and now you feel like you’re in it alone.

Your friends lurk on your IG but never hit the like button — and now you feel invisible.

Your partner tries to fix it or smooth it over every time you tell him how nervous and doubtful you feel.

You’re not sure who you’ll be if you don’t work in the job you earned your degree for.

You’re not sure who will come with you, and who will drop off. And that breaks your heart, because those friends and colleagues really meant something to you.

But it’s not just the people in your personal life who are pushing back.

It’s the profession itself.

There’s the scope of practice that feels like a leash you can’t untangle yourself from.

There’s the code of ethics you pledged an oath to — that somehow strangles your nuance and your ability to think outside the box.

The colleagues who are all rah-rah about the profession, who subtly shame you if you don’t pay dues or show up to advocate — even though it doesn’t feel like anyone is advocating for you.

The professors and mentors you worry will question you the moment you start doing something that wasn’t part of your degree program.

The coworkers who might stop inviting you to happy hour if you leave your job and go out on your own.

The colleagues who say “how is coaching any different from clinical work? I already do that” — and somehow make you feel small for even asking.

The referral sources who say what you’re doing is “SO NEEDED” and promise to send clients your way.

And never do.

The licensure renewal you dutifully complete every two years — even though you don’t really want to be part of the profession anymore. But you’re terrified of what happens if you let it lapse.

The IG profiles you creep on, feeling the slow burn of resentment — people with no credentials making six figures doing work you’ve been training for your entire career. And you’re still here, piling on course after course, because you don’t feel like enough.

This is the Clinician Contract. The religion you pledged allegiance to. The one you can’t seem to shake.

You just wish someone understood.

As someone who left clinical work behind eight years ago and still feels the judging eyes — still feels the tentacles of the profession pulling me back from time to time — I get it.

Here’s what I want you to know.

Most people won’t get it when you leave the safe, well-worn clinical career path they’ve come to know you for.

When they question you, push back, or ghost you — that’s not about you. That’s about them.

Because when you have the courage to say the thing, show who you really are, actually do the thing, travel outside the neat and tidy lines society drew for you —

It drudges up all of their own fears of imagining themselves doing the brave thing, too.

They don’t realize that’s what is happening. But neurobiologically speaking — their mirror neurons are working on overdrive.

Somewhere in their brain, they mistake the very real sensations of threat they feel in their own body as a way you are threatening them.

And because of it, you just might get crucified in the process.

It makes sense that they’d push back.

But that doesn’t make it ok. It certainly doesn't make it feel good to you.

And they don’t get the last word.

You do.

And you get to choose - are you going to white knuckle grip the version of you who makes them feel comfortable?

Or allow those parts of yourself to die?

Because with that crucifixion comes death. Letting go. Feeling exiled. Grief.

The hardest part isn’t making the decision to do what your heart is asking of you.

It’s the loss of respect or connection — from people who can only love a former version of you — that comes with it.

It’s the subtraction that’s necessary for you to grow and rise.

That’s the hardest thing to swallow.

And it’s why — when things aren’t moving as smoothly or as quickly as you hoped — when it’s not all rainbows and butterflies — you might choose to burn it all down.

You might start searching “stable jobs” on LinkedIn at midnight.

You might choose to simply stay put.

That’s also a very wise neurobiological decision. If you’re not supported and resourced by the people around you, your body will pull out all the stops to protect you.

Because you are wired for connection and belonging. And without it, your survival is at stake.

The choice is yours then.

Be crucified and allow things to die, or stay put inside the clinician contract that’s keeping you held back.

It’s a tough choice, indeed.

But here’s the good news.

Throughout the history of mankind, we have seen it over and over. Across cultures, religions, cosmic and earthly timelines —

With every death and crucifixion comes a rebirth. A rise. A resurrection.

It’s not only “what goes up must come down.”

When it’s born from your heart, from the DNA of your soul, from a Divine place that is utterly and unapologetically you —

The laws of gravity no longer apply.

In this case, what goes down must come up.

What sinks must rise.

The light will shine from the darkness.

But that doesn’t make it any less treacherous.

Whether you’ve already begun taking steps toward what’s next, or you’re still secretly plotting your escape from where you are now —

If it feels wobbly, if people are pushing back, if you’re getting hate messages from strangers on the internet, if your family is suddenly implying they’re worried about you —

These are all signs you’re doing something right.

Some of the bravest, purest, most inspiring people in history didn’t let the crucifiers keep them down.

That doesn’t mean you won’t feel pain or anguish or want to turn back.

You get to rest when you need to. You get to pause when it feels like too much.

And then, when you find that spark within you again — you shine a little brighter. Step by step. Day by day.

You don’t move from mountaintop to mountaintop in one fell swoop.

You descend. You walk through the dark, damp, muddy, slippery valley. You feel unsure which way is up.

And if you need someone to walk with you through this valley — I know a girl. 😉

You gradually find your way to the next trailhead — and then you begin the rocky climb again.

This isn’t the easy way. It’s not going to happen without pushback.

But I'll say it again. The pushbackers don’t get the last word.

This is the brave, courageous, wild, and truest way to know — when all is said and done — that you left no stone unturned.

You didn’t shapeshift into something never designed to fit you.

You fully opened your heart.

You unlaced the corset you were living inside.

You fully lived and loved.

And you rose to shine again.