Writing Prompt: Silent Prayers

I have had a rough week.  Coming back from vacation is always hard, and as I did, I wished my husband goodbye for a six-week stretch.  And don’t we all do this thing over the holiday season?  We either work too much over our time off, or if we do truly rest, we come back overwhelmed with all that we have left to do.  I did the latter.  Why did I spend time with my family instead of studying for my boards, which are next week?  Or reading my book club book?  Or catching up on journal articles?  Why did I waste my free time?

Intellectually I know I made the right decision for myself to be present with my loved ones and rest, but it’s always hard to overcome the anxiety that accompanies that feeling of overwhelm.  It’s the feeling that keeps me in bed well past my morning alarm and keeps the dirty dishes in my sink much longer than they should be there.  And the more disheveled my apartment remains, the more I unravel into a never-ending spiral of despair.

But!  There are a few things that help me get back to normal:

1. Lovely friends (and a husband) who just listen and make me feel less alone (the writing prompt for last week was surprisingly apropos)
2. Prioritizing my to-do list, which is why for the next few weeks, I will only be blogging writing prompts at the end of the week and taking a break with the literature
3. Making restful time for myself while I am awake, whether I am reading for fun, cooking, writing, rediscovering yoga, or watching mindless television
4. Paying attention to and finding role models to look up to, who have done the things I  aspire to do even when it seems impossible.  Twitter has surprisingly helped me do that, as I had had no idea how many amazing physicians were out there writing poetry and prose and getting it published (as described below).
5. Most importantly, one of the best ways for me to lift myself up is to lift up my peers, colleagues, and role models.

This week’s writing prompt is based on a recently published poem entitled “Keep That Same Energy” by Dr. Alexandra Sims, a pediatrician at Children’s National Health Center, and the co-director of the Minority Senior Scholarship Program.  In the poem, she describes a patient encounter that (in my interpretation) fills her with hope, fear, and heartbreak all at once.  I urge you to read it and think about what it means to you.

The prompt for this week is this:

“Write about the silent prayers you feel for your patients.”

You have seven minutes.  See you next week.

References:

1. Sims AM. Keep That Same Energy. JAMA. 2020;323(1):95. doi:10.1001/jama.2019.19207.

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More unedited writing of mine.  Seven minutes on loneliness.

The Bottomless Pit

It seems that every connection I try to make, all of that love and goodwill, does nothing to fill the emptiness.  Does anyone truly see us if they don’t see our demons?  If they don’t see the insecurities, the shame, the feelings of inadequacy?  As physicians we are trained to hide it, to be perfect.  As medical students, every minute action was judged and had a place in determining our future.  As physicians, we are told that we are not supposed to make mistakes.  Patients expect us to have all the answers.  And as an intern, I have been able to overcome much of that stigma.  I know my job is to learn.  Evaluations no longer make or break my ability to match into residency.  I know I will make mistakes and need to own up to them and fix them in order to grow.

But I know where my insecurities are.  Inefficiency.  Overcommitment.  The two dirty words that have followed me wherever I go.  “She is great with families, but just needs to be more efficient.”  “Why aren’t your notes done?”  No but seriously, why are my notes never done?  “You overcommitted yourself again; that’s why you didn’t meet this deadline.”  I fill with shame, that knot in my chest whenever that feedback comes up.  I know it’s to help me improve, but man.  Why don’t I ever learn?

And when it comes up, when I do it to myself, when I have too many things to do, I go to the dark place, the bottomless pit where I feel that I deserve to be hidden due to my worthlessness.  Unless someone comes and shines a flashlight into my pit, they won’t see me.  They usually just walk right past, seeing my projection, my hologram at ground level.  But that flashlight, when I feel seen?  That feeble beam is a glimmer of hope that eventually forms a ladder for me to climb out.

Wouldn’t it be great if I could bring my own flashlight?