Finding My Rhythm: Healing, Leading, Becoming

When Leadership Chooses Silence

Leadership is not ease or accolade,
Not titles etched on polished grade.
It is the weight of seeing clear
When others turn from what they fear.
It’s standing firm when others fall,
Answering a deeper call.
To raise your voice, to hold the line—
For patients, for truth, for what is right in time.
It’s not the absence of doubt or strain,
But rising still through loss and pain.
To break the silence, speak the cost,
And lead with heart—when all feels lost.

Years later, I found myself facing a different kind of test — not at the bedside, but behind closed doors.

I was serving as the quality director at my hospital. A new surgeon had joined the staff — polished, charismatic, with an impressive resume and the kind of confidence that made people take notice.

But something was wrong.

The complication rates started to rise. Readmissions climbed. I heard whispers in the OR. Nurses raised concerns. Even anesthesiologists began to speak up.

So I did what physician leaders are supposed to do:
I listened. I gathered the data. I reviewed the charts. I looked at outcomes — not opinions.

Then I brought it to the department chair.

Nothing was done.

I brought objective literature, offered external peer review, documented everything.
Still — I was told to stop. That I was creating drama. That this was a witch hunt.

And then came the threat:
“If you push further, it’ll be your job.”

So I stopped.

But I’ve never stopped thinking about it.

About the patients.
About the silence.
About the system that protected a physician’s reputation more than the people we’re here to serve.

This is what no one tells you about leadership in medicine.

It’s not about titles or impressive bios or committees.
It’s about moral courage. Accountability. The willingness to stand alone when the cost of speaking up becomes personal.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth:
In medicine, we protect our own — even when it costs the patient.

We bury concerns.
We teach trainees to suppress their instincts.
We punish those who speak up more than those who cause harm.
We confuse charisma with competence. And we confuse silence with professionalism.

But that’s not leadership.
That’s complicity.

And the damage is real.
Not just to patients, but to the culture of medicine itself.

Because someone is always watching.
A junior resident wondering if they’re allowed to question what they see.
A nurse deciding if it’s worth it to say something — again.
A patient trusting that the system is working in their favor.

The real work of physician leadership is hard. It demands clarity, courage, and a willingness to go against the grain. The silence we so often encounter in medicine isn’t just born of fear — it’s sustained by leaders who choose comfort over confrontation, loyalty over truth. And in that silence, harm festers.

But leadership, true leadership, means breaking that pattern. It means bearing the weight others refuse to carry. It means remembering that our highest duty is not to one another, but to those we serve.

And sometimes, leadership means saying the hard thing… when no one else will.

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A Call to Action

To the physicians reading this: your silence has weight. So does your voice.

We must dismantle the culture that equates loyalty with complicity.
We must raise up leaders who prioritize safety over ego.
We must train our teams to speak — and listen — with courage.

Because protecting patients starts with protecting truth.

And if we do it right, we just might build a culture that is worthy of the trust placed in us.