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Some time ago, we published a piece on when physicians should retire. While that article was a straightforward guide to help you figure out whether you’re ready to exit medicine yet or not—the comments under that article were nothing short of eye-opening.
Not only did we realize for the first time how varied and downright cool our readers are— we also learned a thing or two about the reality of retirement for physicians.
Turns out this universal milestone is not so cut and dry for us as it is for other professionals. What are the differences? And what do they mean for us as we navigate the ever-changing landscape of practicing medicine in America?
Here’s how your enlightening comments reshaped our understanding of physician retirement, and what we learned about the true experience of leaving medicine behind.
Also read:
- The Unretired: Why Some Doctors Come Back (and What It Costs Them)
- Physician Career Satisfaction At An All-Time Low
- Medical Residency Match Under Fire: Is It Time For Reform?
When Life Doesn’t Follow the Script
Real life rarely follows the script. No matter how well we prepare, it often chews up the status quo and spits it out. For physicians, the idea of retirement is no exception. While the conventional image of retirement might involve a grand farewell and a relaxing life ahead, the reality for doctors is far more complex — and at times, quietly anticlimactic.
For doctors wondering how doctors retire, the process is rarely linear. Doctors don’t usually get a tidy send-off. The clean, celebratory exit feels foreign in a profession where there’s always one more call, one more follow-up, one more patient you don’t want to abandon mid-treatment. It’s not just a job – it’s a deeply ingrained responsibility.
Medicine asks for everything, and in return, it gives you an identity you can’t just shed with a wave of your retirement party.
“There Was No Party. I Just Stopped Showing Up.”
Physician retirement is more often than not a quiet affair. While corporate America might celebrate decades of service with catered lunches and speeches, physician retirement often happens with little more than a low-key lunch and a cleared-out locker.
It’s not that doctors are never celebrated — but more often, the grand farewell is not the norm we think it is. In reality, most retirements are quiet exits and non-events. The transition feels… unfinished, even for the physician walking away. There’s no ceremony, no closure, just a slow reduction in hours, maybe a final shift, and then silence.
For many, a clean break feels too abrupt. After years spent on-call and deeply embedded in the lives of others, vanishing overnight doesn’t make emotional sense. So they ease out of the profession quietly, unofficially, one telemedicine shift at a time, one committee role dropped, one less clinic per week.
Some doctors might actively avoid a public goodbye, preferring privacy. Others slip away unnoticed by a system that doesn’t always recognize or reward longevity. Some physicians are honored with heartfelt gatherings, while others retire without so much as a handshake.
Compared to other careers, where retirement is a milestone marked with special send-offs, the physician’s path often diverges. It’s not a clean line in the sand but a fade-out. And the ambiguity of that exit lingers, both for those who leave and those who remain.
You Can Leave Medicine, But It Won’t Leave You
Retirement for physicians isn’t just a shift in occupation; it’s a shift in identity. Because medicine isn’t just a career—it’s a calling. And when that calling ends, the emotional residue lingers. You can hang up your white coat, but the mindset, the instincts, the habit of vigilance–they don’t vanish overnight.
“It took me months to stop waking up at 5 a.m. with a patient on my mind.”
How many retired physicians can relate to this feeling? No matter how hard we try, escaping that feeling, that phantom patient, or that instinct to reach for a pager that no longer buzzes, is no easy feat. For many, medicine’s imprint remains on their daily life, showing up in dreams and routines long after they’ve left the clinic or OR.
Physicians are used to being a part of something bigger–solving problems, helping others, and living within a high-stakes habitat. When you retire, those adaptations don’t just disappear. They leave behind a vacuum. And filling that vacuum can be one of the most difficult emotional challenges of retirement.
I think the word “untethered” describes this feeling quite adequately. The purpose that drove doctors day in and day out suddenly vanishes, and what ought to replace it is not always obvious. I wouldn’t call it depression — but it is something akin to the blues. And coming to terms with it takes time, self-reflection, and intentional rebuilding.
