What’s wrong with me? I ask myself this every morning, hoping the answer will somehow be different. Internship is almost over, yet instead of relief, I feel an emptiness I cannot explain. The finish line is right in front of me, but my feet feel heavier than they ever have. Everyone around me seems excited about graduation and the future, while I quietly wonder why I feel so lost when I should be celebrating.
What’s wrong with me? Maybe it is the weight of knowing that the board exam is fast approaching. Every page I have yet to read feels like a reminder that I am not doing enough. Every conversation about review schedules, passing rates, and future plans sounds louder than my own thoughts. The pressure doesn’t scream...it lingers. It follows me into moments that should be peaceful, turning rest into guilt and silence into self-doubt.
What’s wrong with me? I have survived years of lectures, sleepless nights, hospital duties, and countless moments where I questioned whether I belonged. I kept telling myself that things would get better after the next exam, the next rotation, the next milestone. But now that internship is ending, I realize I have been running for so long that I no longer remember what it feels like to simply stop and breathe. Somewhere between surviving and succeeding, I misplaced parts of myself.
What’s wrong with me? Perhaps nothing is fundamentally broken. Perhaps I am simply exhausted from carrying expectations that were never meant to be carried alone. I fear disappointing my family, my mentors, my friends, and most of all, myself. I have become so accustomed to measuring my worth through achievements that I have forgotten I am still a person beneath the white coat—a person who gets tired, who feels afraid, and who sometimes needs permission to admit it.
What’s wrong with me? Maybe that is the wrong question. Maybe the better question is, what have I been carrying that has made me feel this way? I do not have all the answers yet, and perhaps I do not need them today. What I know is that this emptiness does not define who I am, and this pressure does not have to be the end of my story. I have come this far not because I never struggled, but because I kept moving despite it. Maybe tomorrow, I will ask myself a different question, what if I can make it through this too?
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