What looking for a physio taught me about being found.

A few weeks ago, an old shoulder injury of mine flared up again. Nothing dramatic. Just the kind of recurring niggle that needed proper attention rather than another round of stretching and hoping it would settle on its own.

So I went looking for a physiotherapist.

What struck me afterwards wasn't the appointment itself. It was how I got there.

How I actually searched

I didn't open Google first.

I asked AI. I described the injury, what had helped in the past, and asked what type of practitioner or approach might be worth looking for. That gave me a starting point: a few terms to search, and a sense of what to ask.

Then I went to Google, mostly to check reviews. Not service pages. Reviews.

Then, before I booked anything, I had a look on Reddit. Not for medical advice, but to read about other people's experiences with similar shoulder injuries: what they'd tried, what their recovery looked like, what they wished they'd asked earlier. By the time I walked into my first appointment, I felt prepared.

Three steps. AI for orientation, Google for trust signals, Reddit for lived experience. At no point did I land on a clinic website first.

This isn't a one off

I noticed the same pattern in myself recently when I needed to see a GP while travelling interstate for work. A quick AI search to understand what kind of appointment I needed and what to expect, then Google to check who was nearby and well regarded, then a booking.

None of this felt like a trend I was following. It felt like the obvious way to do it.

What this means for allied health clinics

If that's how I found my physio, it's likely how a meaningful share of your potential patients are finding theirs.

Which raises a practical question for any allied health practice, whether that's physiotherapy, podiatry, occupational therapy or hand therapy: if someone asked AI right now, "who specialises in [your area] in [your suburb]," would your practice be a sensible answer?

For a lot of clinics, the honest answer is no. Not because the clinical work isn't good. Because the way the practice presents itself online doesn't say anything specific. A list of services. A list of modalities. Nothing that signals "we're particularly good for people like you, with this kind of issue."

Specific beats generic

The clinics that are easiest to find and choose tend to be the ones known for something. A practice that talks specifically about runners and recurring injuries. A clinic with real depth in vestibular conditions. A hand therapy service that explains, in plain language, what a typical course of care involves and what people often want to know before their first visit.

That specificity does two things. It helps the people searching feel like they've found somewhere that understands their situation. And it gives search engines, review platforms and AI tools something concrete to point to when someone asks a specific question.

Reviews matter more than most practices realise. Not as a vanity metric, but because they're often the first independent signal someone like me looks for. A steady stream of genuine reviews, built through normal good practice, says more about a clinic's reputation than any amount of website copy.

What I enjoy about this work

This is the part of my work I find most interesting: helping a practice work out what it's actually known for, then making sure that's clear and consistent everywhere someone might encounter it. Not a rebrand. Not more content for its own sake. Just a clearer answer to the question every potential patient, and increasingly every AI tool, is quietly asking: who is this for, and why would I choose them?