To My Fellow Veterinary Managers: Don't Let Tech Week Dim Your Light

Every October, veterinary managers across the country begin their annual tradition of planning Veterinary Technician Week celebrations.

We order gifts, organize lunches, put together goodie bags, coordinate activities, and convince ourselves that this year, we've finally figured out how to make everyone happy.

And then someone says, "I would've preferred the money."

Well, there goes a little piece of my soul.

I'm kidding. Sort of.

After many years of organizing Tech Week celebrations, I've experienced just about every reaction imaginable. Some have been incredibly heartwarming. Others? Well, let's just say they've tested my ability to smile politely.

And with another Tech Week approaching, I want to talk to my fellow managers.

Because while we're busy celebrating everyone else, I think there's something we need to hear, too.

Don't let anyone dim your light.

The Goodie Bags, the Gift Cards, and the Occasional Emotional Damage

If you've ever organized Tech Week, you know it's rarely as simple as ordering lunch and calling it a day.

There's planning, shopping, coordinating schedules, finding gifts people might actually use, and figuring out how to make the week special without completely disrupting hospital operations.

And let's not forget the budget.

Or, in some cases, the lack of one.

I know I'm not the only manager who has reached into their own pocket to make a celebration a little more special.

A few extra dollars here. A last-minute purchase there. Maybe something you saw while shopping on your day off that made you think, Oh, the team would love this!

Before you know it, you've invested your personal time, energy, and money into something you genuinely hoped would make people happy.

Then come the comments.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I would've rather had a gift card."

"A raise would be better."

And ouch.

I'm not going to pretend those comments don't hurt.

Because sometimes, after all the planning and effort, you just want people to enjoy the moment.

Not throw you a parade. Not nominate you for Manager of the Year.

Just enjoy the moment.

But here's where things get complicated.

They're Not Wrong. And Neither Are We.

I think this is where we need to have a little more empathy for both sides.

Because the employee who says they'd rather have a raise isn't necessarily ungrateful.

They may be struggling financially. They may be exhausted. They may feel their compensation doesn't reflect the knowledge, responsibility, and emotional demands of their position.

And those are legitimate concerns.

Veterinary technicians deserve competitive wages. Our CSRs deserve recognition for the emotional labor they carry. Our assistants deserve opportunities for advancement. Every member of our veterinary team deserves to feel valued throughout the year.

A sweater doesn't replace fair compensation.

A goodie bag doesn't fix burnout.

And a pizza party certainly isn't going to solve the challenges facing veterinary medicine.

But here's the part I wish more people understood.

Many of us managers are employees, too.

We have bills. We have families. We have financial goals. We could use a raise, a bonus, or a little extra PTO ourselves.

Trust me, I wouldn't turn down a few extra dollars in my paycheck either.

And while we may have management titles, that doesn't mean we have unlimited authority over compensation, benefits, or hospital budgets.

Sometimes we're advocating for the very same things our teams are asking for.

We're just doing it from a different seat.

So when I put together a goodie bag or organize a lunch, it isn't because I believe that's all my team deserves.

It's because, within the resources I have available, I want to do something to show them they're appreciated.

And I think there's room for both things to exist.

We can advocate for better wages, benefits, and working conditions while still enjoying a thoughtful gesture.

One doesn't have to cancel out the other.

A Little Self-Reflection Never Hurt Anyone

Now, fellow managers, I'm going to challenge us a little.

Because I've had to learn this lesson myself.

Just because we put a tremendous amount of thought into something doesn't mean everyone is going to love it.

And that's okay.

We all have different preferences. Some people love personalized gifts. Others prefer practical items. Some would happily trade every piece of hospital-branded merchandise they've ever received for a gift card to their favorite coffee shop.

And some people just want to go home.

I respect that, too.

But I think sometimes, when we've invested so much of ourselves into planning something, we become emotionally attached to the outcome.

We want everyone to be happy.

We want everyone to feel appreciated.

And yes, if we're being completely transparent, we probably want to hear that they enjoyed it.

But appreciation shouldn't come with an expectation of gratitude.

If our goal is genuinely to celebrate our team, we have to accept that not everyone will respond the way we hoped.

That doesn't mean our efforts were worthless.