Between the System and the Soul
For many physicians, especially women, the decision to retire isn’t a straightforward choice. Often, it’s the culmination of years of exhaustion, mounting administrative burden, and systemic disenchantment. Bureaucracy grows, and the paperwork explodes. And the constant pressure from insurance companies and hospital administrators erodes the joy of practicing medicine.
For female physicians, this pressure is often compounded by subtle, and sometimes overt misogyny. While many male doctors work well into their 70s, the same is not true for women in the field. They might not say it out loud, but patients and even colleagues make it clear that they find older women incapable of practicing medicine after a certain age.
That kind of ageism, especially when layered with gender bias, leads many women to retire earlier than they might have otherwise planned.
Oftentimes, retirement isn’t the physician’s decision — it’s one that’s quietly made for them by a system that no longer welcomes them.
Then there’s the slow erosion of professional dignity to contend with. Doctors who once felt respected find themselves second-guessed by administrators with no medical training. And when you’re fighting to justify your clinical decisions to a spreadsheet, burnout doesn’t just creep in, it floods.
Retirement as a Reinvention, Not a Conclusion
Despite the challenges, some physicians find peace and fulfillment after they leave medicine. For them, retirement isn’t an end; it’s a reinvention. A chance to say, “I’m not retired, I’m just doing other things now.” Whether it’s gardening, volunteering, writing that long-awaited book, starting a non-profit, or spending time with family. Many doctors discover that life after medicine can be just as fulfilling, if not more so.
It’s easy to get caught up in the idea that medicine is the only meaningful pursuit. Yet, as many retired physicians realize, hobbies alone won’t tide you over; the real bridge over the gap is purpose. And what better purpose is there than family?
Family and relationships bring more happiness and long-term fulfillment than accolades or accomplishments in a career.
This aligns with findings from the Harvard Study of Adult Development, which tracked the lives of individuals for decades and found that those who had strong relationships were healthier, happier, and lived longer. You can read more about it here.
When work consumes every ounce of your attention and energy, it’s easy to forget that your personal life matters just as much. For many, the challenge lies in letting go of the notion that their worth is tied to their profession. At work, you’re praised for your expertise. At home, it’s harder. But that’s where your legacy really is.
What Happens After You Walk Away?
For most physicians, the feelings that arise when they retire are multifaceted: grief, relief, confusion, and yes, freedom. But these feelings are often mixed together in a way that makes the transition feel more like a spiritual reckoning than a moment of relaxation.
How do you move on when medicine is all you’ve ever known? The truth is, the journey is not straightforward. It’s filled with moments of doubt, but also moments of discovery. After leaving medicine, doctors often find a sense of purpose that wasn’t available to them during their active years. They rediscover joy in simplicity, whether it’s in the quiet of their garden, mentoring a new generation, or taking on a new venture.
It’s also common to experience a delayed processing of past experiences. Without the constant pressure of day-to-day clinical work, memories resurface — both good and bad. Some physicians find healing in reflection. Others wrestle with unresolved emotions. But nearly all agree: retirement is not the absence of purpose, but the redefinition of it.
A New Kind of Legacy
Retirement isn’t just about what you leave behind, but also about what you create moving forward. Many physicians come to realize that their legacy isn’t solely defined by the lives they saved or the research they conducted — it’s also about how they impacted their families, their communities, and those who worked alongside them.
And that’s the beauty of physician retirement. It offers the opportunity to redefine success on your own terms. There is no “right” way to stop being a doctor. There’s only your way.
In these stories, there’s no single narrative. Some doctors find joy in unexpected places. Others feel adrift. Most experience both. But all of them prove that human nature bypasses even rigorous medical training, bringing even the most pragmatic and driven individuals to ask those tough questions no one really has the answers for.
In the end, any clarity we can hope to find comes from open dialogue and discussions like the one that birthed this article.
Share Your Truth
If you’re someone making your way in medicine as a physician, your story matters to us. It deserves to be heard. Medicine is filled with moments that don’t make it into textbooks; quiet victories, private reckonings, and the long, uneven path from training to retirement. Whether you’re just starting out, stepping back, or somewhere in between, your story has weight. And it deserves to be heard.
