04/07/2026
I'm leaving the concussion space as a "specialist."
I'm not leaving "brain health" or the fun neuroscience. I'm still keeping up with the consensus data, just not reading the daily and weekly research updates that I used to, which made me "specialist" material. I'm dropping the title, "releasing" my clinic certification, and the nifty associated EHR dashboard. I'm leaving that hyper-focused version of my job.
Six years and 700+ recoveries, in my physical office and my virtual consulting room. There was a lot of good work and a lot of hard lessons. Somewhere in the middle of it, I realized I was spending most of my days not doing medicine â it was Groundhog Day. Repeating the same definitions (concussion vs. whiplash), summarizing the CTE literature for the 400th time, responding to records requests (and a few subpoenas), constantly citing guidelines to show that my evidence-based care was valid even though I'm an ND and not a neurologist.
I built a social media presence that attracted window shoppers. Day in, day out. Folks would find me because "I was the only one who explained their exact symptoms" in a YouTube or Instagram post, while remaining hyperskeptical and keeping no toes in the water of their recovery. My YouTube, Instagram, blog, and podcast appearances had made me accessible enough that paying for my care was in breach of some relationship I was unaware I had with these individuals.
The folks who committed to working with me were often attached to not getting better in the name of winning their insurance or workers' comp claim. They needed to be concussed to win the case â a whiplash diagnosis? No. It's gotta be early CTE. I was an out-of-network, cash-pay provider who was literally thousands (many thousands) of dollars cheaper than everyone else these folks had seen â Cognitive FX and Amen Clinics, to name two â yet I still got grimaces at my packages.
Despite how this all sounds, I'm not bitter about it. I've learned more about the brain, about patient behavior, and about running a virtual practice than I ever expected.
But at some point, the patterns got too obvious and problematic to ignore. I was a highly trained, skilled provider in the field of concussion/PCS, able to help people meaningfully recover and return to their lives without extraneous biohacks and expenses. Simultaneously, I was Sisyphus pushing a rock up a hill, and each day I did it brought me further from being able to provide for my wife and daughter. When I chat with six of you in a week and only one wants to become a patient, the rest going back to study my YouTube, that doesn't keep food on the table and my daughter safe and healthy.
Truth be told, concussion care was an accident tickled by my ego. I had hundreds of hours of specialized neurology training, along with cardiometabolic training. My game was "healthy on purpose," keeping your heart and brain dialed in for the long game. Then, early in practice, a few post-traumatic headaches led me into the world of concussion. Then, like a shooting star, it took off â conference speaking, being picked up by Complete Concussions, landing on state brain injury association lists, a brief TikTok and Instagram moment that made me a C-list concussion celebrity (my words). And then, over the past two years, it fizzled. Partly because I stepped back from social media. Partly because the litigation game was starting to dishearten me. And a lot because somewhere along the way, victimhood became a personality â and concussion became the oppressor people had no control over, even in the middle of genuine recovery.
When I finally made the decision to leave, it felt like releasing a weight and being able to breathe into who I actually want to be as a doctor. My mission statement early in med school was to "help foster in others a sense of mindfulness, simplicity, and love," and a major part of that is helping people fully and autonomously engage in their lives. That requires physical health.
That's . Nutrition, movement, and mindset. Aiming to help dads and dudes build out the life that helps them to be physically healthy and present husbands, fathers, and ultimately active grandpas (not old man furniture ornaments).
My tagline from 2013 was "Healthy on Purpose." Apparently, I just needed six years and a concussion detour to get back to it.
Healthy... On purpose.