I received difficult news on Monday that made me reflect on my veterinary career, the passage of time, and personal growth. My mentor, one of my favorite people, Dr. William Mullan, passed away at 91.
Doc Mullan was a brilliant veterinarian and a true leader in his community and organized veterinary medicine, serving on the State Board of Veterinary Examiners and as president of the Southeastern Veterinary Medical Association. But more than that, he was a mentor to me and many others—someone who helped shape not just my career, but my self-confidence.
His passing brought me back to a time when I was young, inexperienced, and—if I’m being honest—felt like a fraud most of the time.
Three years after veterinary school, I joined Dr. Mullan and his partner, Dr. Randy Evans. Their practice was renowned for small-animal and exotic care, and Dr. Evans excelled in avian medicine—the path I aspired to pursue. When I first applied, they weren’t hiring, but I still sent my resume to the office. Months later, a position opened, and they called me for an interview.
Not long after that, I was invited to join their team.
And despite how incredible that opportunity was, I spent much of my early time there feeling like I didn’t belong.
If you’ve ever walked out of an exam room second-guessing yourself, replayed a case long after your shift ended, or quietly wondered, “When will they realize I don’t actually know what I’m doing?”—you are not alone.
Impostor syndrome is incredibly common in veterinary medicine. In fact, it tends to show up most in high-achieving, compassionate, and deeply committed professionals… which describes many veterinarians. Most of my coaching clients say it is one of the hardest challenges they face.
Impostor syndrome doesn’t reflect a lack of skill or knowledge; it’s simply the perception that we do, even though we are capable and well-prepared.
Our thoughts are things like:
“Wow - I was so lucky with that surgery.”
“All the other vets I work with are smarter than I am.”
“I should know this by now.”
“If I ask for help, they’ll think I’m stupid or incompetent.”
Even when you’re doing well, your brain will focus on what you think you lack. That is how a normal high-achieving brain works. On top of that, we face high expectations from clients, team members, and ourselves. These challenges can help us grow stronger, more capable, and resilient if we work on our thoughts about ourselves.
Here’s a perspective shift that will change everything for you:
Confidence doesn’t come from knowing everything; it comes from trusting yourself to figure things out. Every experienced veterinarian still consults, researches, asks questions, and, yes, sometimes gets it wrong. That’s not failure. That’s veterinary medicine.
How do we start shifting out of impostor thinking?
Label it when it appears: “This is impostor syndrome talking.” Awareness helps you avoid believing every thought your brain offers.
Focus on your wins. Offering yourself evidence of your success will help dilute the negative thoughts you so easily give yourself. Notice the cases that went well and had positive client feedback. Keep a journal of positives if you can. Save the thank-you notes and great reviews and re-read them often.
Normalize asking for help. Consulting colleagues isn’t a weakness—it’s standard care. Doctors Mullan and Evans were there to answer many of my questions (stupid and otherwise) that helped shape me into the veterinarian I am today.
Talk about your feelings. Sharing with trusted colleagues or a coach familiar with veterinary medicine will help show you how common these feelings are. Seek a coach or therapist to help you process your feelings.
When you sometimes feel like a fraud, remember this is a normal part of being human. With self-awareness and practice, you can learn to feel more confident and competent, and truly enjoy your veterinary life.
Every conversation with Doc Mullan reminded me that I was a strong, capable leader and veterinarian. His mentorship showed me the value of believing in myself and honoring our chosen work. I will carry his wisdom forward and honor his memory by supporting others as long as I am capable.
Sail on, Doc Mullan. You were loved, and you are missed.
Dr. Julie Cappel
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