Why Even Strong Independent People Need a Mentor

“You need a mentor,” an old friend from residency visiting from out of town said to me.

“Mmm..” came my usual monotone, noncommittal answer.

“I’m serious!  Who can you talk to about your burnout issues!?  Anybody at work?  Everyone has a mentor.  I have a mentor!”

“Yeah, but you’re still in fellowship.  You should have someone to help guide you through your career goals and research all that stuff you specialists do.  My situation is different.”

He tried coming at it from every different angle he could think of, but to no avail.  It was battle of the wills and my stubbornness won, shutting him down at every pass.

Ain’t nobody got time for that

Truth be told, I’ve never felt I needed a designated mentor – not in pre-med, med school or residency.  There were plenty of opinions back then on how I needed to steer my life, but I was singular in my goal: Become a primary care doctor.

I remember meetings I had with my assigned mentor in residency usually going like so:

• Looks like your testing scores show you’re on track to pass both your board certification exams – do you have questions on board studying?  Nope.
• Have you done your Grand Rounds presentation yet?  Yes.
• Do you have all your clinical skills assessments and attending reviews checked off?  Yes.
• Need help with anything else?  Nope.

After some awkward silence, she then said,

“You’re not someone I worry about.  See you next time!”

It all felt like jumping through the hoops that the ACGME made residents do.  Low yield, unless the goal was to generate a ton of paperwork.

I didn’t NEED anybody’s help.  I’m a strong independent woman!  I do what I want, and I do it well.

I don’t need no mentor.  I’m fine.

Except I wasn’t fine

After 2 alcoholic beverages, the sand castle walls I had built around myself were starting to crumble and my friend could see right through my bullshit.

My husband J, in the meantime was sitting back watching the show, our poor friend beating his head against the same brick wall that J had been living with.  He had watched me circle the drain for a year, unwilling to accept help from anyone but rather trying to dig myself out on my own.  I hadn’t realized yet that I was just digging myself in deeper.

The thing with people who are used to being self-sufficient is we’re obstinate and refuse to have our issues pointed out to us.  When you push us, we push back even harder.

So, over the last 6 months, J has been using the drip feeder approach.

“You know, when you cut back at work, the physician owners probably should have checked in with you to make sure you were doing ok.

…

It’s almost like they aren’t really invested in your personal and professional success… I mean, isn’t that why you had chosen that practice to begin with?

…

What if you called your old residency program director?  You know he’s rooting for your success.”

While he had been trying to cultivate an environment in which I would feel comfortable in reaching out to other people, I instead interpreted it as him trying to slowly poison and turn me against my life choices.  All of the life choices that had brought me to this moment in my life.

The tragedy of confirmation bias

How does one admit to themselves that maybe they didn’t make the best life decisions?

On paper, everything I did was right.  I worked hard, studied hard, became a doctor, joined a private practice to do the thing that I invested my entire life into.

If I couldn’t be happy with that, then there clearly was something wrong with me.  And saying that out loud to my friend and my husband was just something I wasn’t willing to do.

I had to keep doing what I was doing because if I didn’t, that would be admitting failure.  

So I kept plugging along, hoping 10 minute mindfulness sessions at lunch, writing in my gratitude journal every night and doing yoga 3 times a week was going to magically change my entire mind set.  I kept working on the blog because I read somewhere that I needed a “passion project” to help with burnout, but even that started to feel like a grind, so much so that I ended up taking a break from the very thing that was supposed to fill this yawning void.

Then, I was featured on The Happy Philosopher with a guest post about my burnout story and through that, another physician blogger Physician on FIRE found the blog and unexpectedly listed my post How I’m Plotting My Escape From Medicine on his Sunday Best Roundup.

All of a sudden I was inundated with emails, messages and blog comments from people reaching out and telling me how much my story resonated with them.  I was so honoured to have heard from every single one of them and equally impressed by their willingness to contact me and share their stories.

I know it’s ironic since I’ve put a lot out there on the interwebs, but posting on the blog feels less vulnerable to me than reaching out to an actual person.  Maybe people will read this, maybe they won’t.  But to ASK someone for help feels like opening myself up on an entirely different level.

But, if these people could do it, then so could I.

This wasn’t networking – just writing that down gives me the heebie jeebies as I’ve detested this word since I made the ill-fated decision to be a pharmaceutical sales rep an eternity ago.  This was about surrounding myself with a supportive community.

Making the commitment to myself

When I’m in, I’m ALL in.

So I formulated a plan of attack and identified 3 people I would reach out to:

1. B, an old mentor/resident from my program who knew me as a medical student and as an attending, B worked with me at my residency clinic
   • This felt like my safest bet.  There was already a personal connection, and we had recent Facebook banter.
   • She had worked in primary care for a hospital system for several years, burned out and now was switching into a model that I was interested in – Direct Primary Care (DPC)
2. D, an acquaintance who has been in primary care for 17 years
   • My friend had told her about my blog and my issues with burnout, and D actually instructed my friend to give her my contact information and to reach out at any time
   • I was just too stubborn/afraid to take her up on this offer
3. S, a local doctor I found while perusing Facebook who is launching his own DPC practice next month
   • This would be a cold call and very high risk

Last week, I contacted all of them in a huge shotgun approach.  I figured it was now or never, and if I ran out of momentum/got rejected one after the other, I wouldn’t have the courage to continue.

For all my foot dragging and stumbling in the dark on my own, I wish I had done this sooner. 

All three of them were immediately responsive and so incredibly helpful and encouraging.  I had a 5 hour Facebook chat with B, a 30 minute phone call with D with an invitation to call again, and a start of a conversation with S that gets my foot in the door if I so choose to pursue my own DPC practice.

Why had I waited so long?

Private practice can be so isolating.

Burnout can be even more so.

I personally tend to self-isolate when I’m unhappy and that seems to be a common thread between those who have reached out to me.

Over the last 3 years of seeing patients every day with anxiety and depression, I can tell you we suffer the most when we feel that loss of connection.  It may be a true loss of connection or it can be all in our minds when we sever ties mentally without the other party even aware of it.

We all need friends and that soul connection – I’ve been very intentional about building that up in the last 2 years.

But you also need a mentor.

I need a mentor.

One who speaks from experience that I just don’t have yet.  One who can present a different perspective I hadn’t considered.  One who gives encouragement but leaves out the hand-holding for those who pride themselves on being self-sufficient (because I’m still a strong independent woman dammit!)

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“It sounds like you already know what you need to do, M.  So what’s stopping you?” D closed our call with.

Me.  I’ve been holding myself back.

Not any more.