Growing up through life, I wouldn't say that I had confidence or that I had low self-esteem. I was in this limbo of knowing who I was without really feeling proud or confident, if that makes any sense. It was a state of just being who I was and no one really questioning or making me feel down about myself. Could you call it a state of invisibility? I don't know, honestly. But that was me, and I was fine with it.
It wasn't until I hit medical school that I questioned who I truly was. Whatever image I had of myself was honestly crushed. In medical school, I've encountered failure, judgement, peripheral doubt, and questioning of my own intelligence. Any confidence or sense of being was destroyed and consistently kept down.
My first year wasn't as bad. It was a huge adjustment: living on my own, transitioning into full adulthood, ending a five and a half year relationship, in a new school environment, in graduate school/work environment, and learning how to learn again. While I didn't take any time off between undergrad and starting medical school, it was still a huge adjustment. It was essentially learning how to be a self-reliant adult and how to be a doctor at the same time. That transition wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It was moreso the academic portion.
I struggled academically, which hit me mentally. Imagine going from a student that graduated summa cum laude in undergrad that entered your med school class with the highest GPA to a student was just struggling to keep their head above water. It hits you in the core. Personally, I was always able to succeed academically if I put in enough effort. But here, no matter how much effort I put in, how many hours I studied, no matter how much I consulted the academic support office, nothing changed. That deeply hurt. It was like whatever hard work I put in was meaningless or trivial.
It was just clear to me that I wasn't smart enough to be a doctor. Someone like me can't take care of patients. My colleagues I'm sure could see my incompetence (in fact some didn't talk to me since it seemed I wasn't "worthy enough"). My school administrators could definitely see how I struggled. And my confidence started to decline. In daily small groups, I never spoke. When discussing material, I wouldn't contribute because I didn't want to lead anyone astray. When a question was posed, I wouldn't answer because I was probably wrong. My internal doubt soon manifested as I spoke: tripping over my words, stuttering, speaking quietly. At a certain point, I couldn't even fake any confidence. So I stayed quiet. My motto was, "No one knows what you don't know if you don't speak."
So, first year ended and I was blessed enough to do my research in Boston. There was a summer program I applied for and actually was accepted. I cried so hard for days. Someone actually thought I had potential? They saw something in me? They believed that little me could actually be someone? Granted, I have my friends and family that always believed that, but it also meant something that people I didn't even know thought the same thing.
There, we had one-on-one meetings with the program director. In that meeting I broke down and admitted my lack of confidence. How could someone like me actually be smart enough to be a doctor? Was I hard working enough? Was there actual potential? Did I scam my way into medicine? Can people see through my facade? Looking at the program director, it sure seemed like he wasn't ready for someone to be crying in his office lol. He provided me with tissues, assured me of my intelligence, and gave me the greatest advice: "Confidence comes from preparation."
Confidence comes from preparation. One would be able to appropriately manage tasks and learning if there is a level of preparation, which I knew I had a problem with. So I started my journey of making myself prepared for my second year of school. That included purchasing a calendar to map out my year, purchasing all of the equipment needed for my clinical medicine course, and purchasing the study materials in preparation for my classes and Step 1. That's how I entered second year; ready to conquer and excel. Unfortunately, I did anything else but that.
I put more of myself into school. Utilized what seemed to be more fitting resources, discussed test taking strategies, incorporated more repetition, and went into exams with confidence. But the results I got back were failure and struggle. Whatever confidence I had left was ultimately crushed. Preparation for me led to even more failure. When I talked to an advisor about what to do, she told me to scale back on my activities to focus more on school. That meant giving up volunteering at my local animal shelter and taking a hiatus in the a cappella group I was in to spend more time studying. Essentially, it was giving up the things that made my life balanced and made me 'me' to further give more of myself to school. I was losing myself just to stay afloat. Does that sound feasible?
To make matters worse, at one point through all of this, I came down with appendicitis which further threw me behind in school. It felt like the punches kept coming without a break. There was no light at the end of the tunnel and I was being sucked further into darkness, depression, hopelessness, and invisibility. I was no longer me. There was nothing for me to define myself as or any foundation left to build upon. Medical school had stripped me of who I was.
Before all of this, my personality was described as someone that exuded kindness and joy. During all of this, my peers only saw stress and sadness. They noticed the fear and anxiety. Inside, I felt like someone that didn't deserve to be there. I no longer believed in myself or believed that I had any potential to finish this track. What hurt even more was that I wanted to mentor fellow students, but what could I mentor them on if I couldn't even keep my own path in order?
Despite my lack of confidence or belief in myself, my friends and family became my confidence and further supported in me. They encouraged me, supported me, provided me with resources. My friends in school and from college would show me the silver lining, help me with studying, and listened as I cried. Heck, at one point I stopped checking my final grades since that only fueled my fears. They hugged me, tried to keep my spirit up, and became the filling for the shell of the human being I was. Their residence in my soul helped cultivate who I truly was again. They helped to define who I was, what my passions were, and what my goals were. They provided me with the true perspective of this path and of my purpose. They were the reason I survived second year. They were the reason I lived.
When I clicked submit for my final exam of second year and saw that I had passed, I left, gathered my stuff, and beamed the brightest smile a person can muster. And I cried. I cried for relief of the fear I had about my future, cried from how grateful I was for my support system, and cried from the joy of surviving the hardest year of my life. It was because of them, I knew that WE would surviving studying and passing step as well, which WE did. And now here we are in the second month of 3rd year. This can be one of the hardest but most enjoyable years of medical school. For me, this year is worth everything that happened. I'm happy to wake up at 5 in the morning, happy to be in at 6:30, happy to have patients to take care off, and grateful to be provided the privilege to do all of it.
Where I am in terms of my confidence now? Definitely not 100%, but it's improving. My program director's message of preparation rings in my head everyday. I prepare myself with the knowledge of evidence based medicine to translate it into my daily assessment and plans for my patients. I carefully prepare my mind with my patient's record to be their best advocate. And each morning I prepare my heart and soul to connect with a fellow human being to guide them on their journey of healing.
Yes, everyday I truly do doubt myself and my abilities, but I have some outstanding classmates who support me (some who even admire me, which is just ridiculous to me), exceptional mentors and teachers to guide my thinking and decisions, and amazing family and friends to continue to support this journey. I personally don't see myself as a role model, but as a model of someone that persisted through the valleys. And I think I can make out the mountain tops.
