Sole Purpose 72
Finding My Why in Podiatry

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When I was 19 years old, I was diagnosed with diabetes—and for the first time in my life, I felt truly afraid of my body. I felt like I couldn’t trust myself anymore and I had made some grave mistake. Despite having a parent in healthcare, despite being a native English speaker and a pre-med student, I didn’t understand what was happening. I couldn’t explain why I suddenly felt like a stranger inside my own skin. My mind spiraled with fears of complications and all the future unknowns: What would this mean for my life? My career? My identity?

It sounds dramatic, I know—but when you're a teenager, the word “chronic” feels like a life sentence. That experience fundamentally shifted something in me. It didn’t just make me want to become a doctor—it made me want to become a doctor who saw people in their most frightened moments and stayed with them. I didn’t just want to treat the condition; I wanted to treat the fear that comes with it.

That moment would eventually lead me to podiatry, though I didn’t know it at the time. My first true encounter with this field came not as a student or shadowing pre-clerk, but as a patient. I had been running competitively and ignoring the growing pain in my feet—pushing through multiple stress fractures. When I finally asked for a second opinion, I was referred to a podiatrist who happened to be a former college runner like me.

She changed everything.

She didn’t just treat my foot. She asked about my training schedule, my goals, my relationship with running. She didn’t just give me a diagnosis—she gave me permission to feel frustrated, to grieve for the injury, and to still believe that healing was possible. She looked at me as a full person and made me feel like she was working with me to solve this frustrating puzzle. That encounter taught me what it means to feel seen, not just treated. And I carry that lesson with me every single day.

I wrote about that experience in my personal statement for podiatric medical school. In fact, I turned it into one of my articles for students, Sole Purpose 59, Canceled Plans, New Purpose: My Personal Statement and Journey to Podiatry School—one I still go back to and re-read when I need a reminder of why I chose this path.

Now, as a second-year podiatric medicine and surgery resident, I think often about my why—and more often, about the moments that make me remember it. One such moment happened recently during what I can only describe as a quintessentially long residency day. I had been up early to work on research in hopes of meeting a deadline, went straight into an ED rotation shift, then to a meeting, and then finally to cadaver lab...with yet another meeting scheduled afterward.

I must have looked how I felt, because more than one person asked if I was okay. I brushed it off and told a co-resident I was just a little overwhelmed. He nodded and then asked, “What the heck is your why?” What compels me to push myself like this? Why do I choose to fill every hour of every day?

I gave a lighthearted, self-deprecating response—probably something about type-A personalities and too much coffee—but he looked at me again and said, “No, seriously. What’s your why?”

That question stayed with me.

My why is deeply rooted in culture, language, and connection. It’s in the way my heart lifts when a patient sees my “Yo Hablo Español” badge and immediately switches into my grandmother’s tongue. In that instant, something shifts—shoulders drop, eyes soften. The fear they were holding melts just a little when they realize they don’t have to translate their pain. I understand them—not just linguistically, but culturally, emotionally, and personally.

Speaking Spanish is one of the greatest gifts my family gave me, and one I’ve worked tirelessly to refine with over a decade of study. But more than that, it’s a bridge. It allows me to cross into a Spanish speaking patient’s world with humility and respect. It allows me to say, "You're safe here. You can trust me." Sometimes I interpret, sometimes I call for an interpreter—but always, my goal is clarity, safety, and dignity.

This is why I stay so deeply involved—not just in residency, but in outreach, education, writing, and mentorship. I know there are students out there like me—students who didn’t grow up with doctors who looked or sounded like them, who didn’t know podiatry existed, or who doubted whether they belonged in medicine at all. These students are hungry for connection and purpose. They just need to know there’s space for them here.

I feel so passionately about student recruitment because I know there are students out there like me—students who would love podiatry if only they knew it existed. They just need to see it. I love podiatry and even on my most exhausted days there is no other career I would rather be in. They need to know that this wonderful little corner of medicine is an option.

That’s also why I write.

I write these pieces a little selfishly, I’ll admit. I write what I wish I could have read as a student. I write to calm the anxious, overachieving version of myself who didn’t yet know that it was okay not to have it all figured out. Writing is my way of processing, of staying tethered to the version of medicine I fell in love with. Even after the hardest days, when I’m drained from clinic or the OR, I find solace in curling up on my couch, lighting a flickering wood-wick candle, and letting my thoughts spill out onto the page.

I’m honestly still surprised that anyone other than my mom reads these articles. But every now and then, a student will message me to say a post helped them feel seen, inspired them to apply to podiatry school, or simply reassured them that their feelings are valid. Every time that happens, my heart melts.

I am also a totally fangirl when practitioners I look up to—those I aspire to be like, whose research I pour over—take the time to read my humble words. It’s incredible to be part of a podiatric community that genuinely lifts its young professionals. I love belonging to a community that listens, supports, and uplifts. There aren’t many professions where, just one year in, people are truly willing to hear what you have to say. That kind of encouragement means everything to me.

Podiatry isn’t perfect—no specialty is. I’ve seen the negativity online: posts from burned-out podiatrists, some expressing regret or bitterness. And I don’t want to diminish their experiences or the very real challenges that exist. But I also want to offer this: I’ve seen so much beauty in this profession. I’ve witnessed the precision of a well-executed surgery, the joy on a patient’s face when they take their first pain-free step, and the generosity of attendings who selflessly share their wisdom with the next generation.

I feel incredibly lucky to be part of this field. I love patient care. I love the operating room. And I love knowing that I am part of a profession that continues to grow and evolve. I’m proud to play a role in the fight for parity, to advocate for the value of podiatric medicine, and to actively showcase our education and contributions as essential members of the healthcare team. Being part of a community like Sole Purpose—one that amplifies young voices, celebrates diversity, and invites meaningful reflection—makes me feel even more grateful to be where I am.

I got asked my why and today, I want to ask you the same:

Why did you go into medicine?

What pushed you to study so hard, to care so deeply, to keep showing up for patients even when you’re exhausted?

What gets you out of bed and into the hospital/clinic each morning?

As for me—no, I don’t always have a clear answer. My why shifts and evolves, especially on the tough days. But in the quiet moments—in between consults, surgeries, and charting—I’m reminded. I think of the patient who sighed in relief when I spoke their language. The comfort I gave holding a hand as we discussed amputation. The student who thanked me for writing something honest and helpful. The 19-year-old who didn’t understand her body anymore and just needed someone to show that they care.

I am a reflection of every person who has poured into me—my patients, my mentors, my family, my peers—and I want to give that back tenfold. To my patients. To the next generation of students. To healthcare as a whole.

That’s my why.

Or at least, it’s a pretty good place to start.