Part 2. From Slow Burn to Return - A Dental Hygienist's Journey Back to Herself.

Part 2: The Leap 

I typed up my resignation letter, and then closed my laptop. 

If I still feel this way next week, I’m turning this in. 

I wish I could tell you that I turned it in the following week. But, the resignation letter would go on to sit in my laptop files for months. Yes, months. 

You see, the good days would come back. The ones filled with the favorite patients and the good vibes. But it wasn’t long before the bad days would return and start piling up again. I would feel traction, and then I would hit a landslide. I would get in flow, and then something would happen that broke down any sense of autonomy or value I thought I’d built.

I did not get into this profession to feel this way. I would remind myself over and over. 

While there were certain moments that gradually blew out my flame, I can fully own that I was no longer doing anything to protect my flame. I would work my regular two days a week and then plug in at my side ventures, slowly building something that could sustain me outside of the operatory. I gradually stopped picking up extra shifts or bending over backwards - I was too broken, too tired, too defeated to give any more than I already had. 

My social media business was growing. 

My short-term consulting projects were gaining steam. 

The indoor cycling studio I managed and instructed at provided a safe space for me to move through what would become the biggest leap of my life yet. 

Every time I thought about submitting my resignation, the doubts and fears would begin to creep in. I would get nauseous and apprehensive. 

I would tell myself that plenty of other Dental Hygienists have it way worse than me. That I'd had It pretty good and to just push through.

Even when I felt increasingly out of alignment with my environment, I'd still try to minimize my fears and talk myself out of leaping.

This is what the fears sounded like:

Financially,  am I making enough to bridge this gap? How many projects do I need to take on to get there?

Stability, I cannot blow up my family’s security over my little workplace unhappiness. 

Identity, who am I if I’m not a dental hygienist? I’ve spent over a decade building this, was it all for nothing?

Perception, what will other people think? I hate disappointing people, will I be letting my people down? 

After confiding in my husband and a few close friends, I decided that even though my  departure from the op was imminent, I could not be reckless about it. We are inherently built to avoid risk, it is our psyche’s way of keeping us safe, fed, clothed, sheltered…ya know, all of those hierarchy of needs we learned back in the day. 

I did not feel supported inside the operatory. 

So I would need to build my support system outside of the operatory. 

I was preparing to leap, so I needed to prepare a place to land as well. 

What did this look like? 

First - I got clear on the money aspect. My husband and I sat with our budget, a monthly ritual we already had in place, and got real with what this would look like. Since my side hustles were thriving, we decided to cushion up any income from those and forge ahead on one income. My husband and I had a few things in place from years prior that made this entire financial transition feasible: getting debt free,  setting up good money habits like monthly budget reviews and forecasts, and setting up sinking funds for our children’s expenses and any other big expenses we anticipated. 

Side note: I don’t want to breeze past this luxury. I know I am extremely fortunate to be in a multi-income household. And I know that’s not the reality for everyone. So if you got to this point and you’re sitting there thinking, “oh that must be nice.” You’re right, it was nice. But it was also extremely hard to make cuts here and there to ensure this would work. It also took years to build various income streams, but I am so glad I did.  I still didn’t fully believe in my abilities to make this work…but I was committed to figuring it out. 

As I started building my cushion for the leap, I could feel the ground underneath me. Beam by beam, I was building the framework. However, I knew I also needed to address the other fears and doubts. I’ve always said that my best and worst trait is, “everything is figure-out-able,” and this became a mantra that I would cling to for quite some time (I still hold it close). 

I got myself back into weekly therapy to begin unpacking what I’d been carrying. I carried a lot of shame and guilt leaving the operatory. I felt like I was letting people down - my patients, my colleagues, my team. I knew that the nightly tears and panic attacks were not sustainable for the life I’d dreamed of - the public perception (for me) was the hardest to carry.  Who was I without dental hygiene? Was I leaving forever? Would I return? 

I thought I was immune to burnout.

It wasn’t supposed to happen to me. 

I was the passionate one…the one who took care of myself…the one who protected my flame - until I didn’t. 

 I began candid and encouraging chats with a mentor who had previously taken a leap. Although in a different industry, their insights were fuel to my engine. On the day I would finally resign, they wrote me a note that I still have to this day - the note talked about making this “soul decision,” and how I’d be okay. 

I began chatting with close colleagues and friends who I knew would be shocked by my decision to leave the op, but would also be supportive and uplifting. Their willingness to hold my hand through this time was the ultimate form of that friendship that I hope finds everyone in this lifetime. 

I began taking on more clients in my side hustles and pouring myself into my outside work. I kept finding myself in rooms that were full of opportunities, new mentors, and people who valued what I brought to their spaces. Whether you’re a believer or not, I now know that this was my Creator reassuring me that a leap would be possible…that everything is, in fact, figure-out-able. 

Lastly, I began growing a backbone. Not literally, but the kind of boundaries and voice I always wish I had in the clinical setting. I vowed that I would no longer tolerate short-cuts from above,  snide comments from leadership, or anything that diminished the value that I brought to clinical care. 

Tuesday, January 7th, 2025, I walked to my employer’s office and handed in my resignation. I began letting my team know shortly after that. 

Tuesday, January 21st, 2025, I worked what would be my last day in clinical dental hygiene for quite some time - my husband’s birthday. After I got home from work we had pizza and cake. I told my boys, “it’s time to celebrate daddy!” My husband quickly added, “we’re celebrating mommy today, too,” as he looked at me from across the dinner table. The subtle acknowledgment I didn’t know I needed at that moment. 

January 21, 2025 - My last day at the home office I'd known for over nine years...and my husband's birthday.

My kids were unaware that mommy was leaving her job. It would actually be weeks before they would ask why I don’t wear my outfit (scrubs) anymore on Mondays and Tuesdays. I wanted it to stay this way, I would tell them in my own way.  But for the time being I was mom, I was home, and I had made the biggest “soul decision” of my life so far. 

The gravity of my departure didn’t hit me until the following Monday. I would wake up that morning and not put on scrubs for the first time in over nine years. It was weird and unfamiliar, but it was sacred and beautiful too. 

I’ve done it. I thought. 

I’m still standing. I reassured myself. 

Everything is figure-out-able. I reminded myself. 

In Part 3, I will dive into The Pivot - the space between my leap and my pursuit of life on my terms. That time was filled with growing, learning, creating my own opportunities, and a whole-body reset. 

This is part two of a four-part series titled From Slow Burn to Return - A Dental Hygienist's Journey Back to Herself. It is my journey to and through burnout as a clinical dental hygienist. All views and opinions are mine.