Doubt, Deferral, and Destiny

Five years ago, if you told me that I would be an entering MD/PhD student, I’d be elated, but if you had told me two years ago — I’d laugh and call you a liar. It’s strange that along my journey to medical school and physician-scientist training, there was such a low point, but one that many medical students can relate to: impostor syndrome during the application cycle.

I had been working toward this point throughout college, and before I started writing my applications, I felt reasonably confident in my goal to become a physician-scientist studying cancer biology. Yet the writing process brought my doubts, fears, and perceived inadequacies front and center. I didn’t help myself by perusing Reddit and SDN forums, and I am sad to say that rather than providing me with advice and support, these forums instead exacerbated my own fears and the bad habit of negatively comparing myself to other applicants.

My undergraduate university is relatively small, and like many other schools, the medical school application process is overseen strictly by our pre-health committee. At my interview, I presented my MD/PhD materials, but I was very uncertain of my candidacy. This was despite my thousands of hours of research, hundreds of service hours, leadership positions held, and other demonstration of core competencies. I worried the committee would see what I’d been trying to hide for months, that I was nowhere near competent enough to be a physician, let alone a physician-scientist. During the interview process, they were split in supporting my MD/PhD applications, but certain of my MD candidacy. Committee members reached out to tell me that if I believed in my application, I should apply to the programs that I originally wanted to. The crux of the problem was that I did not believe in myself. Years of habitually comparing myself to my peers, always to my detriment, had finally caught up with me.

I applied during the regular MD cycle, now terrified that medical schools would hardly consider my application. That was not the case. Crushingly, at almost all my medical school interviews, I was asked why I decided not to apply to the MD/PhD program. Every time I had to field this question, I felt like I had failed myself by not believing in my application from the start, not convincing my pre-health committee, and not even giving admissions teams a chance to see my true aspirations.

During the dark winter after my interviews, I continued psyching myself out. Now I had regrets piling on top of each other, and I faced what most applicants must face: waiting and silence. During this period, I finally realized that I didn’t want the rest of my career and life to follow this endless pattern of self-doubt, holding myself back, then reinforcing my doubts through lackluster results. Instead, I reached out to students whom I admired and mentors who were doing exactly the work that I wanted to do in cancer biology. I achieved this through cold emails, LinkedIn requests, and asking program directors for connections to students who could answer my questions. I prepared an NIH postbaccalaureate application while waiting to hear back from the medical schools I interviewed at.

Instead of the fear I’d felt for most of my cycle, I felt peace. I promised myself that if I did have to reapply, I would do so with postbaccalaureate research experience under my belt, and I would apply MD/PhD all the way instead of holding myself back. Honestly, there was a part of me that didn’t want to be in this situation, so I hesitated to reach out directly to NIH Principal Investigators, instead choosing to wait and focus on improving my mental health and working in my extracurriculars.

Before I knew it, I was hearing from labs who were interested in my candidacy. I was in disbelief, having so thoroughly convinced myself that no one respected my research or pre-medical competencies. Going on interviews for NIH positions helped to restore my battered confidence, and when I was asked about my career goals, I proudly stated that I would be aiming to pursue an MD/PhD. I connected with one lab and was all but offered a position on the spot, but I wanted a week to decide and weigh my options. During that week, thoughts of medical school fluttered from my mind as I considered mentorship at the NIH and imagined in wonder at the work that I could be doing if I joined that lab.

My 22nd birthday passed, and despite my best intentions, I was momentarily crushed by the idea that my lifelong dream of becoming a physician might not happen. That all the interviews I had gone on were for nothing, that my committee shouldn’t have supported me at all if they thought I was such a failure, and on and on and on. This relapse of imposter syndrome and self-doubt was triggered by my preconceived traditional path to medicine that I had been forcing myself to stay on. By locking myself into such a small box, I was suffocating. With the help of my friends and family, I made peace with the idea that the application cycle was just an event happening to me and didn’t define my worth as a human being, friend, or student. I accepted the position and mentally let go of the idea of joining a medical school as a traditional applicant.

Of course, just as I had finally made peace with the cycle and the unending silence, I got a phone call and an email during one of my classes: I had been accepted to two MD schools on the same day. Words can hardly describe how I felt, but I’m sure all medical students can remember the hope, excitement, and release of all that effort paying off. Yet, just as soon as the high wore off, I felt regret: I was already looking forward to independent research at the NIH, and the promise of an MD/PhD admission. So instead of pushing down my feelings, I listened to them once again and asked both medical schools if I could defer my seat and potentially be considered for their MD/PhD program as an internal applicant. One school said yes, and that was all I needed.

During my year at the NIH, I still had to submit MD/PhD essays and interview for a seat in my program. This time however, I connected with as many students and career mentors as possible, and I was ultimately very confident in my application. I had learned not to compare myself silently to anonymous strangers but to ask for advice and a conversation with anyone I admired. This helped to boost my confidence and clear the path ahead of me towards my goals. At the end of my year at the NIH, I can honestly say that I’ve grown tremendously.

I’m looking forward to beginning my training this fall in my MD/PhD program and I can honestly say that this journey has taught me the importance of believing in myself, and in trusting those I admire to show me the way. By forcing myself into negative narratives, I’d done nothing to advance my goals, I’d only set myself back. But instead, by expanding my horizons and finding solace in my own aspirations, I built a stronger, more resilient foundation upon which I can build the rest of my life as a doctor, scientist, friend, family member, and human being.