I didn’t know it was burnout.

At least, not the kind they talk about in grand rounds with bullet points and bar graphs.

I just knew I was sitting on a twin bed in the dark PICU call room, heart pumping with adrenaline still... and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt like a person instead of a problem-solver.

I had spent the whole night tending to other people’s crises. Now mine was quietly unfolding in the form of my first panic attack.

My badge said “resident physician.” My CV said “successful.” My soul cup? Bone dry.

That night became the beginning of the end of my “I’m fine” era— and the beginning of me redefining what healing looks like for women physicians.

Pull up a chair, friend. I want to tell you how I got here, and why I care so much about disconnection in women physicians.

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The Call Room Moment I Keep Coming Back To

It was one of those shifts where time is suspended - it's both flying by and unmoving at the same time.

I had just intubated a baby. I went back to the call room, shut the door, and sat down on the bed.

Staring at the pitch black walls. Fluorescent hum. My pulse in my ears.

I remember feeling my throat start to close with panic.

“This is all I've wanted to do my entire life. Now what?"

This wasn’t my first hard shift. I knew how to function under pressure.

But that night was different because I could feel how far away from myself I had drifted.

I couldn’t remember the last book I read that wasn’t about guidelines. Or the last time I painted.

I knew exactly how to order epi and interpret labs.

But I did not know how to answer the question:

“What do you need, right now, as a human?”

This led to an incredible journey to the concept of ego vs soul cup.

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Ego vs. Soul Cup: The Concept That Changed Everything For Me

Here’s how I think about it now:

Your ego cup is filled with all the things that make you look “impressive” on paper. Degrees. Titles. Leadership roles. Publications. Promotions.

Your soul cup is filled with the things that make you feel alive and connected. Laughter with friends. Slow mornings. Joy walks. Creativity. Time in nature.

Sometimes, these are aligned. Sometimes, they are opposing each other.

In medicine, especially for women physicians, we are expertly trained to fill our ego cups from day one.

“What research project are you working on?”

“What fellowship are you going into?”

“Have you considered joining this committee?”

We become fluent in chasing gold stars and checking boxes. ✅

But no one pulls us aside between consults and says:

“Hey, when are you going to refill your soul cup?”

No one asks how you’ll protect your joy when you’re rounding post-call, or sitting in an infertility clinic waiting room trying to hold a room full of grief and expectations.

So we pour. We say yes. We push through.

Until one night in a call room, our soul cup finally falls to the floor and we realize, “Oh. This is unsustainable.”

Disconnection in Women Physicians Is Not Your Failure

Let’s be very clear:

Disconnection in women physicians is not because you’re weak, ungrateful, or “not resilient enough.”

It’s what happens when:

• Gender inequality asks you to be endlessly competent and endlessly pleasant.
• Toxic culture rewards self-sacrifice and punishes boundaries.
• Being undervalued becomes the air you breathe—your time, expertise, and sometimes your very humanity feel negotiable.
• Your life outside the hospital carries invisible weight—fertility struggles, caregiving, microaggressions, loneliness—and there’s nowhere safe to set it down.

The system is not neutral. The culture is not neutral.

So if you’ve ever thought:

“Everyone else seems to be handling this. What’s wrong with me?”

Hear me when I say: nothing is wrong with you.

Your exhaustion is a healthy response to an unhealthy situation. Your burnout is information. It’s your soul cup waving a tiny flag and whispering, “Hey, remember me?”

When I talk to women physicians now, I hear the same themes over and over:

• The grief of infertility or pregnancy loss tucked inside a call schedule that doesn’t slow down.
• The anxiety that hums like fluorescent lights: “If I stop pushing, will everything fall apart?”
• The identity loss when your whole life has been organized around becoming and being “Doctor,” and one day you realize you don’t recognize yourself outside the chart.

These are not small things. These are life-defining realities.

But medical culture rarely gives us a safe, judgment-free space to talk about them.

Instead, we get:

• Pizza parties
• Mindfulness slides
• A reminder to “take more time for self-care” in a system that already eats up our time

Disconnection in women physicians is not solved by scented candles and a single day off.

