I See You

Rushing to stay on time.

Trying to get caught up on your notes so you can return to less work in the morning.

Missing your family.

Worrying about patients.

Praying you don’t get called.

Jumping in full-heartedly when you do.

Fearing that if others knew the truth, they would not like you, respect you.

Hiding behind that white coat.

Hurting, the pain behind your eyes.

Wondering if others would laugh at you or lose respect for you, if they knew what was going on in your head, or what you’re doing secret.

Swallowing your truth with silence when you get home.

Struggling to connect to your spouse.

Wishing you could have saved that patient.

Blaming yourself, even though you did your best.

Believing this is what you’re meant to do.

Replaying patient exams in your head.

Re-reading notes.

Asking, “Did I miss something?”

Grieving all the things you may have missed.

Lamenting, “Why did they wait until this weekend to call about a symptom they’ve had for weeks?

Postponing your own health and well-being.

Doubting your true worth.

Nodding your head, while not hearing a thing they say

Falling asleep during meetings.

Closing your eyes one beat too long in front of a patient — “Did they see that?”

Resenting that you have to jump right into family life without a break.

Remembering when it wasn’t this way; who you once were before medicine.

Yearning to try something new.

Searching for your true self, for what you love.

Dreaming of finding peace. Real peace.