It also doesn't mean we should ignore feedback.

Maybe those comments are telling us something important about what our employees actually value.

Maybe next year we should ask.

Maybe we should simplify the celebration.

Or maybe we need to stop trying to outdo ourselves every October.

Because here's another lesson I've learned:

You don't have to exhaust yourself trying to make other people feel appreciated.

And you certainly don't have to spend your own money to prove you're a good manager.

If you choose to do something extra, that's wonderful. But it should come from a place of generosity, not obligation.

We talk so much about protecting our teams from burnout. We should be extending that same consideration to ourselves.

Why I Keep Doing It Anyway

Despite the occasional disappointing comment, I genuinely love celebrating my team.

And here's why.

I have the privilege of working alongside some incredibly compassionate people.

I see the care they provide to patients who cannot tell us where it hurts.

I see the technician who takes a few extra moments to comfort a frightened animal.

The assistant who notices a subtle change in a patient's behavior.

The CSR who manages to remain kind and professional while navigating an emotionally charged conversation.

The team member who steps in to help without being asked.

I see the laughter, the teamwork, the problem-solving, and the moments when everyone comes together because a patient needs us.

And sometimes, I stand back and think about how fortunate I am to work with people who genuinely care about what they do.

Their compassion is beyond measure.

Veterinary medicine is not an easy field.

It asks a lot of us physically, mentally, and emotionally.

And while Veterinary Technician Week was established to recognize the invaluable contributions of credentialed veterinary technicians, many practices, including mine, have expanded their celebrations to include the entire support team.

That doesn't diminish the education, expertise, or contributions of our credentialed technicians. They absolutely deserve that recognition.

I just happen to be a fan of anyone who has decided to dedicate their career to veterinary medicine.

Because whether you're a veterinarian, technician, assistant, receptionist, kennel attendant, or manager, you've chosen a profession that requires an incredible amount of heart.

And I think that's worth celebrating.

Don't Forget That You're Part of the Team, Too

Somewhere along the way, I think managers can become so focused on taking care of everyone else that we forget we're part of the team we're trying to celebrate.

We're the planners.

The problem-solvers.

The ones trying to stretch budgets, accommodate schedules, maintain morale, and somehow keep the hospital running while organizing a week of festivities.

And sometimes, we're the ones standing in the background making sure everyone else is having a good time.

But we're people, too.

We get discouraged.

We get tired.

And yes, sometimes our feelings get hurt.

I don't think acknowledging that makes us weak leaders.

I think it makes us human.

But I also don't want us measuring our worth as managers by how enthusiastically someone responds to a gift.

Our leadership is so much bigger than Tech Week.

It's in the conversations we have when someone is struggling.

The opportunities we create for our employees to grow.

The times we advocate for better compensation or working conditions.

The difficult decisions we make with our team's best interests in mind.

And the environment we work to create every single day.

That's what matters.

Not whether everyone loved the matching sweaters.

Although, for the record, I still think the matching sweaters are cute.

To My Fellow Managers, Happy Tech Week

As we head into another Veterinary Technician Week, I want to wish my fellow managers the very best of luck.

I hope your plans come together.

I hope your team laughs a little more than usual.

I hope the lunches arrive on time, the gifts are enjoyed, and nobody accidentally schedules a staff meeting in the middle of your carefully planned activities.

Most importantly, I hope you get to enjoy your team.

Because sometimes, in the middle of all the planning, we forget that's the whole point.

Not the goodie bags.

Not the gift cards.

Not the amount of money spent.

The people.

The people who show up every day and give so much of themselves to the patients and families who depend on us.

And if someone tells you they'd rather have cash?

Well, they're probably not wrong.

I'd like some extra cash, too.

But don't let that one comment erase the smiles, laughter, and appreciation that may be happening all around you.

Listen to the feedback. Advocate for your people. Make changes where you can.

And then give yourself permission to enjoy the celebration.

Because your team deserves to be appreciated.

And so do you.

Happy Veterinary Technician Week to all the incredible people behind the medicine.

And to my fellow managers, don't let anyone dim your light. There's room for all of us to shine.

Practical tips, honest insights, and gentle support for veterinary professionals navigating the realities of clinic life.

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