At Physician on FIRE, we’re collecting real stories from physicians across every stage of life and career. Each month, we’ll spotlight a different theme, so if you’ve got a story to tell, we’d love to hear from you.
Your voice might be exactly what another doctor needs to hear.
32 thoughts on “What Really Happens When Doctors Walk Away”
On the cusp of retirement. Still healthy (enough) at 69, 35 years of plastic surgery practice. Unlike many peers in other specialties, I have not been subject to the so-frequent experience of physicians constrained by insurance companies and hospitals. But the high wire act of plastic surgery wears. Trying to meet expectations. Success and disappointment.
Nonetheless, there is a sense of passions and interests deferred, put aside. And family relationships neglected. A real sense of guilt. So much heart, soul and intellect poured into practice. What is left over for family, for art, for intellectual pursuits?
I anticipate retirement will be a metamorphosis. Timing is the big question. I want to neither stop too soon or delay too long.
I retired from patient care (family medicine) 6 years ago, then spent 5 years in administration creating a training program for our EMR (and training providers, nurses, medical assistants, and front office staff to use the EMR efficiently). I retired from that job 5 months ago. I still have very vivid dreams about patients and practicing primary care. I expect those dreams will eventually fade. You can leave medicine, but medicine doesn’t leave you.
My entire adult life spent working (or training in) healthcare, 24 being a physician.
I can honestly say that every single day has been a miserable and colossal waste of time with not a single story to say that any of it was “worth it”. All the while, ruining my entire life that should have been spent being a good parent, spouse or a productive member of society (instead of making rich CEO’s richer and poor patients poorer – oh, and paying a few million dollars in taxes that I’ll never see a dime in return…).
If I had a single skill that could translate to another job, I would have left a long time ago.
But, after the initial mountain of debt (shame on anyone supporting forgiveness for those lazy enough not to pay off their own school debt!) and time lost because of a dozen years of soul sucking training that should have been spent saving for retirement, I have no good option but to stick this out a little longer.
God willing, the light is becoming visible at the end of the tunnel… In about 5 years, I see myself becoming less and less cooperative with my corporate overlords until I am finally comfortable walking out one day with my only farewell message being two middle fingers.
Your honesty is appreciated. I’m sure you speak for a lot of physicians. I hope you find your inner peace and fulfillment.
Ditto! However, I do like when patients thank me.
OMG… A Kindred Spirit…..
The light at the end of my tunnel is just over a year away. Wish me luck.
64 years old and 21 years with the VA. Now practicing telemedicine with a thriving Department of Psychiatry. “If you love your job you will never work a day in your life”.
We are problem solvers, although rarely our own. Effectively from day 1 we sacrifice and never expect a pat on the back or a gold watch. The reward was and is solutions. Once a psychologist friend of mine sarcastically said that it must be difficult to be right all the time. My answer was direct and brutally swift. When she misguides or misinterprets her clients, they don’t die. Ours do! Ted Williams was a superb ballplayer and had a phenomenal batting average. Any doctor with a mortality percentage the same as Ted’s would be in jail! We enter a room and immediately assume some level of responsibility for our environment – whether it be a church, jet plane or school play. It doesn’t shed and it doesn’t go away. I am a surgeon whose main practice is cancer related. A little piece of me dies when I fail, but I soar when the patient is attending a child’s wedding or graduation.
We have a unique skill set that can rarely been handed down to our children. I try desperately to impart my wisdom gained over years of mistakes and successes. One of the best rewards I got was from a former resident who thanked me and told me she does an operation exactly as I showed her in her very successful practice. I guess that is my brief immortality.
I am considering retirement now being in the biz for 45 years. The thought of leaving my patients to another doctor is painful. However, another day of EMR, charting from home or being told by an administrator that I need to see more patients and that I AM SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME WITH MY CLIENTS -is soul numbing. But then a child with a neck mass comes to see my team, for help. A mentor of mine told me that if you don’t feel like you are the best surgeon for a task, maybe you should send the patient to a more qualified doctor. How do you walk away from this intoxication? How do you walk away from a love that you spend more time with than a spouse who has been married to you during this “affair”. I suspect health issues will make my decision for me but until then, I await my next patient with a problem I can and will solve.
