They left quietly. Logged their last note. Disconnected their badge. Maybe cleared out a drawer, maybe not. And just like that, another clinician walked away from medicine. No exit interview. No debrief. No conversation about what led up to that final decision. Just silence.

In most professions, when someone resigns, leadership wants to know why. What worked? What didn’t? What could we do better next time? But in medicine? We barely blink. There’s a schedule to fill. A shift to cover. A patient in Room 3.

We talk about burnout, sure. We even build task forces for “resiliency” and “wellness.” But we rarely pause long enough to ask the most obvious question: Why did they leave? Not in a judgmental way. Not in a “how dare you walk away” kind of way. In a what can we learn kind of way.

Because if we actually listened, I think we’d hear more than just fatigue. We’d hear disillusionment. We’d hear stories of missed birthdays, moral injury, impossible choices, and the slow erosion of identity. We’d hear people who loved medicine—but couldn’t stay in a system that kept asking them to do more with less, to give more without replenishment, to care in places that no longer felt caring.

What if medicine had an exit interview?

What if, instead of brushing departures aside, we treated them like the red flags they are? What if we asked: When did it start to feel unsustainable? Did you feel seen? Did you feel safe? What made you stay as long as you did? What finally made you walk away?

What if we stopped framing these exits as failures of stamina and started seeing them as moments of clarity?

Most of us didn’t “fall into” health care. We fought our way here. We studied long nights. Missed holidays. Held hands in codes. Swallowed tears. And for so many, leaving isn’t a flippant decision; it’s a last resort. By the time someone walks away from medicine, they’ve usually been trying to stay for a long, long time. Every clinician who leaves carries a story we need to hear.

Not to point fingers. Not to romanticize the past. But to understand what’s broken and what might still be salvageable. What systems need to change? What cultures need to shift? What support structures actually make a difference?

Because here’s the truth: People don’t just burn out. They burn out when they’re betrayed. When the mission and the metrics don’t align. When “care” gets reduced to clicks. When being a “team player” means working through lunch and covering for chronic understaffing with a smile.

And here’s another truth: There’s wisdom in the departure. In tech, they study “user experience.” In business, they look at customer churn. In every smart organization, they ask why people leave because inside that answer is the blueprint for change. Health care needs that same lens.

What could we learn if we stopped scrambling to replace the clinicians walking out the door and started listening to them first?

I don’t know the exact fix. But I know this: We can’t build a better system if we keep ignoring the voices of those it’s pushing out. So maybe it starts with one simple question: If you could have an honest exit interview with medicine, what would you say?

Lynn McComas is CEO and founder, PreceptorLink, and a recognized expert in precepting nurse practitioners and advanced practice provider students. With over two decades in primary care, Lynn has served as a coach, advisor, mentor, and preceptor for countless health care professionals, including NPs, nurses, and medical assistants. She co-founded a successful skills and procedures business and speaks nationwide on NP-related issues.

Lynn is also a regular contributor on LinkedIn, KevinMD, Facebook, YouTube, Instagram @preceptorlink, X @LynnMcComas, and her blog, where she addresses the growing NP and PA professions and the urgent need for preceptor sites. Her unique perspective, shaped by her business, clinical, and educational experiences, positions her as a key voice in tackling preceptor shortages. Lynn is committed to driving change—through a paradigm shift in NP education, reducing barriers, offering preceptor incentives, and advocating for reforms within the profession.