I started my review with trembling hands.
Halfway through printing my notes, already overwhelmed.
There was no fanfare, no sense of clarity—just the quiet dread of knowing this would be the hardest stretch of my life so far.
I was scared.
Scared that I would fail.
Scared I would make a fool of myself.
Scared that everything people invested in me—money, prayers, time, love—would amount to nothing.
I was scared of being overtaken by my peers.
Scared of losing my chance.
Scared I wouldn’t bounce back.
Every single day during the review, at least once, the thought came to quit.
And every single day, fear pulled me back into the grind.
Not passion. Not resilience.
Just fear.
The Study Plan That Looked Good on Paper
I followed the Topnotch schedule and aimed to wake up at 6:30 every morning.
Sixteen hours of studying per day.
Breaks between 30 minutes and—honestly—sometimes way longer than that.
I drowned in caffeine. Fast food. Milk tea.
I tried to convince myself this was part of the discipline. That treating myself helped fuel the hours.
But it was also part of the spiral.
My body revolted.
Palpitations.
Short attention span.
Weight gain.
And I’ll say this with caution: I even used propranolol off-label to control my anxiety. I don’t condone it. I don’t recommend it. But it happened.
That’s how desperate I was.
The Days I Did Nothing
Yes, there were days I didn’t study at all.
Days when I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.
Sometimes the guilt from those moments burned more than the fatigue itself.
It wasn’t even about laziness—I just didn’t want to move.
Didn’t want to read.
Didn’t want to fight my own brain anymore.
I tried to label it as “rest,” as some mental health advisors say.
But deep down, I knew it was avoidance.
Not healing, but hiding.
The Darkest Thought
There were moments I thought about ending my life.
I imagined the police finding my body buried under food wrappers and unread notes.
Hopeless. Lifeless.
I don’t want to dramatize it.
But I won’t erase it, either.
Because that’s the truth.
And I know I’m not the only one who’s ever felt it during board season.
Disconnect
The worst part was not being alone—but feeling distant even when I wasn’t.
My wife was always there. Always checking in. Always showing love.
But there were episodes when I withdrew even from her.
We talked, as we always did, but my mind would wander.
And when she noticed I was different, she never pushed.
Maybe that was her way of loving me through it.
Letting me have the space I didn’t know I needed.
I kept most of my feelings to myself. About 95%.
I didn’t want to affect my friends who were reviewing too.
We chatted on Messenger here and there, but I avoided saying anything too heavy.
I thought, “They have their own storms. Why add mine?”
My family? I cut contact.
Not because of anger, but survival.
A doctor I consulted even advised this—to focus, to remove emotional weight.
I followed through, even if it stung.
Even if it made me look like I didn’t care.
The Pressure to Pass
People often say the pressure comes from others.
In my case, it came from within.
I don’t think people expected me to pass.
In fact, I felt the opposite.
Some probably expected me to fail.
Maybe because I took 7½ years to finish med school.
Maybe because I had failed subjects before.
Maybe because I had mental health issues.
Maybe because they thought my life choices were a sign that God had already withdrawn His favor.
But what they didn’t understand was—
I carried those judgments every day.
I feared they were right.
That I was too late.
Too broken.
Too weak.
Faith Hanging by Threads
My faith was in pieces.
I watched Shabbat services. I tuned in to online church.
I sang when I could, especially when I was too tired to cry.
I prayed less—but still believed. Or at least tried to.
Some days I felt like a hypocrite.
Other days, I felt like a child trying to reach for a parent who wasn’t answering.
But I never stopped hoping He still saw me.
Even when I couldn’t see myself.
The Ugly Coping Habits
I got addicted to online shopping.
Enamel pins. Fountain pens. An embarrassing number of highlighters.
I bought so many I couldn’t even use them all.
Some were given by fellow med students, well-wishers.
I was touched—but also overwhelmed.
It’s weird. The more support I received, the more I felt the need to perform.
I also subscribed to a meditation app.
Tried to sleep better.
Didn’t always succeed.
But I was trying, I guess.
Rituals, Tricks, and Desperate Hope
I bought a real Pomodoro timer.
Printed massive versions of all my review tables and charts and pasted them all over the house.
I turned my room into a memory palace.
A literal study prison.
And this—I’ll never forget—
My Topnotch mentor told us to print a big banner saying “#LicensedMDApr2024.”
Guess who printed it in huge letters and stuck it above his bed?
Me.
Every time I woke up or lay down, I saw it.
And sometimes I believed it.
Sometimes I didn’t.
But it was always there.
The Subject That Broke Me
Biochemistry.
And Pharmacology.
Every time I studied those, I felt like a failure.
Nothing stuck.
My brain rejected the information.
I felt dumb.
I was convinced I was the worst med student of my batch.
And yet, in some strange twist, I excelled in Surgery and OB-Gyne in the mock tests.
Those small wins mattered.
They didn’t heal everything, but they reminded me that I wasn’t completely lost.
Tools and Tracking
I used Excel trackers to log my test scores and monitor my weak subjects.
It became obsessive.
Not necessarily in a healthy way.
But it helped me see patterns.
Sometimes, when I did better than expected, I doubted the results.
Sometimes, when I did worse, I thought, “See? I knew I was stupid.”
It was a cycle.
Breakthroughs and Final Coaching
Focus Review Center gave an inspirational talk two nights before the exam.
One of their doctors, a pastor, shared something that cracked my defenses.
I can’t remember the exact words anymore.
But it felt like God was speaking through him.
Like God wasn’t done with me.
The main Focus reviewer offered an exercise.
“Take a picture of your review table. And a selfie.”
He said to keep it—whether we pass or fail.
To remember what we gave.
I cried when I passed and saw that photo again.
Because I did give everything.
I truly did.
Final Thoughts I Never Said Out Loud
I never had a study habit before this.
Since high school, I was more of a cram-and-pray student.
But for this, I sacrificed.
I showed up.
I gave everything.
Even when I was empty.
And no matter how broken I felt,
I kept going.
I may never forgive myself for the darkness I had to crawl through.
But I’ll always be proud that I didn’t stay there.
This season didn’t just test my knowledge.
It tested my identity.
My faith.
My reason for continuing at all.
But somehow—
Somehow, I lived through it.