I’m a 64 year old Psychiatrist practicing telemedicine with the VA. My colleagues as well as patients are for the most part appreciative of my services. I will only leave this gig kicking and screaming!
You work for the government in a low liability specialty. You have government retirement and hours. You do telemedicine. You do not have to accumulate a patient following and are not subjugate to social media reviews. You do not have to deal with employees. You take no call. Your position sounds like a sweet spot but not what the rest of us do in the real world.
After 30 years of emergency medicine I was slowing down. So I thought about the attributes of my ideal job:
I would be in charge.
We would be helping patients access good healthcare.
I could make my own hours / flexible scheduling.
Work from anywhere .
I would be reasonably compensated, but not work harder (longer) than I wanted to.
Eliminate fee for service billing. I had previously run a billing agency and hated it.
Work would be fun.
Together with a college friend, who was successful serial internet entrepreneur, we started up First Stop Health. I designed the medical practice and records system so that it worked for me, thinking (correctly) that if I liked it other doctors would as well. After a fair amount of hard work (overnight success takes about 15 years) we are now approaching 1 million patients and I have my “perfect job”; work that is satisfying, rewarding and sustainable.
I invite my colleagues to consider joining us before leaving practice altogether. You might learn to love medicine again.
http://www.fshealth.com
Hello- I am a board certified EM MD also. How would I go about ‘joining.’ My email is dajerrard@yahoo.com
Mark,
I would like to learn more about First Stop Health. I have 32 years of direct patient care experience but also a resume that includes employer based healthcare and a deep understanding of the difficulties employers face in providing benefits to their people that truly benefit them. I am looking to join organization whose mission I believe in.
Gregg
Gstefanek@alumni.nd.edu
26 Years in the same community as a rural family physician in Montana. Doing it all at one time or another. Thousands of other truly amazing people like me out there serving their communities in deep and rewarding ways. I am not alone. Those folks are quietly amazing.
Last year I stopped. I just stopped. When people ask me why, the answer is, ‘Because on some level, in this job at this place, I have done enough and it has been wonderful, but it is now done. ‘
One of the interesting parts of your article is the focus on medicine being everything. You mention the vacuum of retirement. I believe that this area should be explored more. There is a good reason that there is a vacuum. We were trained that medicine is everything, it trumps everything, and it should be our everything. If not, we don’t care, aren’t committed, or are being selfish, etc. As a father with a son now in Medical School, I am watching him, the person, being changed. He is being pressured, manipulated, and openly informed that he is not enough. His outside interests no longer count. His committement to medicine is all that counts. One of his classmates has already taken their own life. No wonder, smart people eventually get that this system is not meant for their happiness. My son is not a wimp, or lazy or struggling academically. He is at one of the top medical institutions in the country, because he deserves to be there (Goldwater Scholar, Top in class in Biology and Chemistry, Music Scholar, top 2% on the MCAT type of person). What I worry about is what will be left of this sensitive, hyperintelligent, athletic, fun, happy person after he spends the next two years (currently ending his second year) in which he is being passed about socially in a way that disconnects him from his very being. No other work place creates such social chaos on a daily and weekly basis. Different attendings, residents and students weekly. Other professions would simply leave after about 2 months of not even knowing who they get to work with that day, and what stranger gets to ‘pimp’ them on rounds now.
This leaves him unable to tell if the reason he feels so disconnected is because of a personal defect of his own, or because the system that he lives in during medical training is so disconnected from any sense of normal that any of his age and social based cohorts are in.
It’s the second by the way. We as physicians just get used to this ‘normal’.
Remember folks, we train in a system that had to make it a federal law that we can only work twice as hard as every body else every week (80 hours). Incidentally, when this law passed I was offended and thought it would be bad for medicine. What a brainwashed fool I was. I think differently in the past 10 years. When you explain this law to anyone who is not in medicine, they gasp. Then they laugh and shake their heads in disbelief. They laugh at us.
