The first time I raised my prices, I was running myself into the ground. Six days a week, back-to-back patients, barely stopping to eat. My body was running on fumes, and my brain was basically in survival mode. I was fully booked and still somehow struggling to make rent.
I kept telling myself I couldn’t raise my rates because people would stop coming. That I needed to wait until I had more experience, more credentials, more time under my belt—whatever. Deep down, I wasn’t even thinking about the math. I just didn’t think I had the right to charge more. So I stayed stuck.
Eventually, I didn’t have a choice. I hit a wall. My body couldn’t keep going the way I was working, and something had to give. So I bumped my rates up a bit, half-expecting to lose half my practice overnight. A few patients left. Most didn’t. And weirdly enough, new ones still kept calling. Suddenly, I had more space in my schedule, a little more money in my account, and—maybe most importantly—I wasn’t walking into the office dreading every single appointment.
I had a student around that time who reminded me of myself. Super talented, deeply committed, undercharging by about fifty percent compared to everyone else in her area. When I asked her why, she gave me the classic answer—she wanted to be “accessible.” But she was eating shit for dinner, living in a studio the size of a closet, and burning out fast. I asked her if she really thought she’d be able to serve anyone in the long term like that.
That’s the trap. We convince ourselves that struggling equals integrity. That charging less makes us more ethical. But all it really does is erode your energy, your time, and eventually your ability to show up for the people who actually need your help.
I’ve had patients tell me they couldn’t afford care, then drive off in luxury cars with designer bags. And for a while, I let that guilt get to me. I thought I was doing the right thing by cutting my rates for them. But what I was really doing was undercutting my own boundaries. And the resentment that builds from that—it doesn’t just go away. It starts bleeding into how you show up in the room.
If you’re maxed out but your income doesn’t reflect the effort you’re putting in, something’s off. You might think it’s a marketing problem, or a systems problem, or that you just need to “hustle harder.” But often, what’s really happening is you’re afraid to value your own time because no one ever taught you how.
There’s no secret formula here. If your books are full, and you’re still tired and broke, it’s time to raise your rates. You don’t need to explain it. You don’t need a fancy rebrand or a speech prepared for pushback. Just raise the damn rate.
The people who are meant to stay will stay. The ones who leave were never your foundation anyway.
