It’s July—the official new year for the medical field. You might be a fresh intern, with wide eyes and exhaustion, equally proud and scared, or perhaps you’re entering a fellowship, puzzled about how you’re suddenly the one expected to be the authority. You’re traversing hallways you haven’t fully explored yet, still figuring out if your badge grants you access to the north wing or the south elevator, attempting to recall where you parked, and already doubting if you made a colossal error.

Welcome. You’ve made it. And even if you’re uncertain how, you have.

First, let me emphasize this: I see you. I recall that very feeling. The intense mix of adrenaline, weariness, uncertainty, and hope. The inner voice that murmurs, “What if I’m the one who fell through the gaps?”

Here’s the reality no one voiced to me when I began—and I’m sharing it with you right now:

You’re not expected to have all the answers. You’re not failing. You’re merely a novice. Being new isn’t a flaw. It’s an opportunity.

There’s something profound about new beginnings, even if they come with complications.

I remember residency.

I recall the excitement of Match Day, the tears shared over the phone when I informed my family I got accepted, staring at the call schedule and realizing I had committed to years of 24-hour shifts and 4 a.m. scrubs, nodding through lectures I didn’t comprehend, smiling at attending physicians while mentally attempting to decipher abbreviations I’d never encountered, and crying in my car more times than I’d like to admit.

Residency isn’t just “training.” It’s a rite of passage in a lab coat. It’s emotional turbulence. It’s being expected to demonstrate superhuman resilience and textbook-perfect knowledge, all while functioning on cold coffee, vending machine granola bars, and whatever bits of sleep you can snatch between emergencies.

And for some of you, this July didn’t start with celebration. Perhaps you didn’t match where you wished. You might be 1,000 miles away from loved ones. Maybe you’re facing a specialty you’re no longer certain about, in a city where you’re alone, without genuine support.

Let me be clear:

This is a phase, not a permanent state.

It’s permissible to mourn what you wished for. It’s acceptable to feel as if you’re swimming against the tide. It’s okay to experience homesickness, confusion, or even resentment.

But persevere. You will adapt to this life. You will come to terms with your journey, even if it diverges from your expectations. You will encounter mentors who influence your path, patients who inspire you, and colleagues who become like family.

And someday, when this fog lifts and you find yourself on the other side, you’ll forget much of the turmoil and the majority of the sleep deprivation. (I said most, not all.)

Sorry, Kevin—but that’s the reality.

The emotional rollercoaster of July

At this moment, you’re being bombarded with a hundred conflicting messages from others.

– Be self-assured—but not overly so.
– Be modest—but also take the lead.
– Look after yourself—but don’t leave until the tasks are complete.
– Be efficient—but also meticulous.
– Ask questions—but don’t hinder the flow.

You’re attempting to juggle all these expectations on a sleep-deprived mind and a coffee-fueled body.

Allow me to present something more straightforward: What truly matters. Not the checklists. Not the tally of notes you completed by noon. But the elements that sustain you. The things that help you remain human.

1. It’s normal to feel lost. That’s the purpose.

No one has all the answers. Not your self-assured co-resident. Not the attending who appears unflappable. Not even the self-satisfied senior who scoffs when you stumble.

The only distinction between you and them is time. And don’t be deceived—most of them stumbled too.

One of the most esteemed attendings I ever worked alongside once confided in me after a difficult call:
“I still look things up. Every single day. And the day I cease is the day I become a risk.”

Memorizing UpToDate won’t make you an exceptional doctor. But learning to say “I don’t know, but I’ll find the answer”? That will.

Humility is not a lack of knowledge. It’s the presence of integrity.

2. Connections will support you.

This is something rarely discussed. The connections you form—or fail to form—will influence your experience more than any textbook could.

I mentioned this in my TEDx talk on burnout: there are three essential relationships to nurture—your relationship with yourself, your close loved ones, and your work. I would also add a fourth: your connection to something greater than yourself.

Whatever provides you stability—faith, community, music, nature