(Heads up! This essay is about 3000 words long)
In the middle of September 2022 I wrote a candid (and unpublished) essay about how I was feeling then. I have never closed the window on my laptop, nor have I edited it since. Ever so often, when I open Pages, whether to write an essay such as this one, do an assignment for school or start the umpteenth journey to planning and sorting out my life, it pops up. Sometimes I read it, sometimes I don’t but I’m always reminded of that moment of raw and overwhelming emotion.
Reading those words feels like smelling a familiar perfume, all the emotions of that day come flooding in. Most times I check in, comparing myself in the current moment to who I was when I wrote it. I often feel like I’ve made no progress, but this essay acts as a check point and reminds me of a time when I felt like I couldn’t do anymore. In 2021, I started writing lessons I learnt for the year, the number of lessons would be related to the last two digits of the year. I have been struggling for months to write my lessons of 2023, its not that I haven’t learnt anything. Just… at some point, writing became too hard and my focus went to other things and oftentimes nothing. I wondered if I had lost interest, but I have so many notes in my phone on topics I want to write about- the “problem” is that they are important to me. Topics I’m interested in, opinions and thoughts that are my own, it feels almost like being naked in front of a crowd… too vulnerable.
This personal blog was my first step away from my professional identity, and a nod at who I was when I was younger. I remember when I was a young teenager I would write, create and publish things that made me happy and didn’t care much what others thought. I had a few blogs and one day, I deleted them all and I stopped creating and closed myself off from the world and even myself. I locked that version of me away, and now when I think about it, I can’t even remember why. I can’t remember what made me pack myself up and throw me in the back of a closet.
Truthfully, I often feel more cursed by my profession as a doctor than blessed by it. There is an innate responsibility with being a doctor, I feel/ fear the weight my words carry. Often I feel silenced, there are things I refuse to say or talk about, because I understand and accept my influence by being in this profession. Even on my private social media pages, I’m careful about the jokes I make and the topics I talk about because I feel obligated to others. At the core of it, I feel that being a doctor is not just about being a servant, but also a protector. It hasn’t been easy admitting to myself my displeasure in my career, yet it is something I have always known. I joke constantly about telling my mother I wanted to quit in October 2014… a mere month after I started medicine. This is one of the most vivid memories I have, I remember how I felt, I remember the words, I remember exactly where I was.
Here’s the story.
One evening after classes we were driving on ring road, as we passed the Scotiabank on campus, I mustered up all the courage I had and said, “I want to quit medical school”. Immediately she asked “And do what?”, with a sense of confusion, annoyance and bewilderment. I said, “I want to travel to Europe and study languages, maybe international law as well.” I could tell that she quickly saw through my answer, I had no idea what I wanted to do- I just didn’t want to do this. She brought up the fact that the school fee was already paid, I had already started and I can do all those things I wanted after medical school. It was decided, I would spend the next five years in school. After too many years as a ‘high achiever’ and never really being good enough for my scholar parents, I realised I was miserable, and all I really had to do was get through. No matter how or what I did, some issue would be found anyway.
As the next five years dredged on- and I’m being much kinder than I ought to be- I went through school completely miserable. Younger me had aspirations of doing research, even planning a career all the way up to fellowship. Except, the first interaction I had with my field of interest, I knew instantly I hated it. I thought a lot about how I applied and got through to two other programmes; psychology in the UK and international relations back home. I often wondered what life would have been like if I pursued either. Maybe international relations would have been practical, but my engineer parents would never let me turn down a “prestigious” medical career to do something like that. And even with the scholarship, I couldn’t afford to go to the UK… much less to study psychology.
When I realised that my only push to continue medical school was no longer for me, my emotional wellbeing worsened. During those years of my life, I was angry and resentful. Notwithstanding, even with all of this, I was not going to spend any extra time in university, or worse, cause my parents to pay even more money for resists and additional time. They’d never let me forget how lucky I was to have my fees covered, and how expensive it was. Sometimes, I wish I never got the 80% government subsidy- I think someone else would have appreciated it much more than I did. Looking back, when I got my grades for CAPE, I wondered if my chances to afford medical school would be in jeopardy and I secretly felt maybe I’d have a way out. I knew that if I had to pay 100% or 50% of the fee- I was not going. And I definitely was not committed enough to this dream or goal to go in debt for it.
