The Dean didn’t make an announcement. He saw the work during a routine inspection of the Surgical Training Center, walked over, and handed Theresa Cosper-Roberts, MA, RVT, CVPM, ACVE(DE) a gift card and a handwritten note.
That was it.
“That moment carried more weight than any public recognition I have received,” she said. “Being seen, even quietly, is sometimes the thing that matters most.”
Cosper-Roberts was not someone who needed rescuing. She was doing what she always does, showing up, improving things, making the work better without making noise about it. The Dean didn’t recognize her because someone flagged a retention risk. He recognized her because he looked up from the outcome and noticed the person.
That distinction is at the heart of a conversation Veterinary medicine hasn’t quite had yet.
Recognition gets discussed in this profession primarily as a retention tool, a way to catch people before they leave. The research supports that framing. A 2020 study in the Journal of Occupational and Environmental Medicine found that recognition from peers and supervisors directly reduces burnout across all three of its dimensions: exhaustion, cynicism and eroding sense of purpose. The 2023 Merck Animal Health-AVMA Veterinary Wellbeing Study found that 61 percent of veterinarians report higher exhaustion than the general U.S. population and one in three has considered leaving.
But there’s a version of this conversation we’re not having. It’s about the person who isn’t raising her hand, the one who isn’t signaling distress, isn’t asking for acknowledgment, isn’t anywhere on the at-risk radar. The one who is simply, quietly, completely committed and who our recognition systems walk right past because she never gave us a reason to stop.
That person is everywhere in Veterinary medicine. And she is being slowly diminished by that invisibility in ways nobody notices until she’s gone, burned out, or just smaller than she used to be.
Kara M. Burns, MS, MEd, LVT, VTS (Nutrition), spent her career looking outward. She championed credentialed Veterinary technicians, advocated for nutrition, built stronger teams and led with kindness. She wasn’t building toward an award. When she was named an ICON in 2024, I had a front-row seat to her reaction, and this remarkable speaker, someone who commands a room without effort, was genuinely speechless.
“I never thought of myself as an ICON,” she said. “My career was focused on the importance that credentialed vet techs and team members bring to the team, how I could elevate my colleagues, and the importance of proper nutrition for the health and longevity of our patients. I am hoping that by being recognized, that maybe I accomplished parts of this.”
That single word—maybe—says a great deal. People who are deeply committed to a mission often have the hardest time seeing the impact they’ve had.
Dr. Adam Christman describes the same experience differently. “It’s easy to keep your head down and never realize anyone is watching,” he said of his Bright Minds moment. “That recognition reminded me the work mattered, and it gave me the confidence to show up bigger and bolder for the profession I love.” Gallup research has found that recognition done well makes professionals 45 percent less likely to leave within the next two years, but what Christman describes goes beyond retention. It’s a change in what he believed was possible for himself.
There is an obvious elephant in the room.
Christman, Burns and the other voices here are well-known figures in Veterinary medicine. There’s a version of reading their surprise at being recognized and thinking of course they got there eventually. Look at them. Their stories are inspiring, but they are not the average Veterinary professional working a Saturday double, or the practice manager who has quietly held a clinic together for 11 years, or the new graduate mentoring her peers while still figuring out her own footing. Those people may not be named ICONs, but they are who this article is about. And the people quoted here know it.
“The greatest achievement is not simply being recognized yourself,” said Dr. Eleanor Green, 2020 ICON honoree and former dean of the Texas A&M College of Veterinary Medicine and Biomedical Sciences. “It’s helping create an environment where others can succeed, flourish, and someday be celebrated, as well.”
Green didn’t pursue the award. Her goal has always been to pay it forward, building a stronger profession, improving Veterinary education, and advancing healthcare for animals. “That drive never includes recognition,” she said. “And yet, to have colleagues recognize those efforts is deeply meaningful. Recognition from one’s peers is among the highest honors a professional can receive.”
“No meaningful accomplishment is achieved alone,” she added. “Every milestone in my career has been the result of extraordinary teams, mentors, colleagues, students and friends.” Recognition, in her telling, lands on you and your job becomes to make sure it reaches someone else.
Beckie Mossor, a two-time Bright Minds honoree, names why recognition matters for the profession more broadly. “It brings attention to important missions,” she said. “It helps the individual gain traction for their work. And it inspires others with ideas to take the leap when they see it’s possible.”
The person who least expects recognition is often the person most changed by it and most likely to change things because of it. They weren’t waiting for permission. They were already working. But being seen shifts something. It expands what they think they’re allowed to do next.
Dr. Cheryl Good has spent her career doing exactly that kind of work, quietly, consistently, without expectation of acknowledgment. Her guiding principle is Tikkun Olam, the concept of repairing the world. “I don’t do these things out of a need to be recognized,” she said. “I do them out of a firm belief that it is my duty to help animals and people in any way I can.” When she has been recognized, she says simply: “I felt validated and seen. Humbled and motivated to work even harder.”
Validated. That word doesn’t belong to people who were already confident they were on the right path. It belongs to people who weren’t sure, and in a profession where imposter syndrome runs quietly beneath the surface of even the most accomplished careers, that group is larger than anyone admits.
So here is the challenge, and it is a specific one. If you lead a team, run a clinic, chair a department, edit a publication or sit on a board, you already know recognition matters. You probably already have someone in mind you’ve been meaning to thank. Please do that. But this isn’t about that person.
This is about the person you haven’t thought of yet. The one fully committed, not flagging, not asking for anything. The one you rely on so completely that you’ve stopped seeing her as someone who might need to be seen. The vet tech who trains every new hire and never mentions it. The associate who stays late not because the work isn’t finished. The colleague who has been quietly making your clinic better for years and has never once asked you to notice.
A dean saw the work. Walked over. Handed over a note. That was the whole intervention. And it outweighed everything else. Who in your orbit did something this week that you haven’t named out loud yet?
Recognition isn’t the trophy. It’s the fuel.
(The title of this piece borrows from Dr. Adam Christman, whose words started this conversation.)
SOURCES:
- Renger, D., Miché, M., and Casini, A. (2020). Professional recognition at work: The protective role of esteem, respect, and care for burnout among employees. Journal of Occupational and Environmental Medicine, 62(3), 202-209.
- Merck Animal Health and AVMA. (2023). Veterinary wellbeing study.
- Aronsson et al. (2017). A systematic review including meta-analysis of work environment and burnout symptoms. BMC Public Health, 17(1), 264.
- Gallup. (2022). State of the global workplace. Gallup Press.