“Name five things you’re good at,” my attending asked.
I stood there, scratching my head. After a long pause, I managed to list two: I get my tasks done, and my clinical reasoning has been improving. Then I froze, staring at the floor awkwardly while my attending waited patiently.
I tried to recall the evaluation rubrics from medical school standardized patient encounters, searching for some framework to guide my answer. What does it mean to be a good resident? What do people value in a physician? These were tough questions — ones I hadn’t really reflected on in a while. After a few moments, I was able to name a few more qualities. My attending sensed my discomfort and inquired, “Why was that so hard?”
That question lingered. It was a good question. Why was that so hard?
I realized that I do not spend nearly enough time reflecting — on my day, my skills, or my growth. I often move through the motions, focused on the next task so I can finish, rest, and repeat. Yet reflection is essential to becoming a better physician. The challenge, though, is time and energy. Between caring for patients, managing responsibilities outside of medicine, and trying to maintain some semblance of wellness, genuine introspection often feels impossible on a typical workday.
Self-assessment is uniquely difficult in residency. We work alongside colleagues at different stages of training, each on their own journey, which makes it hard to know what “good” looks like or what’s expected at our level.
What stood out about this attending was his intentionality with feedback. He didn’t just evaluate me — we also discussed our team dynamics, workflow, and even the broader health system. We spent nearly an hour identifying what was working, what wasn’t, and how we could make tangible improvements midweek.
In residency, feedback sits on a pedestal — it’s universally recognized as essential for growth. However, in practice, feedback often falls short: delivered too late, too vague, or too general to act on. Too often, I’ve been asked to “reflect on my week” without specific guidance, or to self-assess without receiving feedback in return. While introspection has its value, without validation or direction, it feels incomplete. Self-assessment is most meaningful when guided by preset goals and paired with constructive input.
A 2019 study highlighted this disconnect: faculty frequently believe they give feedback, but residents often feel they don’t receive meaningful input. Providing effective feedback requires time, energy, and intention.
What I appreciated most about this attending was that his feedback led to action — and it came in real time. When I received feedback midweek, I adjusted the very next day. I changed how I presented, challenging myself to discuss all of my seven patients without relying on notes. He noticed — and reinforced my effort with specific, positive feedback in the moment, which helped me recognize what I was doing well.
In the days that followed, I made a point to reflect after each shift. What went well? Where was I still struggling? I created a notes tab on my phone where I jotted down thoughts about my performance. That ongoing reflection energized me. I felt excited to learn, to grow, and to reach my highest potential. It helped me feel more in control of my own development — and reminded me that growth is an active process.
My experience with this attending underscored the tremendous value — and the art — of feedback. We are often inundated with evaluation forms. They’re quick and convenient, but too often, they’re perfunctory. Many residents, myself included, have seen comments that simply read “good job” or ratings that never change across criteria. Genuine, thoughtful feedback, however, feels different — it motivates, guides, and validates.
I recently reviewed my written feedback with my program director, and instead of parsing every detail, we identified overarching themes: my strengths, areas for growth, and patterns that had emerged across rotations. That approach helped. She contextualized my feedback in terms of expectations at my level of training. The meeting felt meaningful — dedicated time where I could be fully present, listening intently and jotting down notes.
Where should feedback live in residency — and how is it delivered most effectively?
I believe the primary responsibility rests with attendings, but balance is essential. I don’t want to feel constantly evaluated. The challenge is that we rotate among many different faculty members, each with their own approach. It would be incredibly valuable if scheduling allowed residents to work with the same attendings at intervals throughout training, creating continuity so they can witness our growth over time. Ideally, residents could also have a say in whom they work with — the attendings who challenge them and who genuinely invest in their development.
But let’s be honest: providing thoughtful feedback takes energy, intention, and skill. Helping others grow is not easy. Faculty-coaching programs have been shown to improve residents’ perceptions of the feedback they receive, and I think it’s equally important that we, as residents, learn how to give effective feedback ourselves. Incorporating this into noon conferences or didactics could help build good habits early — especially because residents are also responsible for providing feedback to medical students.
Medicine, at its core, is about growth. Just a few months into residency, I already feel like a different person — and it’s clear how essential it is to build structures that foster continuity, protect time for reflection, and empower both faculty and residents to give meaningful feedback. My attending reminded me what true mentorship can look like: intentional, specific, and deeply human. As I move forward in training, I hope we can create more of those moments for one another. When feedback becomes a shared responsibility and a shared opportunity, we don’t just improve — we grow together.
Sakshi Dureja is a first-year internal medicine resident at Emory University School of Medicine interested in medical education.
Illustration by Diana Connolly
