From Hot Head to Healing Hands: A Dentist's Journey
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| A young hot head, who felt had achieved everything for success |
These days, when I talk to young dentists, I often feel a strange sense of familiarity — like looking at an old version of myself. Hot-headed (though we called it cool-headed), confident, intellectually fed from eight years of research and academic rigor. We thought we were ready to change the world.
But the real world? That was a different beast.
Starting my practice felt like the curtain had just lifted on the actual play. There were no professors to correct me, no mentors guiding my hands, no classmates to reassure me. Patients were few. Money was even fewer. The mind often wandered into dark corners. And since I had studied in a different region, I had almost no professional connections in my hometown.
I still remember borrowing money just to join dental associations — trying to raise conversations and establish connections. I would walk into professional meetings and conferences like a stranger crashing a reunion. People smiled, but it felt like everyone knew everyone — except me. I'd sit alone, quiet, awkward, unsure of how to blend into tightly-knit groups.
I used to feel incredibly awkward when I tried to dodge into groups already engaged in laughter and familiarity, hoping to add a word, a smile, a gesture — just to feel a little less invisible. It was like walking through fog — not knowing if I'd be welcomed or politely ignored. Many times, I would walk away without having said anything at all.
My first lecture — I still remember the nerves. I had so much to say, but my voice trembled with every sentence. I kept wondering whether the audience could sense my inexperience. I had the content, but not yet the confidence. That day taught me how different knowledge is from presence — and how much growth it takes to bridge that gap.
And private practice? Those early days were overwhelming. I felt helpless — not because I lacked skill, but because I lacked direction. When a patient asked about something I hadn’t faced before, I’d smile outwardly but panic inside. There was no safety net anymore. It felt like walking a tightrope with no one watching — and no applause at the end.
During those early days, whatever little I earned, I invested back into myself — attending workshops, traveling to different parts of the world, and observing how dentistry and patient care unfolded elsewhere. Although I often traveled on borrowed money and credit cards, I never missed an opportunity to post photos on my Facebook account — trying, admittedly, to make others feel a little jealous. Later, I realized none of that really mattered.
It was humbling and eye-opening to realize that no matter where you go, the challenges, hopes, and struggles of young dentists are remarkably the same. This exposure broadened my horizons and shifted my mindset from seeing dentistry only as a clinical craft to understanding it as a deeply human profession.
More importantly, I started noticing patterns — in people, in colleagues, in patients. Their characters, fears, and motivations became clearer. This deeper understanding helped me grow beyond technique into connection and empathy — essential tools no textbook could teach.
I came into the profession in an era before Facebook and Instagram took over. The first real “social media” I knew was Orkut — remember that? Then came Yahoo chat, Microsoft Messenger, and a bunch of other platforms where people mostly just chatted, trolled, or tried to make their friends jealous with quirky profile pictures.
Facebook and Instagram later followed — tools that, honestly, were more about showing off vacations and parties than anything else.
I joined LinkedIn in 2012 but only really started figuring it out last year.
Despite all the online buzz, what truly shaped my professional journey was the old-school way — face-to-face networking, being part of dental communities, exchanging ideas in meetings and conferences.
Those real conversations brought me not just connections, but insights, friendships, and the kind of support that helped me build a lasting brand and grow as a professional.
At the end of the day, no algorithm replaces a genuine handshake or a shared cup of coffee in a room full of peers.
But the biggest realization came later: this profession didn’t owe me anything just because I had chosen it. I owed it everything.
As I moved forward, layers of ego began to burn away. I began to understand that all the knowledge I thought I had was just the beginning — the tip of a massive iceberg. The more I practiced, the more I realized how little I knew. And yet, that realization didn’t diminish me. It made me grow.
In time, I learned that pride in your foundation is fine, but life — and especially dentistry — has a way of humbling you. You learn to wait. To observe. To let experience sink into your fingertips.
And then came another awakening.
As a young dentist, I used to believe that once I built a good practice, patients would naturally stay. But over time — especially in a floating community like the UAE — I learned the hard truth: we are all passers-by in people's lives.
No matter how much they liked you, patients slowly drifted away when you weren’t around. People moved. Priorities shifted. New dentists opened clinics nearby. Loyalty, I realized, was not a constant.
It took me nearly ten years to understand the power of personal branding — to not just treat patients, but to create a presence that lingers in memory. You start becoming a part of conversations, among staff, peers, and patients.
And then comes another truth: the memory of people is short-lived. The moment you stop showing up, you start getting forgotten. Visibility, relevance, and consistency — these aren't just marketing terms. They’re survival tools in a profession where the world never stops moving.
It took me a good 10 years — maybe more — to truly understand these lessons. Even now, after 25 years in the profession, new challenges still keep coming.
Money will come — but only as a reward. Never as a guarantee. If you start chasing dentistry solely for financial gain, you’ll eventually find frustration.
Start like a toddler. Be open. Be awkward. Be uncomfortable. That’s how you learn.
And when your feet finally find the ground — when your knowledge and humility align — the rewards will follow.
That’s when the healing really begins.
— Dr. SSP
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