Physicians excel at maintaining composure. You enter a patient’s room, and regardless of how little rest you’ve had, how tumultuous your last shift was, or the personal burdens you carry, you present the calm, capable, proficient demeanor that patients and colleagues anticipate. This talent for compartmentalization (suppressing your own feelings to remain functional) is frequently what carries you through residency, grueling twenty-four-hour calls, consecutive crises in the ICU, and much more. It is what enables you to be present for patients in the most difficult situations.
Yet, here lies the harsh reality: This skill of compartmentalization that is so beneficial and essential in medicine often extends into every aspect of your life beyond work, and this broad emotional and mental compartmentalization comes with significant repercussions.
The unseen cost of repressed emotion
Over time, the practice of setting aside feelings does not simply fade when you exit the hospital. It becomes instinctual. Anger is buried. Sadness is secured. Anxiety is stifled and dismissed as part of your high-functioning nature. Even happiness and warmth can feel challenging to access when you’ve conditioned yourself to be “always on” and “always fine.”
I witness this trend repeatedly in the physicians we assist in my private practice. Externally, they appear accomplished and steady, serving as the support for all. Internally, they express increasing fatigue, irritability towards loved ones, and a constant numbness that has supplanted any genuine, significant emotional experience.
It’s not that they lack emotions. They’ve simply disconnected from their ability to identify feelings. They’ve been implicitly taught that there’s no safe space for them. Eventually, that protective shell begins to fracture.
Fractures that manifest everywhere
For some, these fractures show as burnout: an overwhelming cynicism, detachment, or a sense of being depleted regardless of the rest you get. For others, it manifests as anxiety. The incessant worry that never ceases, even during off-hours.
And for many, it surfaces as irritability and a short fuse. Increased irritability with partners or children, feeling estranged from friends, or losing touch with their identity outside of medicine. These are not personal shortcomings. They are natural results of years spent having to remain strong at all costs.
Why physicians deserve a safe space to break down
Here lies the paradox: The very individuals who dedicate their lives to helping others heal often find it difficult to extend the same grace to themselves. Many doctors confide in me that they perceive therapy as a luxury, or fear that opening up will lead to an uncontrollable flood of emotions.
However, therapy is not about “losing control.” It is about providing a space where you don’t have to keep it all together. It is an environment where you can process what you’ve been carrying, acknowledge the emotions you’ve hidden, and reconnect with the parts of yourself that medicine has forced you to suppress. And the relief that follows? It is immense.
The cascading effects
When physicians allow themselves the permission to reveal their cracks, it does more than just benefit them. It strengthens marriages. It enables parents to be more engaged with their children. It revitalizes friendships. It even helps restore the compassion and humanity that initially drew many into the field of medicine.
I have seen numerous physicians transition from “I don’t feel anything anymore” to rediscovering joy in the little moments. From “I’m failing at everything outside of work” to fostering stronger relationships at home. From “I can’t allow myself to fall apart” to understanding that embracing vulnerability is not a sign of weakness. Quite the opposite. Vulnerability is the bedrock of resilience and a key aspect of being human and alive.
An invitation
If you’ve been holding it together for others but sense the cracks starting to surface, you are not isolated. And don’t judge yourself for it. The “cracks” signify that you are human and that you are alive. Therapy can be the space where you remove the armor and finally breathe.
Because you deserve a sanctuary where you don’t have to be the one holding everything together.