I have Thursday guilt.

I have Thursday guilt.

You see, I don’t “work” on Thursdays, at least not officially, not at the clinic.  In fact, I haven’t worked on Thursdays for many, many years.  And at the clinic, we’ve built our practitioner schedule around that; on that day, my treatment rooms are free for the taking by other staff.  Over the years, the clinic has grown into such a busy place that we’re bursting at the seams, and the reality is that we’re now at a point where I wouldn’t be able to work on Thursdays even if I wanted to, because my rooms are full with other practitioner’s patients.

When my daughter began full-time Kindergarten in 2016, joining her older brother in the all-day-school world, I envisioned lazy Thursdays of long runs and naps, hot coffee and newspapers.  Fast forward more than two years and I think I’ve taken a nap once.  Once in about 112 Thursdays.  Because the reality is, Thursdays are usually my busiest day of the week.  They’re the days that I get groceries, tidy the house, squeeze in appointments for myself, run errands, arrange coffee dates, and do all the things that my other days do not allow; they’re the days that I do life.

But inevitably, when a patient asks to book in on a Thursday, and I reply that “I don’t work Thursdays,” guilt nags at me.  I’m a people-pleaser, by nature or nurture, and it niggles at my brain when I can’t be all things to all people.  A character fault for sure, and one that I’m working on, but part of me wonders what they think when they hear that my work-week doesn’t include a traditional Thursday.  Now, logic will tell you (and me) that I work more evenings than the traditional work-week and more Saturdays than the traditional work-week, but logic doesn’t always win.  Logic will also point out that I have very carefully constructed my practice life to align with my values, and Thursdays off have given me the space to find balance for both myself and my family.  But again, logic can be easily strong-armed by guilt.

Is guilt a mom thing?  A female thing?  Or just a me thing?   Perhaps it’s a bit of all three, rolled up and exponentially powerful, a wasted emotion that has no positive value.

Do I work Thursdays?

I sure do.

(And even if I didn’t, that would be okay too.)

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This was a Tough One to Write

This post was a tough one to write, full of raw emotion and feelings of vulnerability, like very few other posts I’ve written.  But I think there’s an important message to be shared here, and that’s why I’ve decided to publish this.  I hope that this is a message of trying your best, knowing your limits, and being gentle to oneself.

Let me get to the point:  last month, we had to re-home our beloved puppy.  This decision was a long process, full of tears and pros-and-cons and back-and-forths.  But in the end, we did what we thought was best for him.  And for us.

Both my husband and I are “dog people” who grew up with dogs by our side- and we had a wonderful Chocolate Lab named Tyson for the first eight years of our relationship, who sadly passed away in September 2012.  However, our puppy Oz, an 80-lb Chocolate Labradoodle, is/was a gentle soul full of friendly energy.  We got him only a year ago, in May 2013, when he was just eight weeks old, and he soon became a constant companion for our children.  But as he grew, so did the am-I-giving-him-what-he-needs doubts.  Then came my two-year-old’s amblyopia diagnosis, and the choice became clear.

When her eye was patched, we were told, she would be virtually blind.  Add in an 80-lb puppy bouncing around, and I became overwhelmed.  It seemed I just didn’t have enough to give….. not enough energy, not enough time, not enough love.  I didn’t want to resent our dog for just being a dog.  I saw this on Facebook and I think it says it all:


He simply needed more than what we could give him.  And so we diligently searched, extensively interviewed, and thoroughly screened potential families…. and we found the perfect fit.

Done and done.  So what’s made this post so hard to write?  The guilt part, the failure part, the I-made-a-mistake part.  The I’m-sorry-I-just-couldn’t-do-it-all part.  I’m a Type-A, first-born, female Virgo with high expectations and self-imposed perfectionism.  To feel defeat and admit to failing is hard for me.  It’s taken me more than a month to begin to see this situation in a different light, but I’m slowly getting there.


And I’m trying to focus on “rising up”.