Today, I want to talk about something that I think a lot of us can relate to, especially when we’re dealing with health issues and just want to feel better.
It’s about trusting your gut. No, I’m not talking about gut health today. I’m talking about that feeling you get when something doesn’t sit right with you, even when you can’t quite explain why.

I had an experience recently that really brought this home for me. I left an appointment sitting in my car with a bag of herbs, feeling uneasy about the whole thing. Part of me was questioning what had just happened, and another part was wondering if I was overthinking it.

Have you ever had that feeling? You leave a conversation or an appointment and replay everything in your head, wondering whether you should have said something, asked another question, or handled things differently? That was me.

My regular TCM doctor went on medical leave, and with the seasonal change leaving me run down, I decided to try someone new.

For context, I’ve been dealing with trigeminal neuralgia, or TN, for years. It’s a chronic pain condition that can cause intense facial pain, and finding ways to manage it has been a long journey for me. I’ve had periods where things were much better, thanks in part to the care and lifestyle changes I’d made over the years. But when the pain flares up, you naturally want to get things under control again.

I wanted to share this because when you are tired, managing chronic pain, or desperate to feel better, it is so easy to doubt yourself. You assume the person sitting across the desk with the credentials knows best, so you just nod and go along with it. But there is a massive difference between trusting a practitioner and completely handing over your own judgment. I’ve always believed in respecting the knowledge and experience of the people I work with. But I’ve also learned that trusting a practitioner doesn’t mean giving up your right to ask questions.

I will never forget how this appointment went. We started with me mentioning I had been dealing with TN (trigeminal neuralgia) pain. He said, “Oh, TMJ.” I corrected him politely: “No, Trigeminal Neuralgia.” He looked at me with an exasperated smirk and told me, “Yeah, TMJ. It’s the same thing.”

Now, if you’re not familiar with these terms, they’re not the same thing. Trigeminal neuralgia involves the trigeminal nerve and can cause episodes of severe facial pain. TMJ refers to problems involving the jaw joint and the surrounding structures. There can be some overlap in where the pain is felt, but they’re different conditions.

That immediately stopped me in my tracks. Honestly, the terminology wasn’t even what bothered me most. It was the condescending tone that came with it, and the way I was brushed off when I tried to ask simple questions. I couldn’t find my footing. His pace and attitude made it hard to think, let alone share the full picture of my health. I kept losing my train of thought, feeling like I was shrinking in my chair.

Maybe someone else would have had a completely different experience with this practitioner. I’m only sharing what it felt like from my experience.

When you’re discussing your health, you need to be able to talk. You need to feel like you can ask a question, explain your symptoms, and share your history without feeling like you’re being difficult.
That brings me to the next part of the appointment.

If you’ve spent any time around Traditional Chinese Medicine, you know the diagnostic process is hands-on. Tongue, pulse, questions, history, patterns. The doctor I saw for over twelve years, who was actually younger than me, but had grown up around the medicine, always took real care and patience with every part of it. I only mention age because this new practitioner was also on the younger side, and my hesitation has nothing to do with youth. Good medicine isn’t about age; it’s about care, humility, and thoroughness.

This practitioner did things differently. He placed two fingers on both of my wrists, held them there for maybe five seconds, and moved on. Now, I’m not a TCM practitioner, and I’m not going to pretend I can judge someone’s entire diagnostic approach based on one moment. Practitioners can have different methods. But after years of experiencing more thorough processes, I couldn’t help wondering how much he could really have gathered in such a short time. It honestly didn’t give me any confidence. Usually, a TCM doctor takes time to talk through what they think is happening and why, but that conversation didn’t really happen here.

I tried to explain that I’d had digestive issues for years, including what TCM describes as Spleen deficiency, along with recurring bloating. He brushed it off, saying, “Well, it’s not happening right now.” And after bouncing through disjointed questions, he gave me bewildered looks when I said I never took painkillers, and when I explained why, he actually laughed. It felt judgmental and patronizing.

Next, he asked what my previous doctor had prescribed. When I showed him the formula I’d been taking, he described it as basic and said his approach was much more complex. Later, he gave me a prescription containing more than twenty different herbs.

