On my first date with my husband, we did the usual thing—asked each other about our work. He’s a police officer in a busy city, and that night, he shared a story about a recent case that stayed with me. He and his partner had rescued a victim from a violent assault and apprehended the suspect. It was the kind of heroic, life-saving story you see in movies—but for him, it was just part of the job.
Then he asked me about my work. I remember hesitating. I told him, almost sheepishly, “I’m not saving lives. I only work in aesthetics.”
It’s something I had said before—especially when comparing myself to other medical professionals in trauma care, emergency rooms, intensive care, etc. But what he said next surprised me.
He told me never to minimize what I do. He shared how he’d watched his own sister struggle with low self-esteem for years, how deeply it affected her daily life and how hard it was to watch. “If someone had helped her feel better about herself—if someone had given her the confidence to just be herself—that would have changed her life in ways you can’t measure,” he said. “What you do matters.”
And in that moment, I think I finally gave myself permission to believe it too.
I’ve worked in medical aesthetics for 17 years, and from the very beginning, this is what I set out to do. I went to NP school with the sole goal of working in this field because I knew it was where my passion lived. And yet—even knowing firsthand the transformative power of what we do—it took that conversation to really embrace just how impactful this work can be.
Like so many people, I’ve had my own insecurities. I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and not see a reflection that feels like you. And I also know the power of a subtle enhancement—how it can bring someone’s confidence back to the surface and shift the way they move through the world.
Yes, from the outside, medical aesthetics can seem like vanity. But anyone who works in this field knows better. We see the real impact every day. We see it in the way someone smiles after a treatment, the way they carry themselves a little taller, smile a little brighter, walk into a room a little more sure of themselves. I see it in that moment when I hand a patient the mirror and watch their eyes light up—not out of arrogance, but out of recognition. Like, “There I am.”
And these aren’t celebrities or influencers. These are tired moms who’ve been pouring themselves into others for years and finally did something for themselves. They’re young women who’ve avoided taking pictures because they were self-conscious about their profile in a world where everything is captured on camera. They’re parents who want to look refreshed in a photo with their kids as graduation approaches, or brides-to-be who want their outer glow to match the joy they feel inside. They are professionals working long hours, concerned about appearing older than their younger counterparts and fearing they may be overlooked for opportunities they deserve. They are individuals re-entering the dating scene after years—or even decades—eager to present their best selves.
Sure, we occasionally see people who are chasing a kind of “perfect” that doesn’t exist—and no, aesthetics isn’t a fix for deeper wounds. But I’ve seen time and time again how a subtle, thoughtful treatment can unlock a kind of confidence that was already in there, just waiting to be let out.
So no, I’m not performing CPR or chasing down criminals. But I am helping people feel more like themselves. I’m helping them step into the world with more confidence, more joy, more ease. And that is something I will never again minimize.
I’m proud to be a nurse practitioner who “only works in aesthetics.” Because for so many of the people I treat, what I do helps them show up in their lives in a whole new way. And to me, that’s everything.
Hours
