Sole Purpose 114
The People Who Carry You Through Training

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One of the most meaningful pieces of advice I received early in training had nothing to do with surgical technique or clinical decision-making. It was something quieter, but far more grounding: be intentional about the people you choose to build your life around—your partner, your family, your close friends, and your community.

At first, it feels almost too obvious to say out loud. Of course, we should be thoughtful about who we spend our lives with—or even our time with. But as training goes on, you start to realize that this choice carries a different kind of weight in medicine. The people who stand beside you during this season don't just shape your personal life—they shape how you move through one of the most demanding, transformative periods you'll ever experience.

I didn't fully understand this advice at first. It sounded like one of those things people say because it's probably true, but it's hard to grasp until you're living it. Over time, though, I've started to feel the real difference between being genuinely supported and being stretched thin by the wrong kind of energy. And once you see it, you can't unsee it.

The Weight of Being "Always Working"

I've had countless conversations with attendings who, in moments of honesty, shared stories that stayed with me—stories of relationships and environments that made an already difficult journey feel heavier. Sometimes it wasn't a difficult partner, but a friend who wasn't excited for your wins. A family member who didn't understand the long hours or missed holidays. A social circle that didn't grasp the emotional exhaustion. A toxic partner who constantly comments on how they “wish you’d quit your job”. Other times, it was the subtle stuff: the quiet judgment, the boundary violations, the peer who steps on you to get ahead.

The misunderstanding often shows up as guilt, subtle pressure, or expectations you simply cannot meet. "You're always working" becomes less of an observation and more of a quiet resentment that lingers. And the truth is, during training, sometimes you are always working—not because you don't care about the people you love, but because this path asks so much of you. Your time is limited. Your energy is stretched thin. Some days, even your thoughts feel borrowed.

There are moments where you feel like you're falling short everywhere—not giving enough to medicine, not giving enough to the people in your life. That tension can feel heavy, and at times, unavoidable.

The Right People Make All the Difference

That's why who you surround yourself with matters so deeply. You need people who understand that this is a season—people who can sit in that reality with you without making you feel like you're constantly falling short. People who see your passion, your drive, your purpose, and aren't threatened by it, but genuinely proud of it.

I think of it like my teammates in college sports. It was never about competing against each other—it was about pushing together. If you saw your teammate ahead of you, you didn't resent it; you picked it up and ran with them. That's what the right people in your life feel like.

The right support system doesn't ask you to shrink your goals or dim your light to make relationships more comfortable. They protect it. They add to it. I think of my favorite thing my partner has ever said to me—when I voiced my worry about being too ambitious, he simply replied, "I don't think we're being ambitious enough." That's what true support looks like. They remind you why you started when you're too tired to remember.

Boundaries as a Love Language

And just as importantly, you have to learn how to protect your own energy. Even the most loving relationships can unintentionally ask more of you than you have to give. This is where boundaries become essential—not as a form of distance, but as a way of sustaining real connection without losing yourself in the process.

I make sure my family and close friends know my call schedule—so if I'm completely off the grid, they know it's not personal. I'm just at the hospital, swamped. I don't take non-urgent phone calls after 9 PM (sorry, West Coast family, I love you—just earlier in the day). I also couldn't talk about my fellowship future without spiraling into anxious overwhelm, so I set that boundary too and asked my loved ones to not ask about it while I was going through the interview process.

But boundaries aren't about shutting people out. They're about showing up in a way that's actually sustainable. They're about saying "I can't right now" without guilt. Choosing rest without apology. That's a skill no one really teaches you, but you realize quickly that it's essential.

The balance is being intentional with the time you do have. I make time to call people during the day when I can—like when I'm driving between things. There are days you walk out of the hospital after a case that stayed with you longer than it should have, and the difference between someone saying "tell me about it" versus them not replying because they are mad you ran late, is everything.

Letting People Support You

It's also about allowing people to show up for you—and this is something I still struggle with. I'm used to being the dependable one, the one who handles everything, the one who doesn't need help. But training humbles that pretty quickly. Letting people support you—really support you—can feel unfamiliar, but it's one of the ways relationships deepen instead of just surviving this season.

That support might look different than you expect. It might be the friend who listens without trying to fix it. I love asking, “do you want advice or for me to listen?”. The family member who shows up with food on a hard day. The partner who knows when you need space versus when you need to have your people around you. It's about allowing yourself to be human—tired, overwhelmed, and in need of other people.

Relationships Will Change, and That's Okay

Here's something no one warns you about: not every relationship will look the same throughout training. Some friendships will deepen. Some will shift. Some will quietly fade as life moves in different directions. And while that can be hard, it's also a natural part of growth. What matters isn't forcing everything to stay the same, but noticing what continues to feel mutual, grounding, and real.

I wish I still lived with my podiatry school best friend so we could have our hallway chats about everything going on—but she's married now and lives across the country. We text and call when we both have a free moment. One of my teammates from middle school is getting married, and while I can't always make time for every phone call or visit, her wedding was the first PTO I requested for next year.

I might not always be the most available girlfriend when I'm on call or stuck in the OR longer than expected, but I can be fully present at dinner when I'm off. And I can always say thank you for the small things that my partner does that makes me feel cared for. I can also go through my schedule with him and plan for when we will have time together where there is minimal risk of me having work emergencies, being distracted or leaving.

The Small Things Are Everything

In the relationships that last, it's often the smallest things that matter most. The five-minute phone call on the drive home. The "thinking of you" text in the middle of a long day. The shared silence when you're too tired for anything else. Connection during training isn't built in grand gestures—it's built in these small, consistent moments that quietly hold everything together.

Stay Tethered to Who You Are

Somewhere in all of this, you start to realize how important it is to stay tethered to who you are outside of medicine. Your family, your friends, your community—they don't just support you; they remind you that you are more than your pager, your notes, your cases, your output. That grounding matters more than we often admit.

I think of my run club. I love it not just for the actual exercise, but because my friends there are incredible people who really don't care that I'm a podiatrist or how my cases went. They remind me I'm an entirely separate person from my job. And while I love what I do, I love a lot of other things too. I'm a complete person with hobbies and interests that have nothing to do with medicine. Those spaces—where I'm just me—matter more than I realized.

Medicine asks you to grow in ways that extend beyond clinical skill. It asks you to learn how to receive care, how to set boundaries, and how to stay connected to yourself while giving so much of yourself away. It asks you to develop emotional capacity you didn't know you needed.

And through all of it, I've started to ask a simple question more often: what in my life gives back as much as it takes? The answers aren't always easy—but they're usually honest.

You Are Not Doing This Alone

Medical training will stretch you in ways you can't fully prepare for. It will ask more of you than you knew you had. The right people don't take those demands away—but they steady you through it. They soften it. They remind you that even in the busiest, most exhausting seasons, you are not doing this alone.

And in a life where you give so much of yourself away, having people who help you hold onto who you are—that's everything. Life, medicine and especially residency are hard enough, don’t make your life harder by choosing to allow harmful people into your inner circle.