a little stepping stool
The past two months have been a rude awakening for me, to say the least. It's so easy to feel alone in the struggle, especially when you are the only one amongst your new med school buddies who scored below average on what was supposed to be "an easy test." It's so easy to lose yourself in your own self-doubt, guilt and pure regret.
It's really hard to pick yourself back up if your legs are so weak and wobbly that you fall down before you can even stand up again. You look back in disbelief to your days in undergrad when you used to be the big fish in the small pond. You ain't the big fish now. In fact, you're not even a fish. You're more like a fat, slobbery, helpless little seal who could use a trip to the threading salon.
I feel embarrassed. I feel like a failure. I feel like I wasn't cut out for this program. My ego feels bruised beyond repair, and waking up is a struggle. I feel emotionally and physically exhausted--sometimes I feel purposeless.
It's so easy to lose sight of why I even wanted this in the first place.
Malala Yousafzai, the 19 year old Nobel Peace Prize winner, is out there fighting for girls' rights to dignity, education and freedom from antiquated beliefs about women and their roles in society. She tells Ellen here that education allows girls the opportunity to learn something about themselves and what they can offer to humanity.
It's so easy to forget that in many countries education isn't a rite of passage--it isnt' even a right. For many girls around the world, education is a privilege.
As I sit here bemoaning my miserable, stressful life, there are girls fighting for their lives, their bodies, their families, and their dignity. As I sit here hoping for a miraculous rediscovery of my passion for learning, there are women being raped, sold, tortured, abused---robbed of their bodies, robbed of their souls.
I have this misconception that the first two years of medical school are solely to mold people into test taking machines--into machines capable of inhaling and regurgitating information over and over and over again. I knew the preclinical years were all about the coursework, and that the courses are designed to help students ace their boards and lay the foundation for an impressive residency application. But I really really never imagined that it takes only a few standardized tests and gaining 4 lbs to make someone feel this empty and miserable.
What I need to remind myself of time and time again, is that classes aren't just miserable, torturous acts of memorizing esoteric words for multiple choice exams. Classes are valuable discourses--opportunities to challenge yourself mentally and emotionally. This is stuff so different, so new, so unlike anything that I've ever done before. I have been blessed with opportunity to understand the language of people that I admire, and aspire to be one day.
I used to be so excited to go to lectures. I cherished the ultrasound and EKG demo sessions and anatomy TBLs with some of the best professors I've ever had in my life--and it took just two less-than-stellar exam scores to change all of that. I gained 4 lbs too, but I feel like my insides have been scooped out and run through a paper shredder.
It's really disheartening, not only because of the pain of failure. It's disheartening because of a fear of the future. And I think the only way out is to embrace the pain and the anxiety, understand that those feelings are valid and legitimate, and accept the reality of the present. I can't change these exam scores, and I can't ignore how I feel. I do still feel stupid and guilty for crying everytime I start telling someone about my 71 on the cardio final, and I probably will for a long time.
But then I have to remind myself that I'm here not to ace exams; I'm here to honor those women that Malala is fighting for. I have the opportunity to educate myself, and learn something about myself and how I can contribute to humanity. And whaddayaknow, apparently people learn a lot about themselves through failure.
so there. I'm learning.
and i'll keep trying.
It's really hard to pick yourself back up if your legs are so weak and wobbly that you fall down before you can even stand up again. You look back in disbelief to your days in undergrad when you used to be the big fish in the small pond. You ain't the big fish now. In fact, you're not even a fish. You're more like a fat, slobbery, helpless little seal who could use a trip to the threading salon.
I feel embarrassed. I feel like a failure. I feel like I wasn't cut out for this program. My ego feels bruised beyond repair, and waking up is a struggle. I feel emotionally and physically exhausted--sometimes I feel purposeless.
It's so easy to lose sight of why I even wanted this in the first place.
Malala Yousafzai, the 19 year old Nobel Peace Prize winner, is out there fighting for girls' rights to dignity, education and freedom from antiquated beliefs about women and their roles in society. She tells Ellen here that education allows girls the opportunity to learn something about themselves and what they can offer to humanity.
It's so easy to forget that in many countries education isn't a rite of passage--it isnt' even a right. For many girls around the world, education is a privilege.
As I sit here bemoaning my miserable, stressful life, there are girls fighting for their lives, their bodies, their families, and their dignity. As I sit here hoping for a miraculous rediscovery of my passion for learning, there are women being raped, sold, tortured, abused---robbed of their bodies, robbed of their souls.
I have this misconception that the first two years of medical school are solely to mold people into test taking machines--into machines capable of inhaling and regurgitating information over and over and over again. I knew the preclinical years were all about the coursework, and that the courses are designed to help students ace their boards and lay the foundation for an impressive residency application. But I really really never imagined that it takes only a few standardized tests and gaining 4 lbs to make someone feel this empty and miserable.
What I need to remind myself of time and time again, is that classes aren't just miserable, torturous acts of memorizing esoteric words for multiple choice exams. Classes are valuable discourses--opportunities to challenge yourself mentally and emotionally. This is stuff so different, so new, so unlike anything that I've ever done before. I have been blessed with opportunity to understand the language of people that I admire, and aspire to be one day.
I used to be so excited to go to lectures. I cherished the ultrasound and EKG demo sessions and anatomy TBLs with some of the best professors I've ever had in my life--and it took just two less-than-stellar exam scores to change all of that. I gained 4 lbs too, but I feel like my insides have been scooped out and run through a paper shredder.
It's really disheartening, not only because of the pain of failure. It's disheartening because of a fear of the future. And I think the only way out is to embrace the pain and the anxiety, understand that those feelings are valid and legitimate, and accept the reality of the present. I can't change these exam scores, and I can't ignore how I feel. I do still feel stupid and guilty for crying everytime I start telling someone about my 71 on the cardio final, and I probably will for a long time.
But then I have to remind myself that I'm here not to ace exams; I'm here to honor those women that Malala is fighting for. I have the opportunity to educate myself, and learn something about myself and how I can contribute to humanity. And whaddayaknow, apparently people learn a lot about themselves through failure.
so there. I'm learning.
and i'll keep trying.
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