Part 4. From Slow Burn to Return - A Dental Hygienist's Journey Back to Herself.

Part 4 - The Return 

When a pilot lands a plane, they don’t just slam it into the ground. They don’t rush the descent. They don’t panic at the sight of the runway. 

They slow down, they adjust, they trust their training, and they make small but intentional adjustments the entire way down. It’s controlled, it’s grounded, and it’s on purpose. 

Coming back to the clinical world felt like that for me. 

I wasn’t bracing for impact.

I was landing on my terms. 

I trusted myself to be open to the experience. A big part of returning to the operatory was me just learning to trust myself again, learning to listen to myself again, and learning not to ignore my gut instincts. 

For so long I had pushed down whispers of misalignment, nudges that I needed to leave, and signs that I wasn’t in the right place. Over time, I had reprogrammed myself to ignore all of that and just push through. Just hoping I was wrong or that things would magically get better. 

As I stepped back into the operatory, I made a vow to myself that I would speak up and stand up when something felt out of alignment. I promised myself that I would listen to the whispers, the exhaustion, the irritability, the sinking stomachs, and the daydreaming. 

I am really grateful that I landed in the beautiful world of periodontics. It was a specialty I never thought I’d see myself in, but one in which I align with very well. In my opinion, there’s just a different view of the Dental Hygienist in Periodontics - oftentimes our nonsurgical work kickstarts the patient’s journey and we are given a unique opportunity to walk with the patient through longer appointments, patient education, and connecting the dots for them. When I was in the general dentistry world, I always enjoyed the Periodontal Maintenance visits way more than my co-hygienists - the disease progression and regression has always been fascinating to me (but I wasn’t sure I could work in the periodontal world all day long). 

As it turns out, I had everything I needed: respect and autonomy to co-diagnose, a great Doctor to collaborate with, as much time as I needed and wanted with patients for treatment or education, a supportive and respectful team who helped me no questions asked, and a passion I didn’t recognize within myself. I knew this was a temporary arrangement, but it was a breath of fresh air. 

In my pursuits outside of the operatory, I informed clients of my shrinking availability so that I could focus on seeing how the op felt. I maintained a very small  group of retainer VIP clients but was no longer available for new clients. This kept it feasible to do both while I gauged how my clinical return felt. 

I have plenty of people ask, “how did you know it was time to go back into the op?”

The simplest answer I can give is this:

I stopped needing to escape it.

When I left clinical practice, I wasn't running from dentistry. I was trying to find myself again. I needed space to heal, to rest, to rebuild parts of myself that had been neglected and ignored for a long time.

And somewhere along the way, dentistry stopped feeling heavy. The idea of a return didn’t feel as heavy either. 

The resentment softened.The exhaustion lifted.The constant mental negotiation disappeared.

I found myself asking, "What would a return look and feel like?” 

Not because I had to.

Not because I ran out of options.

Not because someone convinced me to.

Because for the first time in a long time, it felt like a choice.

And that is how I knew.

I gradually felt my flame returning. 

I slipped right back into pace, doing all the things that made me fall in love with patient care to begin with. I was educating but also learning so much - my brain was so happy to be stimulated and help solve some puzzles for patients. It was a combination of seeing the impact of intervention,  feeling the trust from that doctor and the patients, and having the full backing I needed to thrive. 

Before I knew it, I was THAT GIRL.  I was the clinician I was before all the burnout. 

I was curious. I was compassionate. I was confident. 

I wasn’t day dreaming. I wasn’t irritable. And I wasn’t absolutely wiped out at the end of the day. 

I was energized. I was looking forward to my clinical days. And I was locked in. 

As the maternity coverage commitment was coming to a close, all I could feel was deep gratitude for the opportunity. What a breath of fresh air, I didn’t know hygiene could still feel like this.  I was sad to be leaving, but eternally grateful that it allowed me to gain confidence in my ability to still impact patients. It gave me the boost I needed to know that my time in the op wasn’t over. 

To my surprise, my colleague did not return from maternity leave. She wanted to be a stay at home mom - and I was so happy for her. One of the things that drew me to dentistry was the flexibility to enjoy being both a mom and a professional in an attainable way. The Doc  told me the job was mine if I wanted it. 

Wait…this was supposed to be temporary. Am I ready to commit to a permanent position? 

As I began praying and searching for the signs I needed, I also started confiding in close friends and colleagues about my dilemma. The same ones who carried me through The Slow Burn, The Leap, and The Pivot. 

After much thought, journaling, and prayers, I decided to accept the job at the periodontal office. It started as a two-day a week commitment, manageable. As I’ve settled into the practice, I’ve gradually added days to the load in a way that gives me a variety - something that I feel is important for me to have. Essentially, two days a week I’m rocking with periodontal and implant maintenance appointments and the other days I’m committed (which fluctuates depending on the week), I’m in longer non-surgical periodontal therapy appointments (NSPTs), re-evaluations, and Comp Exams with my Doc. 

I pursued my Local Anesthetic (Infiltration) Licensure for Texas - wooo, go Texas (thank you to all the homies who made this possible for us RDHs in Texas). I invested in my op and gradually made it mine. I hung my Degrees and License on the walls, and I settled in. 

I remind myself all the time that leaving didn’t fix anything, but it did give me the space to think clearly for the first time in a long time. 

Taking my clinical break helped me find my voice, set my boundaries, and gain the confidence I needed to step re-enter the clinical world. Stepping back was the move I needed in order to step forward with more clarity. 

And that brings us to now - the present day. 

In July, I will hit the one-year mark at my office. I am supported, I am seen and heard, and I have the voice I need to advocate, stand firm, and speak up if needed. I’m also mentoring new grads and consulting at an office to help level up their standard of care. I survived The Slow Burn, I made The Leap, I supported myself in The Pivot, and I gained the clarity I needed for The Return. 

Returning to the op wasn’t going backwards, it was moving forward with clarity, awareness, and boundaries.

If you’re reading this and something feels familiar (the whispers, the exhaustion, the disconnect) I want you to know this: 

You don’t have to figure it all out overnight. You don’t have to blow up your life to find clarity. 

But you do owe it to yourself to get honest about what you’re feeling. To listen to the whispers before they become screams. To ask yourself what you actually need, not just what you think you should be able to handle. 

There is space on the other side of burnout. 

And whether that means staying, leaving, or returning like I did - I hope you find your way back to yourself. 

You are not alone. 

This is part four in 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. 

((NOTES))

A brief note of thanks: I’ve had so much support along the way. I’d like to thank my closest friends and colleagues for holding me up along the way. Your patience, guidance, and open ears were a steady presence that I could not have gone without. To my husband, Carlos, thank you for always being my rock. To my new home-office, thank you for welcoming me on board, and being the safe space I needed for my landing. I am eternally grateful for this space I've found on the other side of burnout.