As medical students, we are taught very early how to push through exhaustion. We normalize studying through pain, functioning on minimal sleep, skipping meals, and convincing ourselves that our own well-being can wait until after the next exam, the next board score, or the next milestone. Somewhere along the way, many of us begin to believe that slowing down is equivalent to falling behind.
This mindset is deeply ingrained in medical culture. Students are taught resilience, discipline, and sacrifice, which are qualities that are undoubtedly important. However, these same values can become dangerous when they discourage trainees from seeking help, prioritizing their health, or taking necessary time away from training. For many students facing serious illness, mental health challenges, family crises, pregnancy, caregiving responsibilities, or burnout, the fear of taking a leave of absence can be just as overwhelming as the circumstances that necessitate one.
I understand that fear firsthand.
Before starting medical school, I was diagnosed with a recurrent pilonidal cyst that would ultimately require multiple surgeries over several years. Rather than prioritizing treatment, I repeatedly delayed procedures while balancing academics and preparing for the next stage of my education. Once medical school began, I continued doing what many students do: I pushed through.
Throughout my first two years, I attended lectures, prepared for board examinations, and maintained the appearance of functioning normally. Behind the scenes, I was battling recurrent infections, chronic pain, fatigue, and physical limitations that made even sitting through a lecture difficult. Yet I convinced myself that slowing down was not an option. I feared falling behind my classmates and jeopardizing the future I had worked so hard to build.
Eventually, my health deteriorated to the point where continuing became impossible. Shortly after undergoing another surgical procedure before the start of clinical rotations, I developed septic shock from a postoperative complication. I was admitted to the ICU and underwent an emergency procedure.
Lying in an ICU bed, surrounded by family, nurses, residents, and physicians, I was forced to confront a reality I had spent years avoiding: I could no longer prioritize medicine at the expense of my own health.
For the first time in my journey toward becoming a physician, I took a medical leave of absence.
The physical recovery was difficult, but the emotional recovery was perhaps even harder. While recovering at home, I watched classmates continue progressing through rotations and milestones that I had expected to experience alongside them. Like many students who take a leave, I struggled with feelings of isolation, guilt, and the fear that I had somehow failed.
What surprised me most, however, was how many people shared similar experiences once I began speaking openly about mine.
I heard from students who took leaves to address severe depression, anxiety, and burnout. I spoke with trainees recovering from cancer treatment, major surgeries, and unexpected medical diagnoses. Others stepped away to care for family members, recover from pregnancy-related complications, or navigate personal crises. Although the circumstances varied, many described the same underlying fear: the belief that taking time away from training would permanently define them.
Why do so many medical trainees feel this way?
Part of the answer lies within medicine’s culture of self-sacrifice. From the earliest stages of training, students are praised for perseverance and endurance. While those traits can be valuable, they can also create an environment where asking for help feels like weakness and where personal well-being is viewed as secondary to professional achievement.
Unfortunately, this mentality does not disappear after graduation.
Physicians are known to delay seeking medical care, work while ill, ignore symptoms, and continue practicing despite significant burnout. The culture that discourages medical students from taking needed time away often becomes the same culture that follows physicians throughout residency and practice. We would never advise our patients to ignore serious illness in order to maintain productivity, yet many of us hold ourselves to precisely that standard.
My leave of absence ultimately taught me something I wish I had understood much earlier: taking a pause is not failure.
In fact, stepping away may be one of the most responsible decisions a trainee can make when facing significant health challenges. Medicine is not a race, and becoming a physician is not a linear journey. The goal should not be to identify who can endure the most suffering. The goal should be to develop healthy, compassionate, and resilient physicians capable of caring for others over the course of a lifetime.
Today, I have returned to clinical rotations, am preparing for my Level 2 board examinations, and am once again moving forward in my medical training. Yet the most important lesson I learned did not come from a textbook, a lecture hall, or a board review course.
It came from stepping away.
Medical schools have made significant progress in supporting student wellness, but we must continue working to eliminate the stigma surrounding leaves of absence. Students should never feel ashamed for prioritizing their health, whether the challenge is physical, emotional, or personal. Sometimes the strongest thing a future physician can do is recognize when they need help and allow themselves the time to heal.
Taking a leave of absence did not derail my journey toward medicine. It helped save it.
Have you ever felt pressure to push through an illness or pain during training? Share your experience in the comments.
