Anonymous

Photography by Ashkan Forouzani

If you’re reading this, it means I’m winning.

You may be wondering why this letter is anonymous, and honestly I’m not sure either. I’m told that it is the first of its kind at the medical level for Stethos[Cope] but not uncommon for IfYoureReadingThis. My personal journey is one that is still evolving, and while I am proud of the growth that I have experienced, I still have a way to go before I’m done writing my story and until then, I am thankful for this organization and the opportunity to share my story through this platform.

My journey to medicine started like many others. Some kids wanted to go to space or build complex robots, but I was drawn to a world where a clinic felt like a spaceship and every drug seemed like a magical potion. I worshipped the ground that my pediatrician walked on and before I was even 7, I knew that I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. College came with its usual twists, turns, and a pandemic, but I made it through to the other side and got into medical school not long after.

Moving to a new city for medical school was a challenge, but one that I felt ready for. Not because I was ready for the new challenges, but because it was a place where I felt that I could introduce myself without any preconceived notions. You see, I’m gay. Putting that sentence to paper is one that has taken years of courage, and while I felt free in starting medical school off with my newfound liberty, I didn’t realize the burden that I was carrying for more than a decade wouldn’t go away so easily.

After being open with my sexuality, I noticed people would forget me and I felt isolated. I noticed an advisor frown–just slightly but enough for me to catch–when I mentioned that my partner was of the same sex. My first standardized patient, who glared at the pride flag on my white coat, seemed to disapprove of my every action for the next 10 minutes. The haven that I thought medical school would be turned out to be nothing more than a dream-shattering reminder of the reality around me. The world won’t always have your back, and I wish I could tell you that it would.

Going through a breakup in the midst of my identity transformation did little to ease my concerns and I soon found myself struggling at every aspect of life from a multitude of factors and the lack of a stable ground or support that I could lean on. I couldn’t find the motivation to get out of bed for a lecture. I couldn’t study for more than 15 minutes at a time before collapsing on my couch. My grades plummeted before they were barely enough to pass courses. I lost over 15 pounds in a span of weeks, and I found a new part of my body breaking down almost every single month. I almost failed and had to repeat my entire first year of medical school because of everything going on, and when I went through the proper channels to get help from faculty, I was told “it’s never a good time in medicine. These things will always happen.” I felt my struggles silenced and didn’t know what to do.

After making it through the first year and going through various doctors’ appointments, I received some diagnoses and treatment plans that changed my life. I’ll save you the full SOAP note, but the combination of therapy, my primary care, and special friends/family members saved and pulled me out of the void that was going to destroy me. I went into the next year re-energized with a purpose and I was reminded that even though I am here to be a doctor, it should not come at the cost of my life.

I threw myself into projects where I cared about the patients. I started finding solace in new company and made new friends through hobbies that let me shine. I made time for volunteering and spending time at places where I felt I could control my narrative, and that is where I am today.

Many of the stories that I have read on this website are ones of resilience, grit, courage, and growth. Despite the permanence of a letter, all of these terms signal an ongoing process, not an endpoint. In a career where we put others before ourselves, it’s hard to find the time, space, and energy to battle our inner demons. I have to thank my therapist, doctors, and my community around me for helping me recognize that every little win matters.

Let me say that again.

Every.

Single.

Win.

Matters.

Coming out to a parent is a win. Moving forward after almost failing my first year of medical school is a win. Standing here today having gotten control over my mental health struggles is a win. Even making my bed in the morning is a win. I could go on describing the little wins documented in my journal, but I think y’all get the message. I choose to put my trust in myself, my authentic story, and the ability to chase my dreams. I choose to keep fighting despite all the voices in my head telling me that I am not enough. I choose the fight and challenge in front of me, and I am willing to face it because I’m not afraid of the bad things that will happen in life; I’m ready to embrace them, learn from them, and experience them all.

Medical school is not rainbows and sunshine, unfortunately. Getting up every single day is a struggle when you struggle with signs of depression; opening an exam causes your heart to race when you struggle with anxiety; putting on a brave face when you hear demeaning comments about your sexuality will break your heart, but the power to heal and grow is something possible, and I can tell you that from experience. My story is not perfect, and I am still finding out how to be a better student and more at peace with my life, but compared to where I was mere months ago, I’m pretty impressed of how far I’ve come. I am giving each and every one of you reading this letter the biggest hug and a pat on the back for overcoming the struggles that you have conquered, even if you don’t recognize it. Especially for my fellow LGBTQ+ medical students, I want to give you a special thanks for inspiring me every day to keep fighting not only for myself, but for the next generation of doctors to avoid the struggles that we face. Despite everything, I am standing here today undeterred and fierce in my conviction, so if you’re reading this, it means that I’m winning, and I know that you are too.

Anonymous

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.