Somewhere between ambition and achievement, many of us have mistaken hardness for growth. I am not sure how this happened, but I am certain there was a time we believed in softness so radically, before ambition and achievement ever became a thing.
Whenever I look back at my childhood, I remember how simple it all felt.
Life then felt so easy, free, and there was no tension between who we were and who we thought we needed to be. But it feels like with adulthood, we gave up all of that. We slowly internalized the idea that we must choose between softness and success, between tenderness and ambition, between warmth and power.
No one says it directly, but you just start to sense it in the hospital, in classrooms, even online.
And slowly, this message has caused us to edit ourselves to the extent we have lowered the volume of our wonder, replaced tenderness with tolerance, which we now tag as maturity. This ‘maturity’ we claim is simply us learning to harden. Not because we wanted to, but because the world rewards women who do.
I don’t think ambition is the problem, but I just wonder when we started believing that becoming ambitious required us to become hard, rigid, and less whimsical.
The Subtle Ways Medicine Hardens Us
The first time I felt the pressure to harden myself was during internship. Internship was my first real experience with medical practice, and trust me, it’s definitely nothing compared with medical school.
I started it bubbly, open, genuinely excited to be there, just the way I would start most things. I liked greeting people, smiled easily, and I was warm with patients.
But within the first month or two, I began to notice that being overly friendly or too approachable makes you an easy target. It’s like you can be friendly but not too friendly. You can be excited, but not too excited, so that you are not tagged as unserious.
I find it funny that the health care system doesn’t protect warmth, and there is this unspoken hierarchy that sometimes rewards intimidation over kindness. All of these felt so strange to me, like I was in a political game. Then, I thought to myself, maybe a way to survive is to adjust my entire persona so I could be taken more seriously. Strangely, the interns and junior doctors who appeared sharp-edged, unbothered, even slightly intimidating, often commanded more immediate respect.
So, I started to adjust myself to become more detached, more serious, less expressive, and more robotic.
I wanted that respect, so I toned myself down. I stopped smiling as much. I attempted to wear a colder expression, but that didn’t help because it wasn’t me, and I felt exhausted. The worst part of it all was that I noticed how it began to affect my interaction with my patients.
I am naturally personable, and I love to connect with people. So, when I tried to harden myself for the system, it started to interfere with the kind of doctor I wanted to be.
The Subtle ways explained further :
1. Efficiency over empathy
There were many moments during internship when I felt efficient but less present.
I was more focused on getting through history-taking or procedures quickly enough to prove I could move fast. I wanted to be seen as capable, sharp, and decisive. But in the rush to be efficient, I would always miss out on actually building a good rapport with my patient.
There is always this guilt that comes with slowing down, sitting a little longer, and explaining things gently. It can feel like those extra minutes are a waste of time, like you’re falling behind on your to-do list.
Don’t get me wrong, efficiency is necessary because it keeps the system moving. But empathy is what makes the work human and more tolerable.
2. Detachment disguised as strength
There are many things medicine exposes us to that we were never meant to carry alone.
We see people in their worst states, from complicated cases, unexpected losses, to families grieving in real time. Eventually, we learn that it is not sustainable to hold onto every feeling, and over time, detachment becomes a way to survive.
I still remember the death of a patient that made me tear up so much. I had grown attached not just to her but to her daughter, and when it was time to pronounce her death, I had to ask a colleague to help out because I just couldn’t do it myself.
Detachment, at first, is healthy. It protects you. It allows you to stay steady when everything around you feels overwhelming. But if it goes unchecked, it can shift from protection to personality.
When it becomes your personality, you notice that you begin to feel less, care less, and react less.
Yes, emotional distance can look like emotional maturity. But there is a difference between being guarded and becoming someone you don’t recognize. And in trying to survive the system, we can slowly silence the very tenderness that made us choose medicine in the first place.
3. Hierarchy that thrives on intimidation
Medicine is built on hierarchy. And in many ways, that structure is necessary because it clarifies responsibility and creates order. But within that structure, something subtle can happen.
Authority can slowly begin to look like intimidation, confidence confused with coldness, and being unapproachable can be mistaken for competence. You start to see how naturally gentle and warm individuals are sometimes misread, as though softness somehow disqualifies you from being taken seriously.
Let me clarify, this is not everywhere, and not everyone in authority operates like this, but it exists enough that you start to notice it.
4. Exhaustion as a badge of honor
There is an unspoken pride in being tired. We often pride ourselves in doing very long shifts, skipping meals, and getting little sleep to the extent that the ability to function despite exhaustion becomes something everyone should attain to.
There is an unspoken pride in being tired. We often pride ourselves in doing very long shifts, skipping meals, and getting little sleep to the extent that the ability to function despite exhaustion becomes something everyone should… Share on XWhenever I spend time in the doctors’ lounge, I often hear my colleagues ask each other questions like, “How many hours did you sleep?” or make statements such as, “I haven’t eaten all day.”
And what I find very funny is how this begins to sound less like a conversation and more like a subtle comparison of who endured the most, as though suffering is the true measure of dedication.
This mindset is what makes us feel guilty when we need to ask for a break. And instead of asking for one when we feel overwhelmed, we wear exhaustion as a badge of honor because exhaustion seems to always be applauded more than ease.
