One of my first big failures—and one that hit me right in the ego—was going into business with my teacher and a couple of assertive classmates fresh out of school. On paper, it sounded amazing: mentorship, collaboration, shared vision, mutual respect. But in reality? It was like four chefs trying to run one tiny kitchen with completely different menus and no one agreeing on who the head chef was.
We were all passionate. We all had opinions. And none of us had real-world business experience.
The plan was simple: we’d share space, pool resources, and build a thriving integrative practice. What actually happened was constant misalignment, simmering resentment, and a hell of a lot of passive-aggressive communication. We’d have meetings that went in circles because everyone wanted to lead, but no one wanted to take responsibility when shit hit the fan.
Here’s the thing no one tells you in school: being clinically aligned with someone doesn’t mean you’re business-aligned. Shared passion doesn’t equal shared vision. We all loved medicine—but we had radically different ideas about what success looked like, how to run a schedule, how to charge, what kind of patients we wanted, even how clean the f**king waiting room should be.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was using my teacher as a crutch. I leaned on his authority when I was unsure, waited for his nod instead of developing my own decision-making muscle. And when that partnership dissolved, I had no choice but to stand on my own. Scary as hell—but it was the beginning of me actually owning my path.
Don’t confuse camaraderie with compatibility. Just because you respect someone doesn’t mean you should build a business with them. Know your North Star. Get clear on your boundaries. And for the love of all that is sacred, put everything in writing—even if they’re your friends.
That early failure forced me to grow up fast. It was the start of me realizing that integrity in business isn’t just about being honest—it’s about being clear, being direct, and not avoiding the hard conversations because you want to keep things “nice.”
You can still love people and know they’re not meant to be your business partners. You can still honor your teachers and recognize when it’s time to take the training wheels off.
If I hadn’t gone through that crash-and-burn collaboration, I never would’ve learned how to lead. And if I hadn’t stood on my own, I never would’ve built the practice I have now.
So yeah, it sucked. It was awkward. It cost me time and money. But it was worth it. Because failure, when you’re paying attention, is just your North Star yanking you back on track.
