“How did you get into Pelvic Floor Physical Therapy?”

This is a question I get all the time and to be frank, I never have a simple answer.

When I entered physical therapy school, I didn’t plan to work in pelvic health. In fact, I didn’t even know it was an option. I’ve heard many physical therapists share personal health experiences that led them into this field. That wasn’t my story. So how did I get here?

When I started PT school, I fully expected to become a general orthopedic physical therapist, you know, the ones who treat hips, knees, shoulders, or help you recover after surgery. Maybe the joke’s on me, because I still use those orthopedic skills with every single patient… just through a pelvic health lens.

During PT school, I was introduced to the field of pelvic health, and something clicked. It felt like a gut instinct saying, “You should pay attention to this.” And in my experience, when you finally listen to that gut feeling, it usually knows what it’s talking about.

Why I entered the field is one story. Why I’ve stayed is another.

Let’s be real…healthcare is tough. Constantly changing demands, productivity pressures, uncertainty, burnout, and leadership that may say they want the best for employees while systems tell a different story. These are some of the reasons I’m moving into the out-of-network space.

But what truly keeps me here are the patients and their stories.

I’ve always been a naturally curious and observant person, and I connect easily with people. Pelvic health gives me a space to use those qualities in a meaningful way.

So why write this blog, this reflection, or whatever you want to call it?

Because it’s the patients who keep me here.

The world can feel like a scary place sometimes. On a macro level, I often wonder how—or if—I’m really making a difference. I try to do my part as a citizen and lead with empathy, logic, and care, but at times it can feel small. Yet on a micro level, with the patients I see every day, I know I’m helping fight the small, personal battles. And that feels like it matters.

Recently, I worked with a patient whose story is far too common. After being dismissed by physicians, she stopped bringing up her concerns altogether. She lives with daily pain, learned how to mask her symptoms to feel “normal,” and avoids discussing intimate issues like bowel, bladder, and sexual health out of embarrassment. Honestly, before entering this field, I probably wouldn’t have talked about those things either.

When she told me I was the first person to ask whether she had pain with intercourse, despite being in midlife, I felt a wave of emotions: anger, sadness, disbelief, frustration, and also relief. Relief that she was finally being asked. Shock that this is still happening in healthcare.

In that moment, I was reminded that even if I don’t have a loud voice on a macro level, I do have one on a micro level. Maybe one day I’ll find the way that feels right for me to influence this field more broadly. But for now, it’s the quiet moments: 

The questions finally asked

The stories finally heard

The relief of not being dismissed

That keeps me here.

The changes may look small from the outside, but they are life-changing on the inside.

This is why I do what I do.