5. Performance equated to identity
One more subtle way I’ve noticed medicine hardens us is how we unconsciously equate performance at work to our character as humans. How good you are as a person is often equated with how many patients you saw, how confident you presented yourself, or how quickly you learned a skill.
Don’t get me wrong, these things matter, and they should matter. But somewhere along the way, they can start to feel like a reflection of who you are, not just what you can do.
The healthcare system is so performance-driven that you might start thinking that the doctor who performs ten surgeries in a week must somehow be a “better human” compared to the junior doctor learning how to suture.
That is a very dangerous equation, and as strange as it sounds, it does happen.
How to Protect Your Softness
The system is older than most of us. It has its rhythms, its hierarchies, and its pressures. And while we may not be able to change it overnight, we can decide how much of it we allow to shape us. Medicine may shape your skills, but it should not redefine your character.
So here are a few ways we can protect ourselves from hardening in the process.
Go back to your hobbies
Isn’t it funny that, before all these, we were all just girls? Before the white coat and the stethoscope, we were just girls with interests and hobbies that had nothing to do with achievement.
Maybe there was a time you loved to write, dance, paint, cook, or even read novels under your blanket. None of those things were impressive. None of them were graded. None of them were evaluated, but we loved them because they were simply expressions of who we were.
But somewhere along the way, we had to let all that go as medicine demanded more and more of our time and energy. When we let our identity revolve only around medicine, it’s very possible that we might lose ourselves to it.
Our hobbies are not distractions. They are subtle reminders that we are more than our output, more than our shift schedule, more than our evaluations.
I have noticed that whenever I neglect mine, like stop writing, creating, or posting on socials, something in me dulls. There’s usually a spark that goes missing, and interestingly, it doesn’t just affect my personal life. It spills into my work.
The parts of us that create joy are often the same parts that sustain us, and when we neglect those parts, we stop living.
Don’t let work become your only mirror
Medicine will constantly evaluate you, your speed, your skill, your mistakes, your growth and everything you can think of. Those reflections are useful because they help us improve.
But they are never the full picture of who we are. Work should not become your only mirror because when it does, your confidence begins to rise and fall with every comment, every correction, and every shift.
And slowly, without realizing it, you begin to edit yourself to match whatever reflection you’re given. This isn’t about lowering your standards. It’s simply a reminder to let work be work and not the only mirror through which you see yourself.
Stay human with your patients
I find that when most of us start out on our medical journey, we start out with so much passion to help humanity, but along the way, we lose it. Maybe due to exhaustion, or the pressure to perform or prove ourselves.
It doesn’t happen because we don’t care, but because we are tired and just trying to survive the shift.
Medicine was never meant to be about getting through our to-do list, but unfortunately, that’s how we all feel whenever the pressure sets in.
Some of my best moments in the hospital have nothing to do with how quickly I worked or how many times I got commended by my seniors. They were the moments when I built a genuine connection with patients. I love when they would say things like, ” oh my Nigerian doctor ” with smiles on their faces.
For clarity, I work in Jamaica, so I guess that’s why they were specific with that.
These moments stayed with me. They reminded me that I am not just doing a job, but I am caring for a person, like I would want to be cared for if the tables were turned.
Rest without guilt
I once came across a post from a doctor who shared two photos of himself at 25 and many years later. I asked him what advice he would give to someone in medicine in their mid-twenties.
His answer was simple: Take your paid time off. Leave work at work. Mind your business.
The part that stayed with me was “take your paid time off“.
For some reason, we glorify always working. We admire the person who never takes leave, who is always available, who pushes through exhaustion. And somewhere along the way, asking for time off feels like the biggest sign of weakness.
Taking your time off does not make you less dedicated, nor does it seem like a lack of commitment, but it is called maintenance. The human body needs recovery, and the mind needs space. So, if we expect ourselves to remain patient, gentle, and grounded, then we must allow ourselves to pause.
Unlearn the rush
We are in the era of decentering things, and maybe one of the things we need to decenter is “the rush”. Because for some reason, we are always hurrying toward the next milestone. It’s like before one phase is fully lived, our minds are already in the next, and trust me, it’s so exhausting living this way. Where life becomes a sequence of boxes to tick, it starts to feel like a ladder instead of an experience.
I guess it’s not our fault. We have been conditioned to be this way since medicine makes us measure our lives by milestones and progression.
Life is both large and fleeting, and if we reduce it to milestones alone, we risk missing the joys of the in-betweens, the friendships, the quiet wins, and even the ordinary days that are actually shaping us.
Unlearning the rush doesn’t mean abandoning ambition. It just means allowing ourselves to be more present. To take one day at a time.
Stay soft, but with boundaries
It is okay to be soft, warm, playful, light, and a total sweetheart.
But in certain spaces like the healthcare system, softness can feel like a disadvantage and can be misread as a weakness. You can be seen as the one who will tolerate more, carry more, and absorb more like a pushover.
And this is where boundaries come in.
Downplaying your softness just to appear more respectable is never the answer because respect and softness can definitely coexist, but they just need boundaries.
It starts with learning how to speak up more, how to say no without over-explaining, how to be firm without becoming harsh, how call things out calmly when you are uncomfortable, and how to be in total control of your emotions at all times.
Softness with boundaries is Power! It gets you ahead in whatever game is being played. Trust me, if you are a soft girlie like me, you do not need to be hard to be respected.
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