We are the fools.
We are the ones who give it all and then some.
We are the ones who become changed.
This is a big part of why we are left with a vacuum.
The problem is not the giant sucking sound at the end of a career. It is that we need to make it so that we don’t create theis hole for ourselves for 30-40 years, and then try to fill it up after we leave medicine.
I love medicine. I mean I truly love it. After leaving my practice for four months, I have begun working 2 days per week in a new location and I work on a really cool schedule which goes like this. Thursday, Friday, Monday and Tuesday after which I don’t work until the following Thursday, Friday, Monday, Tuesday. Do the math. This means I work two days per week, but I get eight days off every otherk week.
Nobody gave me this schedule, I negotiated it. I knew that I wanted something different, and it took four careful and intentional meetings of describing what would work for me to get this. My boss loves it. I love it. I am better for patients because of it. If given the option to my employer, they initially proposed a full time schedule and made it sound like it was the only option. It’s not.
I now carve, and paint, and mountain bike, work with a church, and fish, and hike and play guitar and continue to practice and love medicine.
I have always felt like a black sheep in medicine due to my insistance that I be treated like Kirk, rather than Dr. Kirk. I have insisted that I be treated like a ‘Kirk’ and not a doctor. Doctors get treated worse than people with first names. If we insist on different we are considered problems. This is wrong, but in order to change it, we first have to have a little insight into the dehumanization that comes with being called an object (Dr. Kirk) versus a person, Kirk.
Over my career, I conciously said ‘no’ to things as often as I said ‘yes’. This allowed me to do things that were not medicine (like coaching my kids teams, and volunteering, and pursuing triathlon) as well as things that were medicine at times (delivering babies, being on the AAFM board, and training dozens of studens and residents over the years).
We, the physicians, need to step back from our training, our brainwashing and our own demons to find a place in which our colleagues and friends can have more complete lives throughout our training and careers, so that at the end of these careers, we are not left feeling like there is a vacuum.
What we should feel at the end is a pat on the shoulder, and a congratulatory ‘Well done.”. For a job that is difficult and for the vast majority of us is done so very well. We deserve the joy and space of that ‘well done’ job as our stepping stone to our next ‘well lived’ life.
You, the person, the one with the first name, deserve that goodness. It is work to make it a reality. It is work that we need to do within the medical system to both create excellent stewards of the work of medicine, while at the same time not sacrificing the stewards themselves to the difficulties that we are all aware of.
Kirk Crews, MD,
Family Physician
Wood Carver
Husband
Dad
Fisherman
Artist
Dreamer
Businessman
Friend
Believer in goodness for you.
Excellent summation. I was a pianist at heart when starting med school. That life went away 35 years ago when I entered a chaotic system that never allowed scheduling musical theater rehearsals or playing in restaurants or churches. Nevertheless I hope I have made a difference in people’s lives as I’m winding down. I’m already working on a home recording studio to start composing music. Like you say, it’s time. I think everyone just has to recognize that time when it calls. Thanks for sharing Kirk.
Don,
Best of luck in the fun and challenge of putting together your studio and your music.
Best,
Kirk
What just wrote hits home. Look at the variance in hobbies you provided thank you. I spent 30+ years working for corporations. Never remembered by them for what I did.
Hobbies keep me alive after I had enough “corporate” medicine. I glad I took time for what matters now.
Devoted husband
Father of 2 amazing 20+ y/o kids
Guitar
Martial Arts
Weight Lifting
Surfing
Construction projects I undertake learned skills from my father
Poetry
Novel writing
Building computers for me, friends, family
Computer programming
Do it now in your 20’s and 30’s. Advance all skillsets. At 60 you will be glad you took the time for you.
My exit was a bit abrupt due to a betrayed trust, but as a doctor you think of all of the above.
Nobody says on their deathbed “I wish I spent more time at the office”.
