It was my first year in med school, a place where I was navigating community and finding friendships as an adult. I was fresh off a year serving overseas, a time of tight community, centered on walking with Jesus. Like being thrown into frigid waters, entering a new, intense season of schooling was jarring. I attended the Christian meetings, visited several local churches, looked for kindred spirits, and searched for some sense of being home.
There was camaraderie with other med students. We sat through days of lectures, dissected tissues, and crammed knowledge into our brains together. Despite these common bonds and late nights, I still felt unknown and unseen. In addition, I had reached my endpoint in willpower and intelligence. No matter how much I studied and drilled, it wasn’t sufficient. I couldn’t master all this knowledge; it wasn’t coming together as it should. I felt pushed past my limits and, for the first time, felt that I wasn’t enough.
By second year, I had a new rhythm and a new roommate. She was a ball-busting truth speaker. I was attending a young adults’ Sunday school but had grown discontent with the community. However, I had a thing where I didn’t want to make trouble for others.
I didn’t want to be an inconvenience, and I didn’t want to be too much.
My plan was to just stop showing up, fade into the background and never return. My roommate would have none of it. She held my feet to the fire and demanded that I tell the singles’ pastor about my planned departure. After much consternation, I assented that she was right.
So, after the next Sunday school, I mustered up the courage to speak with the singles’ pastor, Mark.
“Could I talk to you sometime next week? There’s something I need to tell you. It’ll be quick,” I slipped in while trying to walk away.
“We could do lunch next week,” he replied. “My wife will be there too.”
I inwardly groaned. Seriously, just because I’m a single woman, we can’t be in the same room together? I’ve never met your wife. Why go to so much trouble? It’ll take two seconds. I hesitated and then agreed.
A few days later, I found myself at lunch with Mark, his wife, Tracy, and their two young kids in tow.
“So, what’s going on?” he asked.
I blurted out, “So, Sunday school hasn’t been a good fit for me, so I’m leaving.” (Like I said, two seconds).
Surprisingly, there was no uncomfortable hesitation, inquisition about my reasons for leaving, or defense of himself. His response was simply, “Okay, so how are you?”
Out tumbled words recounting the last year of feeling unmoored and treading water in med school. I had lost a sense of who I was and where I was known in community.
Tracy looked deeply into my eyes (and what felt like my soul) and simply spoke, “That sounds lonely.”
She named what no one else had named over the last year, not even myself. There was a release, and I teared up for the first time. It was hard for me to admit that reality.
Tracy invited me into a mentorship relationship, to which I quickly agreed. It was a little mind boggling. Walking into the lunch, I was prepared to break away from a community. Instead of leaving, I was offered a friendship, one that has continued to shape my life. It has been a place that I have felt seen, walked with, and given space to grow into myself.
Aimee is an Asian American physician, recently married to the love of her life. She loves deep, honest conversation, being silly with her husband, and pondering God’s presence in this broken world. She is honored to contribute to Red Tent Living but requests anonymity in respect for her personal and professional privacy. b
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“I didn’t want to be an inconvenience, and I didn’t want to be too much.” I find myself saying something like this even at my age (72) and I still laugh at the incongruity of it because I feel both too much and not enough. I have gotten better at not saying it out loud and at pushing myself to act as if I were neither an inconvenience nor too much, but the feelings, though faded, linger. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you for being vulnerable and sharing. What a blessing to have a roommate that encourages you to leave the comfortable and engage by sharing truth. I smile thinking about Tracy and Mark truly seeing you. You are brave.