Voices of Freedom: Unleashing the Power Within

By Dr. Tonie Reincke

The road to becoming a physician is rarely a straight line. For me, it was a winding path of resistance, resilience, and quiet rebellion. I began my career as a registered nurse, later becoming a Physician Assistant-Certified (PA-C), and ultimately an MD. Along the way, I didn’t just overcome academic and professional hurdles—I dismantled societal expectations and reshaped the narrative for women like me.

I was the first in my family to graduate from college. As a minority woman in medicine, that alone was an act of defiance against the odds. But it wasn’t just about earning degrees; it was about refusing to shrink myself to fit someone else’s idea of who belonged in those spaces.

In nursing school, the gender divide was sharp. The female students were expected to wear dresses and aprons—a dated and restrictive uniform—while the male students wore scrubs. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. Scrubs meant freedom, utility, modernity. Dresses and aprons felt like costumes from a different era. One day, I showed up in scrubs. It was a quiet protest, but it spoke volumes. That act earned me a meeting with the Dean of Nursing. But I never looked back. I wasn’t interested in conforming—I was interested in evolving.

Later, in residency and fellowship, I faced a different kind of resistance. In the high-stakes, high-pressure world of Interventional Radiology, where hours-long procedures were the norm, strength was measured in stamina and silence. There was little room for humanity—especially if that humanity involved menstruation. I remember one case clearly: I was scrubbed in, assisting during a particularly lengthy procedure, when I began bleeding through my scrubs. I had no choice but to break scrub and change. The murmurs of weakness that followed stung more than the physical discomfort.

After that incident, I made a choice that many women in medicine make quietly—I started taking birth control continuously to suppress my period. Not for convenience, but to survive. To prove I was not weak, not lesser, not unworthy of my seat at the table. It wasn’t about medicine; it was about optics. And yet, it was a sacrifice I felt I had to make.

As a petite woman in a field dominated by towering egos and physical presence, I struggled with body image and the feeling of not being “enough.” I wasn’t curvy, I wasn’t loud, and for a long time, I thought that meant I wasn’t powerful. But education became my weapon. With every certification, every accolade, every patient helped—I rewrote my own definition of beauty and worth. Power, I learned, doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it stands quietly in defiance, showing up in scrubs when everyone else expects a dress.

Today, I lead my own medical practice, the Reincke Vein Center, where I bring all of these lessons with me. 

I advocate for women to take up space, in medicine and beyond. I speak out because I remember being silenced. I challenge norms because I remember what it felt like to be forced into them.

“Radiant Rebels” aren’t born—they are forged. In the fire of tradition, opposition, and relentless expectations, we emerge not just surviving, but shining. And if my journey teaches anything, it’s this: You don’t have to fit the mold to change the world. Sometimes, the most revolutionary thing you can do is simply show up—exactly as you are—and refuse to apologize for it.

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