Energy Vampires in Your Appointment Book
If you’re exhausted after a light day, you’re not doing chiropractic wrong. You’re doing boundaries wrong.
You know the feeling: three or four “routine” adjustments, yet you leave the office drained, foggy, shoulders heavy like you’ve carried someone else’s story home. The table was busy, but not slammed. The patients were polite. So why do you feel like someone pulled your plug?
It’s not always volume. It’s who is in your book.
Some patients arrive open—ready to receive, grateful, present. Others? They feed. Unconsciously (usually), they latch onto your energy field. They dump complaints, demand extra time, test limits with endless “one more thing,” or carry a low-vibe heaviness that sticks to you like smoke. These are energy vampires in the clinical sense: people whose nervous systems are so dysregulated they unconsciously siphon vitality from those around them—especially empathetic healers like us who hold space without armor.
I remember one patient early in my practice—let’s call her Sarah. She came in weekly for low-back pain that never quite resolved. Polite, soft-spoken, always grateful. But every session started with 10–15 minutes of escalating life drama: the ungrateful kids, the toxic boss, the endless health scares. I’d listen, empathize, adjust her—and walk out feeling like I’d run a marathon. One day after her visit, I sat in my car, hands shaking, inexplicably tearful, with zero energy left for my own family. That’s when it hit me: I wasn’t just tired from work. I was depleted because I’d let her story overwrite mine. No wonder my adjustments felt less crisp that week—my field was muddy.
As chiropractors, we’re wired for connection. We feel subluxations before we see them, sense tension in the room, intuit when a patient’s story is blocking their adjustment. That same sensitivity makes us prime targets. Without boundaries, we absorb instead of redirect. We end up depleted, resentful, or—worst case—burned out, unable to serve anyone well.
Spotting the Energy Vampires in Your Schedule
Here are the red flags I’ve learned to clock fast (Sarah checked every box):
They dominate the session with unrelated drama or endless tangents, rarely circling back to their spine or symptoms.
You feel instantly tired, heavy, or emotionally flat the moment they walk in—before any touch.
They guilt-trip subtly (“You’re the only one who gets me”) or push for extras (free add-ons, late appointments, constant texting).
After they leave, you’re irritable, anxious, or replaying their complaints in your head for hours.
Their appointments run long because saying “time’s up” feels cruel—they’ve already hooked your empathy.
These aren’t “bad” people. They’re often in deep pain—trauma, chronic stress, unresolved grief—that leaks out energetically. But pain without awareness becomes a vacuum. And your open heart is the nearest outlet.
Why Boundaries Aren’t Selfish—They’re Essential for Healing
Here’s the metaphysics made practical: Energy flows where attention goes. When you over-give without containment, you dilute your own field. A weakened field can’t hold the high coherence needed for powerful adjustments. You become less effective, less present, less healing.
Boundaries protect the sacred space of the adjustment. They say: “This room is for transformation, not endless dumping.” When you enforce them, you model regulation for the patient. You teach their nervous system: “It’s safe to receive without taking.” Paradoxically, firm boundaries often accelerate their healing—because you’re no longer co-regulating their chaos at your expense.
Boundaries aren’t walls; they’re filters. They let the work happen cleanly.
Practical Scripts for Saying No (Without Losing the Patient)
Use these calmly, kindly, and consistently. Tone matters—warm but unwavering.
When they try to extend the session with off-topic venting: “I hear how much this is weighing on you, and I want to honor our time today so we can focus fully on your adjustment and getting you feeling better. Let’s schedule a longer slot next time if you need to talk more.”
When they push for extras outside policy (free this, late that): “I care about your progress, which is why I keep our structure clear—it helps everyone get the best results. I can’t offer [X] outside our policies, but here’s what I can do to support you…”
When they text/call after hours with non-emergencies: “I’m glad you reached out. For non-urgent questions, the best way to reach me is during office hours or through the portal so I can give your care my full attention when I’m fresh. What’s coming up for you?”
When guilt creeps in (“You’re the only one who understands”): “I appreciate your trust. And to keep showing up fully for you and everyone else, I have to protect my energy. That means sticking to our appointment flow. You deserve a clear, present doctor.”
Practice these out loud. They get easier—and patients respect them more than you think.
After a heavy day (or any vampire encounter), take a quick moment to clear your head: do some deep breathing, drink water, and let it go. You don’t need a long ritual—just enough to reset and step back into your own energy before heading home.
You chose this work because you care deeply. Protecting your energy isn’t selfish—it’s stewardship. When your field is strong, clear, and sovereign, your adjustments land deeper, your intuition sharpens, and healing flows effortlessly.
Your patients don’t need a drained healer. They need a whole one.
I see you well—and I see your practice thriving when boundaries become sacred.
What’s one “vampire” pattern you’ve noticed in your book? Drop it in the comments—let’s name it and neutralize it together.
Live Long and Prosper 🖖
-Dan