Wrapping up my second year in medical school

I made it through my first year without much trouble, while the clinical rotations left me burnt out by the end of my second year. No matter how hard I try, my shortcomings feel endless,

and the goal of earning a specialist license seems impossibly distant. Certainly everyone has too much to do—I’m not unique in that.

I entered medical school with the intention of becoming a psychiatrist who stands with the vulnerable. Today, however, glancing in the mirror, I was overwhelmed by shame and self-contempt at the selfish person staring back at me.

My original intention has been worning out, and I’ve begun to fear facing people, both the patients and my supervisors, during placements. I prioritize my own survival, growing numb to the suffering of others. I hate that I’ve become someone who always puts myself first, someone full of excuses. This life still feels unfamiliar to me.

So I went to an art gallery for the first time in a long while—

I wandered aimlessly between paintings and sculptures. It felt like coming home. My innermost self swelled with excitement. Then I went to a karaoke room and sang my heart out for an hour.

For the first time in a while, I felt alive.