A Veterinarian’s Struggle—and a Way Forward

A vet’s heartfelt look at the challenges in modern pet care and a hopeful path to better support animals and their caregivers.

I didn’t become a veterinarian to meet quotas. I didn’t take on years of schooling, sleepless nights, and emotional toll to be told how many surgeries I need to perform each month.

I became a vet because I love animals. Because I wanted to heal, to comfort, to advocate for those who can’t speak for themselves. But somewhere along the way, the heart of this profession got buried under profit margins, productivity targets, and corporate agendas.

One by one, the small, community-focused practices I admired started disappearing—bought up by massive corporate groups like VCA and Banfield. These companies promised resources, support, and structure. But what they really brought was pressure. Pressure to increase revenue, to upsell services, to hit quotas that have nothing to do with patient well-being and everything to do with financial gain.

And now, I find myself asking: Who is this really serving?

Not the animals. Not the families who trust us. And not us, the veterinarians. We’re emotionally exhausted. Morally conflicted. Quietly drowning in burnout. We’re part of a profession with one of the highest suicide rates in the country, and no one seems to be talking about why.

How did we get here?

We let businesspeople—not healers—take the wheel. And in doing so, we created a system where treatment decisions are often driven by spreadsheets instead of science, and where compassion is a line item, not a priority.

We’ve fallen into a pattern: prescribe a drug. If that doesn’t work, schedule surgery. If that doesn’t work, recommend euthanasia. It’s a conveyor belt of care that often misses the nuance, the patience, and the listening that animals truly need.

So where do we go from here?

We start by reclaiming our power to say no. No to unnecessary procedures. No to metrics that don’t measure actual care. No to the idea that profit is more important than life. We need to remember why we became vets in the first place—and demand a system that supports that mission, not undermines it.

How do we take care of ourselves while we take care of others?

We open up about the mental toll this is taking on us. We talk about burnout. We demand access to real mental health resources, not just empty wellness emails from HR. And we stop pretending that pushing ourselves past the breaking point is a badge of honor.

Is there a better way to practice medicine?

Yes. More and more vets are turning toward integrative and holistic care—they’re taking classes in veterinary acupuncture, massage, laser therapy, botanical medicine, and nutrition. These aren’t just “alternative” anymore. They’re evidence-based practices, grounded in science, that respect the complexity of an animal’s body, mind, and environment. They treat root causes, not just symptoms. And they allow us to be healers again, not just technicians or salespeople.

There are organizations like CuraCore and others offering real training and support for vets who want to walk this path. And slowly, the tide is starting to turn.

So what needs to change?

We need to shift the industry culture from corporate to compassionate.
We need to elevate the voices of vets who are practicing ethically and holistically.
We need to create space for care that is thoughtful, integrative, and individualized.
And most of all, we need to protect the people who have dedicated their lives to protecting animals.

I still love this work.
I still believe in its purpose.
But we need a revolution in how we define care—before this system breaks all of us.