You’re sitting with a patient.

They’ve had terrible luck with sexual side effects.
And you’re silently trying to recall which SSRI is "less bad" on GI issues.
It’s not that you don’t know the data—it’s that it’s never all in one place.

How many times have you prescribed Abilify for depression and then stumbled over what to call it?

Do you say “antidepressant”?
“Mood stabilizer”?
Or do you tell the truth—“It’s an antipsychotic”—and watch your patient flinch?
We’ve all had this moment. The treatment fits. The label doesn’t.

Has gained weight. Feels stiff. No motivation. And still psychotic. You’re thinking it’s time to try Cobenfy.

We’ve all rolled our eyes at a pharma-funded study.
But if we tossed out every researcher who’s ever worked with industry—what evidence would we have left?

You get a call from the ER about a patient in restraints.
Bipolar disorder. Disrobing. Yelling at staff. They need his medication history.
But his outpatient clinic won't talk to you.
"HIPAA," they say. "He needs to sign a release first.

She's slower than her colleagues. Always the last to leave meetings. Takes forever to finish tasks.
Then you ask the right question: "Do you have any repetitive behaviors or thoughts that feel hard to control?"
Suddenly, everything clicks.

GLP-1 agonists may get the spotlight—but they’re not the only option. Many patients can’t afford them, don’t want the side effects, or prefer to stick with psychiatric meds they already know.

When patients are acutely psychotic, manic, or suicidal, our impulse is to fine tune the meds. But a few years ago—while working primarily inpatient—I realized I was leaning too heavily on medication. My patients needed more.