There’s no perfect formula.
No one-size-fits-all schedule. No ultimate reviewer. No magic tip.
But there are lessons. Personal, hard-earned ones. And if you’re reading this while preparing for the boards, I hope some of mine can meet you where you are.
Study plans should fit you—not the other way around.
I tried printed schedules, sometimes customized. Other times, I let my gut guide me. Both had their place.
But one thing stayed the same: repetition. Reading notes again and again. Answering MCQs again and again. It sounds boring, but it built muscle memory.
I know some review centers advise against too much MCQ answering. But for me? It worked. Question banks were gold. The key was not just getting the answers right—but going back, rereading the rationale, and understanding the “why.”
If I got a question wrong, I made sure I didn’t just move on. I asked myself why I chose the wrong answer in the first place. What thinking trap did I fall into?
That kind of analysis—that’s what helped most.
Weak areas need priority, not pity.
Some subjects gave me headaches. So I didn’t avoid them.
I doubled or tripled my effort on them.
I used my performance in question banks to spot what I was bad at. It was more honest than waiting for a post-test result that didn’t reflect the real exam goal. Some exams felt more like memory drills than boards. So I tried to adjust.
This meant cutting through review center noise sometimes. Not everything they said was helpful. But I will say—ExpertMD deserves a shoutout. Especially Doc Toff and team. Their techniques for Day 1 of the exam were clear and effective. I owe them a lot.
Consistency is built, not wished for.
You don’t wake up disciplined.
You build it from a string of days that don’t feel like much. My version looked like this: sitting at the table, placing the notes I had to read in front of me, and refusing to move forward until I understood most of it.
That’s it.
Not glamorous. Not motivational. Just… showing up. Again.
My best days? They were 3- to 4-hour blocks at my desk, either watching a lecture or dissecting a topic. No phone. No breaks. Just focused absorption.
But that doesn’t mean I didn’t fall off. I did.
I stopped social media—thanks to my wife’s urging, and a mental health doctor’s advice. But leisure breaks, hunger pangs, sudden chores—they were sneaky distractions. I had to learn how to forgive myself after each slip and just start again.
One day, I noticed my mindset shifting. I wasn’t just studying—I started believing I could actually do this. That quiet attitude change made all the difference.
Ask for help early and often.
I was never alone in this.
I asked my friends—those from med school, and those I met during internship—for help almost every day. We sent each other questions, ranted, joked about our burnout, tried to explain weird topics, and reminded each other why we were even doing this.
There were also moments when I broke down and stopped studying entirely. I can’t even recall how many days I wasted just trying to get my mind back. Sometimes the mind needs to stop. And you have to let it.
That’s where my support system came in. My wife. My friends. Even in silence, they kept me grounded. I’d be lying if I said I did this alone. I didn’t.
If you’re just starting: don’t wait too long.
If I could go back to myself six months before the exam, I’d say:
Start now.
Yes, internship is hard. But squeezing in even just a few hours each week could’ve made the burden feel lighter. That way, I wouldn’t have had to wrestle with so much guilt and panic toward the end.
Better yet? If you’re still in med school, remember: every topic is fair game for the boards. The real prep starts the moment you step into your first anatomy class.
Still, if you didn’t do that—don’t lose hope. You can still survive.
You can still pass.
If you fail: you’re still in the game.
It’s okay to grieve.
You have the right to mourn the loss of something you worked so hard for. That doesn’t make you weak.
But don’t stop there. Failure can be a teacher—if you let it. It can show you where the cracks are. What you misunderstood. Where you overestimated yourself. Where you need to heal.
The boards don’t measure your worth as a doctor. If they did, we wouldn’t have licensed professionals hurting others in small or large ways.
What matters more is why you want this in the first place. What you hope to do with it. Who you wish to serve.
Yes, you can do this.
I believe this with all my heart.
Not because I’m trying to be motivational. But because I lived through it.
You can pass this exam.
But more than that—you can carry the kind of integrity and intention that makes you a doctor not just in title, but in presence.
If you’re struggling today, look inside you. Ask yourself: What do I want? Who am I doing this for?
Let that desire be your anchor.
And don’t isolate. Reach out. Let others in. You’re not weak for needing help. You’re human.
A Closer Look at Each Exam Day
The Physician Licensure Exam is not a single battle—it’s four full days of internal war.
