Hi I’m Weronika, a Year 2 medical student, and as part of our group project this semester we are writing blogs covering a variety of themes. Mental Health is a topic already relevant when discussing “life as a medical student” but even more so in the current pandemic, where our coping mechanisms or stress reliefs are may no longer be available, and where we might be dealing with more stresses anyhow.
In our wellbeing session last year they asked us to raise our hands if we ever felt like an “imposter”, and every hand went up. Granted, it was a relatively small sample size of about twelve students, but if you talk to a lot of students they will agree that there are times when they feel less than those around them, where they not only doubt their own intentions of becoming a doctor, but the merit on which they were accepted. You pour blood, sweat and tears into a personal statement, sit an admissions exam where you spend so long staring at shapes you start hallucinating triangles, and attend interviews where you have to sell yourself in five-minute intervals.
Then you get here, and this fight is behind you but suddenly you’re drowning in an ever-expanding pool of pathogen classification, cellular communication mechanisms, anatomy (need I say more) and sambuca. You look around you and it feels like everybody else is staying afloat while you flail, and you feel pathetic.
But you forget that everybody got here the same way, the same theatrics of pretending you are more confident than you are, attempting to convince universities that you are the right candidate. You’ve sold your soul to UCAS and now you don’t have to prove you belong here anymore, to anyone but yourself. And that’s probably the hardest person you’ll ever have to convince, and the only one left standing in your way at the end of the day.
Coping with the pressures of university life
When you’re at university, with coping comes drinking, socialising and late nights overlapping with early mornings. You spend so little time alone you can go weeks without realising how you feel; that your brain (and your liver) isn’t coping with your lifestyle, and at some point something is going to give.
So something gives. You might fail an exam, or fall out with a friend, or end up in A&E or maybe have an explosive breakdown, and you realise that you’re not happy, you’re just busy. You realise the difference between productive and exhausted; that this lifestyle isn’t sustainable.
I stayed in Brae House in first year, and I remember whenever my head felt like it might explode, my flatmate would drag me up Calton Hill and we would scream. I cannot condone screaming at night on a hill but taking up a hobby which might allow you to release your frustration (without disrupting society or alerting the BMA) such as a sport of some kind would be a good idea, or maybe take up running like the entire population of Marchmont.
The importance of a support system
If there’s one thing that will always be important, it’s a support system. Just because you think you can do this all by yourself doesn’t mean you need to, doesn’t mean you need to suffer to prove you don’t need anyone – medicine is a team sport anyway.
Support systems aren’t always first blood relatives, and they’re not limited by capacity. Eventually you find friends who believe in you, who don’t just drag you out on a night out but force you to finally write your essay. Support systems aren’t something you need to fall back on, not a last resort when you’ve burnt yourself out; it’s okay to lean on them if you aren’t feeling steady (beats landing on your face because you were trying to protect your ego). And the best part of a support system is you get to share the “ups” with the people who helped you get there.
Wellbeing isn’t one size fits all
If there is one thing I can say for sure, it’s that wellbeing is individual; there isn’t a one size fits all, a schedule or a routine that will work for everyone. You have to find how you best recharge and let yourself do that. Recharging might mean catching up with your friends, watching a show you practically know off by heart, renting a dog for a walk, listening to music or screaming on top of a landmark. You have to give yourself room to breathe, a chance to notice how you feel and if you need help.
If you speak to most medical professionals, they will tell you that you cannot take care of anyone else if you are not taking care of yourself; and moreover, if you don’t let anyone take care of you.
Being a doctor doesn’t mean accepting the burden of treating yourself, your friends or your family. It’s not healthy or particularly efficient. It is easy to feel alone in or ashamed of your struggles but asking for help when you need it is one of the most valuable skills you can have, in life and in the hospital. There are so many people you can talk to, who want to and are there to help: personal tutors, mentors, your GP, student welfare and the counselling service. It might one day be your job to look after people, but right now it is their job to look after you.