Now, I want to be clear about something. I’m not a trained herbalist, and I’m not saying that a formula with twenty herbs is automatically wrong, but for me, I knew it wasn’t right. There were some herbs in the formula that I already knew weren’t a good fit for me, based on what my previous TCM doctors had taught me about my own condition. But that’s a whole other conversation. The practitioners I’d worked with before had always emphasized taking things slowly and being mindful of my Spleen. So when I looked at this new formula, I had questions.

What was each part intended to do? What pattern was he trying to address? How did he arrive at this combination, given the health history I’d shared?
I wanted to understand the reasoning behind it, but we hadn’t really had that conversation either.

Against my better judgment, I gave it a chance. (Sometimes desperation makes us negotiate with our own instincts). Even when something doesn’t feel right, we sometimes go along with it because we assume the other person knows better. We tell ourselves, “Well, they’re the practitioner. I’m not. Maybe I should just trust the process.”

I wasn’t comfortable, but I decided to give the herbs a chance anyway. Part of me thought, maybe this will help. Maybe I’m just being too cautious.

Unfortunately, the first batch of tea made me nauseous, and my pain flared up. When I told the practitioner what had happened, he asked me to bring the herbs back to the next appointment so he could make some adjustments.

I later emailed the practitioner to ask what he had been treating with the formula and to better understand his reasoning. He replied that the formula had been too heavy for my digestion, or that my digestive system was too weak to process it properly. What frustrated me was that I’d already told him about my digestive history during the appointment. The nausea was new, but the history wasn’t. Yet his explanation made it sound as though these issues had only come to light after I reacted to the herbs and he asked further questions.

It was disappointing to feel that something I’d already explained during the appointment hadn’t been taken into account in the way I’d expected. I wanted to understand the reasoning behind the formula, but I was also left wondering whether the information I’d shared had really been heard in the first place.

By the time I went back for my follow-up appointment, I’d already decided I wasn’t returning to him. For acupuncture, I made sure to tell him he could needle anywhere except my face. I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t try to convince him that my concerns were justified. I simply set a boundary around what I was comfortable with and made the decision not to continue seeing him.

I’m not someone who finds it easy to confront people, especially when I’m sitting across from someone who’s supposed to be helping me. There were moments when I did question things or try to get clarification, but I also found myself holding back. When someone makes you feel as though your questions are a nuisance, it’s not always easy to keep asking them.

Looking back, I wondered whether I should have spoken up more. But the truth was, I was beginning to realize that this might not be someone I wanted to continue working with. Was it worth spending more of my time and energy trying to convince him to understand my concerns when I knew I wouldn’t be returning? I realize that this was part of advocating for myself, even if it didn’t look the way people might expect. I didn’t need to confront him or have the last word. I just needed to recognize that I wasn’t comfortable continuing and act on that decision.

When you’re in pain or you’ve been struggling with something for a long time, you really want someone to help you figure it out. You want answers. You want relief, and when someone has the credentials and experience, it’s easy to hand over the steering wheel and hope they know where they’re going. But remember, you’re still part of that process.

You’re the one living in your body every day. You’re the one who knows what your usual symptoms feel like, what has changed, what you’ve tried, and what you’re experiencing now.

That doesn’t mean your own interpretation is always right. It doesn’t mean every uncomfortable feeling is proof that something is wrong, and it certainly doesn’t mean you should ignore professional advice just because it isn’t what you expected to hear. But it does mean you should be able to ask questions and get a clear explanation of the care being recommended to you.

You don’t need a medical degree to ask questions. You don’t have to agree with every recommendation, and you don’t have to stay with a practitioner simply because you’ve already invested time, money, or hope in the relationship.

Sometimes, trusting your gut doesn’t mean knowing exactly what’s wrong. It means recognizing that you need more information, a different approach, or someone you feel more comfortable working with. For me, that was the lesson I took away from this experience.

As a mom managing chronic pain and someone studying health and wellness, I know how vulnerable it feels to hand over your trust when you’re just looking for relief. You can respect someone’s training and still ask for that explanation. You can appreciate their experience and still decide they’re not the right person for you. But I didn’t need to decide whether he was a good or bad practitioner overall. I only needed to decide whether I felt comfortable continuing with him.

This is my personal experience, not medical advice. If something in your treatment plan does not feel right, bring your questions to a qualified practitioner you trust.