Not A Professional Fit

The first time I got fired, it felt like heartbreak.

I’d been an OBGYN Physician Assistant in the same clinic for nine years. I built a full panel of patients who I adored. I was a clinician, an educator, a trusted partner through some of life’s most vulnerable moments. I thought I was good at it. In fact, I know I was good at it.

But over time, I realized that my patients needed more than just a compassionate provider in the room. The world of reproductive healthcare was changing around us, fast. And we didn’t just need clinicians—we needed advocates. Specifically, clinical advocates. So I started speaking up, leading roundtables, and leaning into leadership in the space as it crumbled around us.

I became an outspoken voice for change. Never partisan with a patient, but my beliefs weren’t exactly subtle—purple hair cascading past my stethoscope, a rainbow pride pin on my white coat, right next to a homemade 'your body, your choice' button.

Then, in September 2024, as the political season heated up, I was told to take the pins off my coat. They were “too polarizing,” they said.

And when I shared my dissent—gently, respectfully, but honestly—just a few days later, I was fired. I was told I wasn’t a “professional fit.”

They said it was my tone.
Not my work. Not my skills. Not how I cared for my patients. Just… my tone.
As if the real issue wasn’t just what I said—but that I dared to say it with conviction.

My ego was bruised. My heart was sore. I felt embarrassed. It never feels good to be the one who gets broken up with. And when you care deeply—when you believe your work means something—it’s hard not to take it personally. I wondered if I should have softened my voice. Dimmed my presence. 

But deep down, I already knew the truth.

They didn’t want someone like me. They wanted someone docile. Someone who didn’t ask hard questions or make too much noise. Someone who would say “yes” to every outdated policy and stay quiet about what patients actually needed. Someone who would shrink to fit inside the tidy little box they had built for the people who worked there.

That was never going to be me.

And truthfully, they weren’t the right fit for me either.

I deserved more. I needed more. More vision. More courage. More room to grow, to speak, to fight for what mattered. I had outgrown the confines of that clinic long before they showed me the door—I just didn’t know it yet.

Because yes, I was a clinician. But I was also an advocate. I didn’t check my values at the clinic door—I brought them in with me, every single day, to guide my practice and my purpose.

Being fired cracked something open.

Once the sadness wore off, I realized: they hadn’t rejected me. They’d released me.

I started writing. I started creating. I started using my voice in ways I’d never had time—or permission—to before. I found joy in the chaos. Power in my own perspective. And eventually, I founded Take Back Trust, a digital platform focused on reproductive healthcare education and patient empowerment.

I built it for my patients—the ones who finally felt safe and seen during our visits. The ones who deserved that every time, not just once. And the ones I worried might lose that, now that I wasn’t there anymore.

And I built it for me, too.

Because when I was fired, I wasn’t just pushed out of a job. I was pushed into something bigger. A new version of myself. A new way to lead. A new way to show up—loudly and unapologetically—in a field that needs both healers and hell-raisers.

My first time getting fired taught me something:
You don’t have to contort yourself to be worthy.
You don’t have to shrink to be safe.
You don’t have to stay somewhere just because it’s what you’ve always known.

Sometimes the most radical first step is simply walking away—and realizing that the door they closed behind you wasn’t an ending at all.

It was an invitation.

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Nikki Sapiro Vinckier is an OBGYN PA, a reproductive health advocate, and founder of Take Back Trust. She writes about medicine, politics, and the places they collide.