It’s softened and transformed by:

• Honest conversations with women who get it
• Spaces where sharing is always optional, but support is always available
• Being witnessed in your full humanity—not just your productivity

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The Moment I Stopped Pretending I Was Fine...

Back to the call room.

I remember grabbing my phone and doing what so many of us secretly do when life cracks us open: I started googling.

“How long will my first panic attack last"

“How to find yourself - woman".

The search results were… meh.

Articles. Tips. Lists.

But none of them sounded like my life.

No one was talking about the physician who cries in her parked car after signing another peds death certificate. Or the doctor who feels guilty for forgetting to plan dinner... again. Or the attending who is trying to make time for her unexpected fertility appointments in and already overbooked schedule.

That realization of disconnection lit something in me.

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Fast forward 10 years... to the here and now.

No one handed me a sleek 10-step workbook on how to refill my soul cup.

Healing started in tiny, imperfect, slightly rebellious ways:

Little moments: A Taylor Swift gratitude ride on the commute home—three specific things I’m grateful for between stoplights.

Joy anchors: Hot cocoa with luxury marshmallows after a hard day. A pastel rainbow bookshelf that reminds me creativity still lives here. Curling up in a plush robe with herbal tea named after a smutty book.

Permission to be human: Letting myself cry in the shower after a brutal week instead of snapping back into “I’m okay” mode.

Nature + movement: Short, messy “joy walks” with my dog, Zoey—rain or shine—where my only job was to notice the sky, the trees, the sound of my own footsteps.

None of these fixed the system. They didn’t silence my pager or magically rewrite my schedule.

But they reminded me:

I am more than my degree.

I am allowed to feel. I deserve a life that smells like rain and roses, not just hand sani.

The more I honored those small practices, the more I felt a tiny spark of creative courage and quiet confidence returning.

Why I Created Women Physicians Collective

As I started talking openly about burnout and disconnection with women physicians, something beautiful happened.

Other women physicians began to share their stories. Cautious and tentative at first. Then more freely.

Stories of:

• Crying in the parking lot before clinic
• Hiding anxiety behind perfectly curated schedules
• Feeling like a “bad doctor” for wanting more time with their kids, their partner, their own bodies.

Each story felt like a healing balm—not because the pain disappeared, but because it was finally seen.

I realized what I had been craving that night in the call room wasn’t more advice.

I wanted:

• A confidential, trusted circle where I could be raw and honest, without worrying how it would look on an evaluation
• Sisterhood—a physician community that understood the language of medicine and the language of souls
• CME that didn’t just expand my brain, but refilled my soul cup

Since I couldn’t find that space, I created it.

Women Physician Collective is my answer to that call room moment.

It’s my bright, grounded rebellion against the idea that disconnection is just “part of the job” and that your only options are to endure or escape.

Here, we:

• Share stories in a low-stress environment—sharing always optional, support always present
• Practice soul-filling micro-moments that fit into real physician lives
• Redefine success on our own terms
• Remember, over and over, that joy is part of our life plan

Your Next Gentle Step (No Homework, I Promise)

If any part of my story sounds like your story, here are a few low-stress options to continue this conversation:

Try a 2-Minute Soul Cup Check-In Tonight Before you fall into bed, ask yourself:

What drained me today?

What filled me, even a little bit?

What is one tiny thing I can do tomorrow to honor myself? (Lighting a candle, texting a friend, taking a joy walk—all count.)

Notice Your Ego Cup vs Soul Cup This Week As you move through your day, simply notice:

“This fills my ego cup.”

“This fills my soul cup.”

No judgment. Just awareness. That awareness is powerful.

Pull up a chair!

I’ll be sharing more real talk about burnout in women physicians, ego vs soul cup, and how we’re rewriting the rules together. If you want first dibs on women’s circles and women-focused education that actually fills your soul cup, make sure you’re on my email list.

Remember: You Always Have a Seat at Our Table.

Whether you’re burnt to a crisp or quietly wondering, “Is this all there is?”, you belong here. You always have a seat at our table.

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Vitals stable. Spirit wild. ~JMac Jessica M. McIntyre, MD, FAAP Pediatric hospitalist + founder of Women Physicians Collective, helping women physicians reconnect with who they are beyond the chart.

113 Cherry St #92768, Seattle, WA, 98104-2205
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