Hey kirk! I truly loved and needed your post. It was superbly written and summarized the feelings that I am now realizing are “normal” for any retiring…or like me contemplating retiring…. physician as most likely having. And that I’m not alone. Thank you for your thoughtful post.
Ted,
I have always thought that we spend the first 20-30 years of our lives figuring out what “normal” is. Then we spend the rest of our lives figuring out if that was right.
You are welcome.
Best,
Kirk
I read your words, and it resonated with me. When we acquired PoF, our intention was to provide a way out of the Golden Handcuffs this life can put you in. The “Corporate Practice of Medicine” is an excuse to exploit and commoditize the skills that we have worked so hard to acquire. We have set ourselves up to be easily replaceable by other physicians. One physician leaves this machine that churns us physically, emotionally, and spiritually, only to have another physician take their place without even a moment of recognition. Don’t forget that 80% of US physicians are employed by a corporation and are W-2s. Despite this, there are ways to break these Golden Handcuffs as shown by your and others comments.
Thank you to all who have commented on the above article.
Jorge Sanchez, MD
Manager POF
“Doctors get treated worse than people with first names.”
So well said. I wish I had realized all of this 30-plus years back, instead of just accepting the narrative of not-enough.
Thank you, Kirk.
I love this. Beautifully expressed. Retirement should be a time to rekindle or explore new hobbies and friendships. If you retire knowing you contributed and did the best you could, it should be a time of contentment.
After 49 years of practicing orthopedic surgery, because of back, shoulder, knee problems, I had to quit surgery this past January. Do I miss it? Absolutely. At age 74, I am still practicing nonoperative orthopedics and hope to do it for at least a while longer. However, because of hospital buyouts, the one hospital was actively trying to destroy my solopractice and to get me to quit. I always had troubles trying to schedule cases and I got the least experienced help in the operating room. They referred my private patients from the ER to the employed physiscians. They were much more interested in treating computers than patients. I don’t miss them at all. The other hospital was also recently bought out. It is too early to see a what the results will be but I doubt it could be much worse than what the last adminsitration was. I simply walked out of the hospitals in both cases and said goodbye to some good friends but there was no hoola. I simply stated I was leaving. To be brutally honest, neither hospital could care less about almost 50 years of my work and devotion to both institutions. This is what is really wrong with medicine today. I am not worried about waht I am going ot do in my “retirement”. I am only worried about who is going to be left to take care of me when I need medical treatment. I am not optimistic about the future of medical care in this country.
The Hospital will Not love you back.
In total agreement
Ageism is real. I encountered it where I expected, in facilities, but also where I didn’t, my own group practice, which was hurtful. Sad reality.
Great article!
Good article. I don’t see mention of physicians who have to leave their profession prematurely due to a serious medical condition. At that point, nothing matters other than health and family. Other thoughts?
Remember the most moving scene in the movie “Top Gun Maverick” when Ice (Val Kilmer), who is unable to speak due to terminal throat cancer, types out to Maverick (Tom Cruise) the message, “It’s time to let go.”? Remember what Maverick responds? He says, ” I don’t know how. It’s not just what I am, it’s who I am.” Retirement from a long career in medicine feels like that moment.
Lawrence,
You are who you are. Only a part of that is what you do.
We have to go into the ‘practice’ of ‘not medicine’ in order to become skilled at it.
Best,
Kirk
Retired from emergency medicine in 2020 (after practicing 17 years), decided to start a food, product, and lifestyle photography business to promote healthy lifestyles (I also love the creative and problem solving aspects of photography and need to feel productive). I photographed a book of tea recipes and had a few small projects through word of mouth, but quickly realized I needed to learn marketing. I was unprepared from my medical education to be successful in business—after several years spent learning photography, lighting, editing software, etc I am now taking online business courses. Medicine prepared me well for being able to learn new skills, but there is a lot to learn, and it takes time. It’s a challenge to switch fields, but I don’t have any regrets.
http://www.essentialquince.com
17 years in emergency medicine is a lifetime. I worked rural Minnesota locum EM for 10 years and was done. WELL DONE my friend. 👍