Jonique D.
Photo provided by Jonique D.
If you’re reading this, you are always a human first, a medical student second.
It is truly fascinating how one moment you are so excited to start medical school, this big dream that you’ve had since college, to the next, looking in the mirror and having no idea who is looking back at you. I believe that the eyes are the window to the soul, and if you were to ask me how I was doing on certain days if you didn’t blink, you just might catch a glimpse of how I was truly feeling before giving the generic “Oh I’m fine just busy you know” response. Despite what feels like never-ending generic “pizza parties” of how to handle your mental health, wellness sessions, and the occasional cookie handout, the idea of speaking how you truly felt never felt right. Everyone around you always seems to be so on top of things - someone has already gone through the entire set of chapters of First Aid associated with the block, their UWorld averages are above the national, and the exam was just so easy right? There never seemed to be a right time to let someone know you felt incapable of becoming a doctor, that you felt a loneliness that felt as deep as the Mariana Trench. It feels like some sort of dystopian form of the Hunger Games where everyone is excelling in all areas from academics to volunteering to research, and you’re running around and hiding trying not to be outed as an imposter. Every day there’s a new email, a new article about how more and more specialties are becoming competitive, and if you don’t have this or that you’ll never make it. And don’t forget the constant reminder of how much physicians get paid relative to the loan burden amount. Medical school no longer felt fun. Instead, it started to feel like a Barry’s class and you’re running next to a 5x gold-medal Olympian who keeps upping the speed on their tread and you feel like you have to do the same just to show you are worthy enough of keeping up. And no matter how many times you think you can keep upping the speed, taking on more and more, something will have to give - the treadmill or you.
I think sometimes we forget that at some point, and in the case of Barry’s - after 50 minutes, it will all come to an end, and we have the option to make it as enjoyable or as miserable as we want. You have the option to take a break, drink some water, or step off the tread to breathe if you want - no one is forcing you to stay. You have the option to avoid those who make you feel smaller, to step away from those who do not fill your cup in the ways that you need it to be filled. Life is not all sunshine and rainbows, and you need to find those who will be there when the rain feels like it is never-ending and will dance in it with you or carry the umbrella until you find the strength to do so. You have to remember that you are only human and maybe that means leaving school early so you have enough time to get your groceries delivered so you’re not going on week two of looking at an empty fridge because you keep telling yourself this exam is more important than your health. Time may never seem like it is enough, and it is always slipping through your fingers, but if you can find the time to study, you can always find the time to care for yourself.
If there is one thing medical school has taught me, it is that I do not need to do this alone. There is a fine balance of pushing yourself to the limits to aim for success and greatness, while also not trying to be consumed by academic validation and putting your emotional well-being in how well you do in school. And I don’t know about you, but I trip on flat surfaces so if that tells you anything about my ability to balance, you can probably already guess how that is going. And yet - I am still here. I have found love and grounding in my friendships and relationships, both new and old, to remind me of who I am as I go through the growing pains of being a medical student. I have found encouragement and similarities in those near and far who also share their struggles, but also their wins.
If you find that you are struggling to notice who you are when you pass a mirror, know that you are not alone. The woman I see in the mirror is no longer the pre-medical turned-medical student that I once knew, and that is ok. Somehow, the woman I see in the mirror is more human than I was before. I am reminded that I am always a human first, a medical student second, and so are you.
Jonique D., Second Year Medical Student
Several studies have revealed that medical students, physicians, and healthcare professionals experience mental health symptoms at rates significantly higher than the general population. Stethos[Cope] is a chapter of IfYoureReadingThis designed to help medical students and professionals cope with the unique stressors of medical training and change the narrative of mental health in medicine.
To read more letters and interviews from students, and to learn more about mental health in the medical community, visit the Stethos[Cope] home page.