octors are supposed to know when someone needs help. We’re just not supposed to be the ones who need it.
Last week, I told you something I’ve decided not to hide anymore: I have been suicidal. I was a physician then, too. And one of the thoughts that crossed my mind when I decided to tell someone was: What could admitting this mean for me as a doctor?
That question didn’t come from nowhere. Medicine has spent generations teaching physicians how to care for people in crisis while creating a culture in which admitting our own struggles can feel dangerous.
We learn to push through. We show up, see our patients, finish the shift, and become the person everybody else can depend on. Somewhere along the way, many of us learn another lesson:
The physician is supposed to be okay.
Even when we aren’t.
For years, physicians have worried that seeking mental health treatment could affect licensing, credentialing, employment, or how colleagues perceive them. Those fears have not simply been imagined. Historically, licensing and credentialing applications have included questions about mental health diagnosis and treatment that could discourage physicians from seeking care.
There has been significant progress. As of May 2026, the Wellbeing First Champion Challenge, led by the Dr. Lorna Breen Heroes’ Foundation, had verified 44 state medical licensure boards and thousands of healthcare facilities whose applications no longer include intrusive or stigmatizing mental-health and substance-use questions.
That is worth celebrating.
But changing a question on an application and changing a culture are not the same thing.
A physician who spent years believing that asking for help might threaten everything she worked for does not necessarily stop believing it because someone revised a form. Stigma and fear of professional consequences remain barriers to physicians seeking mental health care.
So perhaps the question isn’t simply, “Why don’t physicians ask for help?”
Perhaps we should be asking, “Have we created a profession in which physicians believe it is safe to need help?”
Because physicians are human beings before we are physicians. We grieve. We struggle. We become overwhelmed. We experience depression, anxiety, trauma, loss, and despair. And sometimes, we need someone else to care for us.
This Is Part of the Work, Too
Much of my work asks healthcare professionals to examine how we create safety, trust, and affirmation for the people who come to us for care. But there is another side to that question: Have we created that same safety for each other?
Can a physician say, “I’m struggling,” without first calculating what that admission might cost? Can we extend to our colleagues the same compassion, curiosity, and humanity we ask them to offer their patients?
This is part of why I wrote First, Do No Further Harm™: Becoming Allies in White Coats and why I work with healthcare teams. Because “do no further harm” cannot only apply to our patients.
It has to apply to each other, too.
If your hospital, medical group, residency program, or healthcare organization is ready to have deeper conversations about trust, safety, affirmation, and the culture we create in healthcare, this is the work I do.
Invite me into the room.
What’s Happening Around Here
Something I’ve been working on behind the scenes took a BIG step forward this week.
I’m not telling you what it is yet. 😊 But I will tell you this: it’s a big next step for Dr. Lulu®.
I’m making the announcement this Wednesday on social media, so keep an eye on my page. I cannot WAIT to finally tell you what I’ve been building.
Let’s Keep the Conversation Going
What would have to change for healthcare professionals to feel as safe asking for help as we tell our patients they should?
Hit reply and tell me. I read your responses.
With love,
Dr. Lulu®
If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, call or text 988 to reach the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.
