When I bought a practice in 2014, I thought my days of veterinary associateship were over. I rejoiced in my elevated role as controller-in-chief. After almost 20 years as an associate, I figured I had paid my dues. Given I had also risked my current and future financial resources and worked very hard to make it all happen, I reckoned my graduation from associate to practice owner represented a permanent status upgrade. No going back now, right? Not so fast. Less than 10 years later, I found myself needing to change tack. Owning a business had been a great experience, but I needed to move on with my life. I had grown the practice substantially and no longer had the drive to grow it any further. I’m just one of those people who does not like to feel weeds growing under my feet—and they were just starting to sprout then. That is when I took a leap and sold. The timing was smart. The offer was right. (I accepted neither the first nor the most lucrative), but nothing about it was perfect, of course. One of the main drawbacks to selling a practice these days is planning a speedy escape is almost impossible. Since few buyers are interested in risking mass client abandonment upon a seller’s sudden retirement, multi-year employment contracts are pretty much mandatory for exiting practice owners. I knew that going in. This is why I had originally timed the sale to coincide with what I figured to be my last year or two before moving into my life’s next phase. However, unfortunately, almost all of the really good offers on my practice were asking for a three-year employment contract. As it turned out, I would have to work a whole lot longer than I had anticipated. So, I steeled myself for the change and threw myself into the work—with gusto!—over the first six months. I figured the sale price had been just compensation (I have certainly worked harder for less in most of the many vet jobs I have held over my 30-year career.). What’s more, the stress of being an associate was not half of what I had experienced as an owner. After this rosy-lensed introductory period, however, the honeymoon effect gradually faded. Now, almost one year in, I have had to take a hard look at the pitfalls—both practical and emotional—of learning to be an associate veterinarian all over again. It has been ego-deflating, anxiety-inducing, frustrating, and infuriating. Here’s how: When you have been top dog and suddenly find yourself relegated to mere employee status, it is tough for all kinds of reasons. 1) Loss of control sucks Recognizing you are a passenger when you have always been a driver is destabilizing in many ways. Unfortunately, this can extend to many facets of your life, not just your work. It is especially acute when you profoundly disagree with decisions being made on your practice’s behalf. No matter how small the issue, losing the ability to control something you once managed without blinking makes the world seem off-axis. 2) It’s ego-deflating Waiting to complete a three-year contract as an ex-owner is like living out a lame duck tenure. Being relegated to figurehead status has made me feel sidelined and ineffectual. It is a rare person who would not question their self-worth at least a little bit when being expected to abide by decisions made by individuals half their age who do not even have the benefit of firsthand knowledge of your practice, your clients, or your team members. 3) It can be just as stressful Sometimes I feel as if I endure all the stress of managing the business while experiencing none of the benefits of controlling it. Of course, that is not entirely true. At least I do not worry about hurricanes as much anymore. 4) Team discipline suffers Your team will start to look at you differently once they recognize you are not really in charge anymore. Though most will respect and remain loyal to you, a few employees will eventually start to question your leadership. It just takes one employee to challenge your authority (and realize you don’t truly have it) before they start probing the practice’s disciplinary boundaries. Tardiness, attendance, and even vengeful acts, such as theft, may start to work their way into your practice’s delicate new latticework of authority. How far can they push it before getting fired? 5) Buying even little things can be a pain It might sound petty, but when you can’t snap your fingers and order the drugs and supplies you used to on the exact day you want to, it can be maddening. Adhering to a strict purchasing budget can be frustrating enough I have been known to ignore it and buy my holiday decorations for a practice I no longer own. I even bought my keyboard for my work computer. Who wants to have to jump through hoops for a $35 piece of equipment I needed yesterday? Sure, they would buy it, but somehow it hurts to have to ask. 6) Justifying new hires is another hurdle Planning for growth is a delicate part of the business, and I have always done it by feel. I know when I need to hire, and I know how much a candidate deserves to make. When others start to make decisions like these based on short-sighted budget constraints, it’s like nails on a chalkboard for me. 7) Sometimes, it feels like you’re lying to clients After selling, you do not automatically want to disclose that you have sold the practice. Advertising a sale would be destabilizing to the practice itself, and I decided it is in the long-term best interest of the practice to let all our clients know right away. One year after selling I’m just now starting to introduce the concept to my best clients by telling them that I’m planning a move in a couple of years. Still, it feels stressfully “icky” to feel like I’m hiding something from people who have loyally placed their trust in me. 8) Feeling stuck Not being able to move on to your next chapter. Going into my second year as a lame duck ex-owner, the hardest part is feeling trapped. I know exactly what I would prefer to be doing, and I’m two years away from being able to do it. 9) Knowing I’m underpaid doesn’t help my attitude any All of the practice’s associates make more than I do when it comes to percentage of production. It’s standard for this company, but it’s not exactly motivating at this point in my tenure. Sure, I have made a mint on the practice sale and I’m grateful for what I have achieved, but given where I am emotionally, it is especially painful to know I’m earning less of a percentage than every single one of my associates. Most ex-owners try and stay in gratitude mode as a survival mechanism. More than half the time that is how I would describe myself, as well. After all, we were well-paid for our indentured servitude. Some doubtless experience stress differently than I do and can better concentrate on the positives. However, I’ve spoken to others who describe the loss of their practice as grief-inducing. They experience at least some degree of loss every single day. At least I’m nowhere near that level. It may, however, be time to invest in some noise-canceling headphones. Maybe that way, I’ll be better able to tune out the negatives and visualize everything I’ll finally get to do…two years from now. Patty Khuly, VMD, MBA, runs a small animal practice in Miami, Fla., and is available at drpattykhuly.com. Columnists’ opinions do not necessarily reflect those of Veterinary Practice News.
