Lesson: Even meaningful work can steal our time for health, connection, and reflection. Our mind, body, and spirit need daily attention — or we drift into imbalance.
She came to see me for help with weight loss.
She was 38, an attorney with a high-powered job, a sharp intellect, and a voice that carried both precision and fatigue. Her schedule was packed. Her life, on paper, looked like a success story. But she didn’t feel well. She told me, bluntly, “I’m just tired of feeling this way.”
As we spoke, I learned that her story didn’t begin in a courtroom.
It began on the field.
From Athlete to Advocate
In high school, she had been a three-season athlete. Cross country in the fall. Basketball in the winter. Tennis in the spring. She was also a straight-A student, in student government, and a Peer Leader. She had plans to go to medical school. Her life was organized around excellence — academic, athletic, and interpersonal.
Then came the injuries.
At 13, she tore her ACL playing tennis. Surgery and rehab followed. She returned to sport.
At 15, it happened again. Basketball.
At 19 — again. Tennis.
At 22 — again. Golf.
Each tear was more than a physical setback. It became a personal reckoning. Her body kept failing her, and, slowly, her confidence followed. By the time she was 21, she was close to failing out of college. She had gained weight. She stopped moving. She became disconnected — from athletics, from study, from herself.
At 13, she had weighed 85 pounds. By the time she graduated, she was 280.
She still graduated pre-med, but her GPA couldn’t get her into medical school. She drifted — uncertain, disheartened. She took a job at a friend’s law firm.
And then, a moment.
One day, after helping with a complicated case, the lawyer she worked for looked at her and said, “You would make an excellent attorney.”
That was enough.
She applied. She got in. And she found her path.
Success, With a Cost
She became a successful lawyer. Smart, thorough, respected. But the habits that had once grounded her — movement, nutrition, rest — were long gone.
She had no major vices. She didn’t smoke, didn’t drink excessively. But she ate quickly, slept poorly, and rarely moved. Her weight peaked at 310 pounds. She had tried every diet, every program. She could lose 40 or 50 pounds. But it always came back.
That’s when we met.
She didn’t need another crash diet. She needed a new rhythm.
The Set Point Trap
The body remembers its heaviest weight.
Once your physiology sets a new “normal,” it fights to maintain it. The brain regulates appetite, metabolism, and cravings to defend this set point. That’s why restrictive diets often fail long-term.
She had lived through that cycle for years.
What she needed was integration — not punishment.
We worked on sleep first. Then food. Then movement.
Not all at once, but in manageable layers.
The science was clear: To maintain lost weight and avoid regain, a person needs 45 to 60 minutes of daily exercise, every single day.
But she worked 12 hours. Her commute was 2 hours. She needed 8 hours of sleep.
That left her two hours to do everything else in life: eat, move, connect, breathe.
How could she possibly make room?
The Answer Was: She Did
Slowly, she found her rhythm.
She made meals simpler and more deliberate. Ate slower. Ate less. Chose foods that nourished her. She got a standing desk. Started walking calls. Began stretching before bed. Prioritized movement — not all at once, but as a thread woven into her day.
She didn’t chase perfection. She practiced presence.
The weight came down — from 310 to 125.
And this time, it stayed off.
Reflection: What She Taught Me
This patient taught me that we professionals often sacrifice our health in the name of purpose. We love what we do. We believe it matters. But without care, that same purpose can consume the time and energy we owe to our own lives.
We must give the mind space to learn — but also to cool down.
We must move our bodies — not just for weight, but for vitality.
We must feed our spirits — with laughter, connection, stillness, and love.
If we don’t, our lives become one-dimensional — successful, perhaps, but incomplete.
She reminded me that a full life isn’t built in grand gestures. It’s built in the two-hour window we fight to protect. The one that matters more than the meeting, the inbox, or the metrics.
We have to live lives we’d be proud to return to — not just careers we’re proud to pursue.
Closing Thought
We are not machines. We are human.
And even when our work is meaningful, we still need movement. We need quiet. We need joy.
If we don’t build habits to protect those needs, the work will take every bit of space we give it.
This patient taught me that the difference between surviving and flourishing often is found not in the hours we work — but in the hours we keep for ourselves.
Excerpted from Between Heartbeats and Algorithms: Reclaiming What Matters in Healthcare by Devjit Roy (American Association for Physician Leadership, 2025).