Maybe many people would say I should feel grateful, that I did well in school, got a respectable career and didn’t go into debt doing so. A big part of me is grateful, but maybe not for those reasons. I have met so many people who’s dream in life is to be a doctor, it has always been all that they could think of, a part of me feels like I took the space of someone who would have done so much more with the opportunity, starting with actually appreciating it. The bittersweetness of it all is, at some point I actually forgot how much this wasn’t for me, and that I had dreams I couldn’t wait to accomplish.
In my early years of medical school, I quickly formed a group with my best friend from high school, a crazy St. Lucian and the biggest Portia supporter I knew. By the end of medical school, I only remained close to my St. Lucian friend and had lost touch with the others by the time they started sorting us by our last names. I both had and didn’t have issues making and keeping friends, I have always been a bit of a loner, generally preferring my solitude. My best friend in the world, that I’m still friends with to this day had left, just as how my prep school best friend did as well. I felt exhausted by this cycle of having to constantly make new friends at every phase of my life. This meant that I didn’t have a friend group, but had friends scattered all over, being a plus one in theirs.
In medical school, my best friend was an ambitious and brilliant girl, she took her studies seriously and was committed to doing well. When our first or second semester grades came out I remember her shouting at me telling me (pleading with me really) if I even studied just a few weeks earlier, than I did, I would have gotten even better grades. Honestly, I couldn’t get why she was so upset about my very satisfactory grades of B’s. By the end of that first year, we were no longer friends. I pretty much moved on with my life, literally shrugging and saying ‘oh well’. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realised how passive I have been in my friendships, and have always been okay with periods of inactivity thinking that if people need the time, they should take the time. I think that’s what happens when you see life from your perspective only, because I was like that. I can’t imagine how persons may have felt when I let them walk away so easily, as if they didn’t matter to me.
Which is actually, so untrue. This story also has a happy ending, because I did realise that I couldn’t be a standstill fixture in my relationships. By this time though, I had missed her wedding, life achievements, big disappointments and bigger winnings. She had moved on, had new friends and a whole new life I wasn’t apart of. Then, I reached out. Can you imagine for more than 5 years I actually had no idea why we stopped talking, and never explored more than to ask our mutual friend (the St. Lucian) what happened maybe once or twice. Turns out, it was over that day, over the fact that I wasn’t taking my work (and future) seriously. And she would probably remind me “and wasting my talent”.
She was right, I wasn’t taking school seriously. Medical school wasn’t particularly challenging, so I did the least amount of work I needed to do to get by. Sometimes I wonder if I should have tried harder, aimed for honours and prizes, and not simply graduating with a solid, but pretty meh, GPA. I never gave myself any time to reflect, overpacking my schedule with with advocacy work, learning new skills, being a part of JAMSA, playing in our university band and going out, and my heart was barely in any of it. So, I never felt any of the feelings I was pushing to the back of the closet, and it only got worse, my grandmother died, then my friend died, and those two things just piled on top of each other, and I entered into this darkness that would soon become familiar to me. I was drained, I had no more, life seemed empty and meaningless, and I was just going through the motions. Letting the current of life take me where ever it was going.
I don’t know how I did it but I was still determined to make this “doctor thing” work. I actually found interest in public health and it pushed me to start my platform ‘The Layman’s Doctor’ (TLD). That has opened so many doors for me, you would not imagine. I always loved writing, and I decided this could kill two birds with one stone, force me to write and force me to engage more with my studies. I had really missed writing. At first I wrote about things that got under my skin in healthcare, never really expecting anyone to read it. However, I was directionless, and as more and more people read it, I wrote about things that were asked of me, started a podcast I really wasn’t that interested in and eventually lost interested. Up to this point, it’s been probably a year since I’ve posted anything. Over the last few months, I have been itching to write more, but for me, both personally here and on TLD.
