Inquisitive.me

My dad is a veterinarian. The other day, he said something that really stuck with me.

He’s been in the field for almost 40 years. Most of that time was spent treating large animals—cows, sheep, goats, sometimes horses. But he’s also cared for countless dogs and cats, nursing them back to health and performing minor surgeries.

What amazes me most is how he ran a small practice—no fancy tools, no MRI, no ultrasound, no blood analysis. Just experience, instinct, and a sharp eye. Often, he made incredibly accurate diagnoses simply by listening to the owners and observing the animals.

That alone taught me something valuable: you don’t always need the latest equipment to do a great job. Sometimes, the best tools are your ears, your eyes, and your attention.

But here’s the deeper lesson I want to share.

As a physio, there are moments when everything just clicks. A patient walks in, tells their story, and suddenly the dots connect. Your treatment plan fits perfectly, progress follows, and you feel unstoppable—like the best physio alive. Confidence soaring, nothing can shake you.

And then… there are the other days.

The days when a patient shares their story and all you feel is fog. You ask questions, dig deeper, but no clear hypothesis appears. You put together a plan, give it your all—and weeks later, there’s no improvement. Maybe things even get worse. That inner voice sneaks in: What am I missing? Am I really any good at this?

I’ve had those days. I still do. And recently, my dad told me he has them too—even after forty years.

Some days, he feels like the best vet in the world. Other days, completely inadequate, like he’s overlooked something vital. He still doubts himself sometimes.

And you know what? That made me feel… human.

It’s actually a good thing to doubt yourself. Doubt makes us reflect, stay curious, and think critically about treatment plans, hypotheses, and even our knowledge itself. It keeps us open to new information—whether from books or from our patients. Doubt makes us ask questions, and sometimes that means rethinking—or even overthrowing—a whole treatment plan or hypothesis.

Because no matter how much experience we gain, we never outgrow uncertainty. No amount of knowledge can erase the complexity of our work—or the unpredictability of the human (or animal) body.

Treat failure like a scientist. Each attempt is an experiment. Each mistake is a clue. You’re not failing. You’re refining.

James Clear

🧪 Let’s Experiment

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Doubt is a sign you’re still learning, not failing.

The next time you catch yourself doubting your skills, remember: even the most experienced pros still have moments of uncertainty. And that’s a good thing—it means you’re still growing.

🎯 Try This:

The next time a patient (or a situation) leaves you unsure, pause and ask yourself: What can I learn from this? What question am I missing?

• Write down your hypotheses and test one small change.
• Seek a new perspective—from a book, a colleague, or even the patient themselves.
• Reflect: what’s one adjustment you could make that might bring clarity?

🧠 Final Thought:

Uncertainty isn’t a weakness—it’s a signal. Every doubt is a doorway to insight. Keep exploring, stay curious, and trust that every small experiment brings you closer to mastery.

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Keep it simple, stay curious, and keep learning—you’ve got this.

Take care,

Carina 🦊