Dr. D’Souza

Photo provided by Dr. D’Souza

If you’re reading this, it’s okay to be selfish sometimes.

Not the kind that pushes people away, but the kind that pulls you back in – back to the center, to the truths that get buried when you’re trying to do it all.

I once asked a six-year-old patient who was curiously observing my examination, “What do you think doctors do?”

She looked up at me with wide brown eyes, glancing at her mother before returning her gaze to me. She pointed to my stethoscope and whispered, “Listen.”

And she was right. We listen to lungs, to heartbeats. But we also listen to fears, to hopes, to the things left unsaid. Being a physician isn’t just about diagnosing or treating – it’s about creating space for someone else’s world, even when it feels bigger than your own.

Over time, I’ve learned that creating space for others doesn’t mean losing yourself. I still need quiet moments that belong to me – resting in the silent call room, meditating for a few minutes, watching my morning coffee swirl, or taking a moment to match my scrubs to my hair tie.

I first realized the necessity of that stillness during my first 12-hour night shift. I was running between hospital floors, trying to keep track of where I needed to be. Around 3 a.m., I grabbed a quick bite of breakfast at the cafeteria, yawning as I rushed to answer the nurse’s call. Then, in that blur, I paused at a window between the 8th and 9th floors of the Children’s Hospital. For a moment, my adrenaline slowed, even as my pager buzzed. The hallways were quiet, the lights humming softly. Outside in the distance, the stars brightened. It felt like the universe reserved this moment for me. I stood there, not as a resident or a task manager, but as a person. Present.

That pause didn’t fix everything. But it reminded me that even in chaos, I still had access to myself. There was space – however small – for breath, for clarity, for stillness.

Medical school and residency are full of these moments. Some mornings I feel unstoppable. Other days, I’m just trying not to fall apart before noon. But I show up. I keep going. Not perfectly, but honestly. And somewhere in that motion, messy and human, I realized something simple: I will always be my most important patient.

So if you’re reading this, let it be your permission.

To slow down.

To protect your energy.

To create space for who you are becoming.

And when you’re ready, return to the world steady, whole, and ready to give with your full heart.

Dr. D’Souza,  Pediatrics PGY-1

Inova Fairfax Medical Campus

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.