In 2019, I finished medical school, I started internship and became acutely aware that I hated every single thing about it. Still, after internship I decided to continue and try some other specialities I thought I could like. The longer I stayed the more miserable I got. Eventually, getting to a point I couldn’t ignore. I dreaded going into work staying in bed until the last possible moment. Yet I kept pushing through, I started finding little ways to make it work, I would practice my communication skills, empathy and learn as much as I could about the different Jamaicas that existed. Hoping my new perspective on this opportunity would make it easier to keep going. I was swimming tirelessly against a strong current, thinking these are just growing pains. At the end of my second year, and at the height of covid, I asked myself seriously- could I keep doing this. The answer? No.
So I left, I left and I didn’t tell anyone. I would work just enough sessions to survive, and would simply ignore anyone who asked me what I was doing, if I applied for this position or that position. When asked to apply by seniors and administrators, I said no. I wondered over and over if I was saying no to opportunities I’d never have again- if I was burning bridges I needed. Honestly, I just couldn’t imagine it, I would work maybe 40 hours per month on average and hated every single moment of it. The allure of medicine had long gone and my resentment was growing. I had never wanted to be a doctor, even when I was young, it was just a step I had to complete in order to reach my goal of becoming a researcher.
I was scared, but even more relieved when I made the decision. I felt lonely though, and I wish I had opened up more, but I was afraid of being criticised. I was afraid especially to be pushed to continue by my mother. My mother would constantly tell me about job openings and other opportunities sending me texts, emails and so much more. I couldn’t take it, eventually, I started talking even less and less to my family- and I never really talked much to start. I didn’t really talk much to anyone. I started therapy, but for the first couple months of my “gap year” I felt nothing but dread, and I could hardly move.
I thought my gap year would be all sunshine and roses, my excuse was that I never had the time or the energy for the things I wanted to do. Now I had all the time in the world, but zero energy. Eventually, I left my home. I had no steady income coming in and I decided to move into kingston to be closer to opportunities and honestly, be away from my parents. Moving was actually one of the best things I’ve ever done, I had my own space to process and just be myself. I kept thinking well when I do abc I’ll finally have/ feel xyz and it never ever became true. These achievements felt like nothing. I felt completely lost and stuck. That September I wrote, I felt I had nothing but fog in front of me and behind me the bridge had collapsed. I couldn’t turn back but I was too scared to move forward. I was paralysed by fear.
Now, I’m recognising familiar feelings that I had in the moments where I’ve had the most joy. I’m constantly reminded that whenever I took a chance or risk it was never “that bad” plus almost all mistakes are fixable. Right now in my life, I feel like a toddler learning to walk, clumsy but constantly trying again and again. I’m learning that fear and worry are normal, and that I may never get rid of those emotions but they don’t have to control my life. How I felt when I wrote my unpublished essay is the same way I felt when I went to the top of a cliff, deciding whether or not I should jump.
I am terrified of heights, and I took so long to decide that even the guide got annoyed with me. I almost quit, and I remember saying to myself “you’ll regret not trying”. And then I jumped. The feeling that washed over me when I proved that I could overcome my fears and enjoy the process of doing so overwhelmed me with emotion. Without knowing, in September 2022, I was on top of my own cliff, deciding whether to turn back or take a leap of faith. Eventually, I stepped into the thick fog, having faith that leaving the life I planned will allow me to live the life made for me (I read this in a book I just can’t remember who said it!). And that’s why I never close that article.
Because in the moments where I feel too scared to take the jump, I see a snapshot of myself, scared and desperate to live another type of life. I’m at the point where I’ve decided to jump and have started bending my knees to take off. I’m terrified of what I’ll jump into, but not paralysed to move forward. I write these things, to remind myself of the different ways I’ve felt along this journey and that every time I’ve faced a fear, I’ve always been okay.
I can’t even imagine a life where I didn’t take this path, I feel a sense of rebirth and impending peace. I have embarked on a journey of self discovery and happiness, being as honest with myself as possible. I approach the world with curiousity and wonder. There are days I can’t believe it, when the smile on my face is real, and I’m living my life in the present moment instead of daydreaming of the future or pretending I was somewhere else. A life where I love the sound of birds, the smell of flowers and the sights of people walking all around. A place where I value my silence the most, and those opportunities I have to listen to the quiet voice inside of me telling me what I want, what I like and what brings me peace, joy, purpose, satisfaction and ultimately happiness.
This is me, jumping into the cold blue waters, creating space for the life made for me.
– Sam
