Preserving Your Identity: A Cautionary Tale from a Divorced Medical Professional

As I organized my new living space, I stumbled upon a moment of profound clarity, akin to a missing puzzle piece falling into place. My recent divorce had brought about significant changes in my life – relocation across the country, a work hiatus, and a career transition. Amidst the turbulence, I found my grounding. Back in my hometown, surrounded by cherished friends and family, and undergoing therapy, I was reclaiming myself. A consistent 8 hours of sleep and a fitness routine were part of this rejuvenation, as was a revised diet. I was putting in all the necessary efforts to facilitate healing.

Yet, it was in an unexpected location – my underwear drawer – that I unearthed an old badge set. Tucked away was a polaroid photograph of my ex-wife and me. This discovery prompted a startling realization: I had carried her with me, figuratively, all along. My colleagues knew her, my patients were aware of her, and our shared holiday plans were common knowledge. Conversations at meetings often revolved around her, and my office was adorned with several images of us, a string of lights symbolizing our joy during late working hours.

ADVERTISEMENT However, how much of this did she truly experience or feel? What did I bring home after demanding days at my primary care practice? Weariness. Difficulty concentrating. Sleep disturbances. Occasional venting about the workload or the healthcare system. Occasional anecdotes about patients. My exhaustion was such that I couldn't contribute more, even when I yearned to. I was so fatigued and disinterested that I couldn't even recognize the ways I could have been helpful. In retrospect, I realize that my deep immersion in my work obscured the version of "me" that she was receiving.

Now, after a three-month leave of absence, I've managed to sleep well, transitioned to a different role, and embraced a less stressful routine with shorter working hours. While the reasons behind our divorce are multifaceted, I can't help but feel a sense of disappointment and frustration with myself. I regret not making these changes years ago – not just for my own well-being, but also for the sake of our relationship. Clarity has surfaced, along with an objective evaluation of myself, which isn't particularly flattering.

Hence, consider this a cautionary tale: Learn from my experience.

I hesitate to label my sentiments as regret, as our story encompasses more than this single facet. Nevertheless, what I possess now is a newfound clarity, a sense of relief, ample free time, and, most importantly, the restoration of my vitality, spirit, and individuality. Ironically, I also possess a tangible photograph of the person I once was.

With heartfelt regard for my fellow medical professionals, I implore you to heed my advice: Don't emulate my path.

I refrain from sacrificing my integrity because our journey involves more than what's apparent here. However, what I've acquired is insight, serenity, more leisure time, and an unburdened self. Fortunately or unfortunately, I possess a tangible reminder of who I used to be.

My message is simple and sincere: Don't become me. Don't forfeit your essence. Don't lose your family or your essence. Avoid martyrdom. Undertake the changes you require. Opt for a sabbatical. Embrace part-time work. Seek more time off. Prioritize your sleep. Strive to repay your loans until they're cleared.

Don't allow life, well-being, or enthusiasm to slip through your fingers. Life is fleeting, and we have only one chance at it. Our attachments are transient. Don't compromise your identity for a job. Ensure that the "you" you aspire to be accompanies you home, that your family experiences the real you. Live a life that brings joy, or at least work towards fulfillment with a focused, systematic strategy. Delaying happiness until retirement is unwise, as tomorrow is never guaranteed. Life is transient, and its brevity is undeniable.

For those of us encountering major life transformations – be it divorce, loss, disability, retirement, and beyond – I hope you discover a sense of stability. Rediscover your true self. Rekindle your connection with your essence. Reconnect with who you are as an individual, not solely as a professional. Embrace your humanity. May you reawaken your finest self and bring it home, the healed and affectionate version. Because they deserve it. Because you deserve it. Don't let your life be a mere shadow of who you are.

Let me conclude with a thought experiment. Personally, I find solace in writing, so I penned my reflections. Feel free to adapt this to your preference – discuss it with a confidant, a therapist, your significant other. Put pen to paper. Record it as a voice memo and revisit it. Dedicate 20 minutes to deeply internalize this exercise.

The exercise: Imagine discovering that you have only six months to live. Your circumstances will remain unchanged until your final moment. No negotiations, treatment options, or medical appointments. Time is limited. What would you do? How would you allocate your time? Who would surround you? What would fill your life? What ambitions remain unfulfilled? What messages need conveying? Who requires more attention that you've postponed for later? How do you envision your life? Who do you aspire to become?

I acknowledge that practically nobody would decide to continue working. Move beyond this point. Delve into your relationships, life aspirations, and soul's yearnings. Then, take action. Communicate your thoughts to your loved ones. Make time for them. Plan those vacations. Resume creative pursuits like painting, writing, golfing, or running. Seek professional help. Spend quality time with friends. Strengthen family bonds. Act while you can. Give priority to the revelations from this exercise. Make the necessary transformations. Begin now. Let this serve as your sign.

May your life brim with fulfillment. May your heart soften. May your relationships deepen. Don't allow your job to rob you of life, loved ones, family, or your authentic self. Life is fleeting. Don't squander it.