My Son's Wedding and What It May Teach Us About Commitment

In late July, I had the joy and honor of watching my son marry the love of his life. It was the most beautiful ceremony—intimate, emotional, and grounded in everything that makes life meaningful: family, love, trust, hope, and commitment.

As I sat there, in the first row/first chair  - they would not allow me to get any closer - watching the vows exchanged, I found myself reflecting not just as Tristan's mother, but also as someone who helps others navigate work and life. I observed my daughter and her husband of seven years, and the growth that they have enjoyed.  I sat next to my husband of thirty-six years and remembered our many ups and downs.  Commitment is a theme that runs through both marriage, life, and, as strange as it sounds, veterinary medicine.  Committing is essential—not only in our relationships, but in our work, our purpose, and for ourselves.

At the altar, we make promises: "for better or for worse," "in sickness and in health," "to love, honor, and cherish." These vows are not just words. They're commitments—intentional choices to keep showing up, even when it's hard, even when the feelings fade, even when life doesn't go as planned.

In veterinary medicine, we make vows too. When we take our professional oath at graduation, we commit to animal welfare, to ethical practice, to lifelong learning, and to doing our best. It is not a one-time decision. It's something we renew every day. Just like in marriage, we don't always feel happy, excited, and calm. But our commitment goes beyond feelings—it shows in our daily actions.

Can we be committed to our profession without burnout?

At any wedding, there was laughter, dancing, and joy. But beneath the celebration is something more profound: positive intention. My son and his new wife are not committing to perfection—they are committing to growth, to open communication, and to partnership.

Commitment doesn't mean saying yes to everything, pushing through pain, or giving until there's nothing left. Real commitment requires boundaries. It requires self-respect. It requires recognizing that you cannot care for others unless you first care for yourself.

You don't have to give all of yourself to be a good veterinarian, a good parent, or a good partner. In fact, the best veterinarians are the ones who know when to rest, when to ask for help, and when to say no. That is commitment to self.

I challenge you to ask yourself this question.

"What am I truly committed to - today, this month, this year?"

You may be committed to improving your work-life balance. You may be recommitting to your career after a rough patch. Maybe your commitment right now is simply surviving a hard day or week.  That's okay.

Whatever it is, let it be intentional. And remember, commitment doesn't have to look dramatic or grand. It can be as simple as getting up, trying again, and showing kindness when it's hard—taking care of yourself so you can keep doing what you love.

Whether you're in the first year of practice, in a leadership role, or wondering what your next step in veterinary medicine looks like—ask yourself:

"What do I choose today, even when it's hard?"  That is commitment. 

As the music faded and Tristan and Samantha walked hand in hand through the guests holding sparklers, I felt a deep sense of peace. Not because I know it will be easy for them, but because I know they're committed to each other and will do the work to build a healthy life together.

I hope this story reminds you that what you're doing matters—and so do you.

Dr. Julie Cappel

“Commitment is what transforms a promise into reality.”— Abraham Lincoln