I spent a year preparing my Veterinary Technician Specialist (VTS) application. I collected cases, logged advanced skills, wrote detailed case reports, and made sure every single “i” was dotted and every “t” was crossed. I triple-checked every requirement, every form, every signature. I gave it everything I had.
It wasn’t just about credentials. It was about validation. The VTS in emergency and critical care (ECC) credential felt like the natural next step after years of throwing my heart into the field. I wanted to prove—to myself and others—that I was ready. That I was good enough. That I had earned my place. That I was the best of the best veterinary nurses in ECC. Because honestly, ECC was my love language, and I felt like I was good enough to be a VTS in ECC.
Two months later, I opened my inbox to find a rejection notice.
I was stunned. Then angry. Then devastated.
The AVECCTN (Academy of Veterinary Emergency and Critical Care Technicians and Nurses) did provide feedback—everything from using a brand name instead of a generic drug to not demonstrating advanced enough skill progression in one of my case reports. And while I could rationalize some of it, in the moment, it felt deeply unfair.
I went quiet. I felt embarrassed. I questioned everything: Was I not smart enough? Was I missing something everyone else could see? I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to explain it. I wanted to hide. I honestly had to think about how I was going to tell people at work, including my managers, who were all rooting for me. Who all spent time editing and reviewing my cases. Who called me for cases they thought I would like.
I didn’t just feel rejected; I felt erased. Unworthy. Like the last 10-plus years I had poured into emergency medicine suddenly didn’t count.
Originally, I told myself I’d reapply. But the truth? I had too much emotional trauma from the process to face going through it all again.
The whole experience had become tangled in imposter syndrome. I worried I’d be seen as “less than”—especially after just being promoted to training and education coordinator at my hospital. I thought, How can I lead training if I didn’t even make the cut myself?
So, I paused. I sat down with my operations manager and told her how I felt—like I had failed, like I wasn’t smart enough for the role I had just been promoted into. I worried that without those 3 little letters after my name, I wouldn’t be taken seriously.
And that’s when she said something I’ll never forget: “Can’t you do everything you’re already doing without those letters?”
I sat with that.
And the answer was clear: Yes. I could do all of it. I was doing all of it. I was already in the right place. I was working at a hospital that valued my voice, trusted my leadership, and gave me space to grow. At Dogs and Cats Emergency and Specialty in Bowie, Maryland, I was surrounded by colleagues and mentors who didn’t let one rejection define me. And that made all the difference.
That conversation changed everything. Instead of seeing myself as someone who didn’t make the cut, I started to ask: What do I really want to do? What lights me up? Where do I make the biggest difference?
The answer wasn’t just ECC—it was teaching. It was presenting. It was building systems that made other veterinary nurses feel empowered.
That voice in my head—the one that said, No one will care what you have to say if you’re not a VTS. That voice was dead wrong.
This year alone, I’m presenting at 2 major conferences. I’m being published in a journal. I’m working toward my bachelor’s degree in veterinary medical technology and plan to pursue a master’s degree in veterinary education. I teach every single day at my hospital. And I still get to do all the ECC procedures I love while doing it.
And maybe most importantly—I found my passion for building. Building training systems. Building programs. Building people. Watching them grow. Watching them succeed. That is where I shine.
So, no, I didn’t get my VTS. And I might never apply again. But that rejection led me to exactly where I was meant to be.
If you’re in that same space—wondering if you’re “enough” without the letters—let me be the one to tell you: You already are. And maybe your greatest impact is waiting on the other side of the plan you thought you needed.
The Bigger Picture
Don’t get me wrong—I still deeply respect the VTS credentialing process. I know how rigorous it is, and I still look up to the many VTSs I know. But I also think we need to have honest conversations about how narrow our definitions of success can be in this profession.
What about those of us who want to lead through teaching, not titles? What about the veterinary nurses who are brilliant educators, program builders, or culture shapers—but never feel “qualified” because they didn’t get the letters?
The truth is, veterinary medicine needs all kinds of leaders. Yes, we need specialists. But we also need mentors. We need educators. We need people who can create the systems that help other veterinary nurses thrive.
To anyone else who’s been rejected: You are not alone.
That email doesn’t define you. That decision doesn’t take away your knowledge, your experience, or your impact. And it absolutely doesn’t take away your potential.
Give yourself time to grieve, but don’t let it shrink your confidence. You’re still allowed to grow. Still allowed to lead. Still allowed to make a difference. And if your path is different from what you thought? That doesn’t mean it’s a detour. It might just be the exact direction you were meant to go.
Redefining Success
So no, I didn’t get my VTS. And maybe I never will. But what I’ve gained instead is purpose. I’ve learned that success isn’t about what letters follow your name. It’s about what legacy you leave behind—for your patients, your team, and the future veterinary nurses watching you.
If I can share one message, it’s this: You don’t need permission to lead. And you don’t need a title to teach. You just need to believe that your voice—and your path—matters.