Day 1 nearly destroyed me. Biochemistry. Anatomy and Histology. Microbiology and Parasitology. All my weak spots lined up like a firing squad. It was overwhelming, but not surprising. Everyone talks about Day 1 as the hardest, and in my case, it truly was. I walked out of the testing center unsure whether I had done enough. I kept replaying certain questions in my head, wondering if I had misunderstood basic concepts or misread tricky items.
Day 2 felt more bearable. It covered Physiology, Legal Medicine, Ethics, Medical Jurisprudence, and Pathology. It was still dense, but somehow the stress didn’t weigh on me as heavily as Day 1 did. I had some momentum, and maybe a sliver more confidence.
Day 3 was about Pharmacology and Therapeutics, Surgery, Ophthalmology, Otolaryngology, and Internal Medicine. These were broad and clinically rich—fields that I had tried to keep sharp during internship, so I wasn’t completely lost. But exhaustion was creeping in. I remember my hand trembling as I shaded those last circles.
Day 4 wrapped things up with Obstetrics and Gynecology, Pediatrics and Nutrition, and Preventive Medicine and Public Health. At that point, the adrenaline was gone. What was left was just… resolve. No energy, just a push to finish. I kept telling myself, “You’ve gone this far. Don’t collapse now.”
The Rituals That Helped Me Mentally Prepare
Before I left for the exam each day, I’d arrange my things on the table. Quietly. No fanfare.
There were no incantations, no special prayers. Just a few items that had followed me through the entire journey:
- A pair of red boxers, for luck.
- A handkerchief from my wife, soft and steady.
- A semicolon necklace, which I never wore, but always held.
The semicolon meant the most. I used to place it on my hand, let it rest like a bracelet. I never bought it as a fashion piece—it was a symbol. It said: “This is not where your story ends.” It reminded me to keep going. That the delay wasn’t death. That it was a pause. A breath.
Some people may think these tokens don’t help. And maybe they don’t, in the strictest sense. But they remind. And that’s what I needed.
I needed to remember that I had a goal. And that every little reminder—from a necklace to a song—was part of the fight.
What I’d Do Differently If I Had to Do It Again
If I could rewind and start this whole review journey again, I wouldn’t aim for perfection.
I’d aim for peace.
I wouldn’t try to devour every page or remember every rare disease. I’d focus on what matters—and I’d listen to myself when I was tired.
I regret watching too much anime. Not because anime is bad (it helped sometimes), but because it stole hours I could’ve used better. I regret eating too much out of stress, then falling asleep when I should’ve been reviewing. I regret being cruel to myself on the days I couldn’t finish what I planned.
The biggest mindset shift I wish I embraced earlier? That there must be no room for doubt.
Not pride. Not arrogance. Just a steady belief in yourself.
Once you doubt, you hesitate. And hesitation eats time. You can’t afford that.
Believe. Every day. Even on the days you feel like a fraud.
You Are Not Your Delay
You made it here.
To this sentence, at least. And that’s not nothing.
Whether you’re about to take the boards, thinking of giving up, or just surviving your own kind of waiting season—this is for you.
You are not your delay.
Not your late start. Not the year you had to pause. Not the moment you broke down. Not the time you thought you had nothing left.
Those detours?
They didn’t steal your dream. They shaped the kind of dreamer you are.
I’ve failed more times than I’ve admitted publicly. I’ve lost sleep, missed meals, and sat in front of notes I couldn’t understand. I’ve had days when I hated myself for not being faster, smarter, better.
But even in all that, something stayed.
A will. A reason. A small thread I kept holding onto—sometimes with both hands, sometimes just with my teeth.
If you have that thread, hold on. If you dropped it, go back. It’s probably still there.
Thank the people who didn’t leave. Forgive the ones who did. Thank yourself, even if you think you were slow.
You got here.
And I think that’s enough proof that you’ll keep going.
As for me, I’m still learning. I’m far from perfect. But I’m moving toward the kind of doctor I always hoped to be. The one who listens. The one who sees. The one who remembers what it felt like to have nothing—and still hope.
To the reader who stayed until now: thank you.
To my wife, who never let me collapse completely—thank you.
To the people who doubted me, unintentionally or not—you helped me dig deeper.
To God, who was silent sometimes, but never left.
I don’t know where this road will lead from here. But I know now that I was never walking it alone.
And I hope, truly, that you know this too:
You are not alone.
You are not behind.
And you are not too late.
This is the Last Chapter
This post marks the final part of my Overcoming the Odds series.
If you’ve read from the beginning—or even just picked a part that spoke to you—thank you.
I wrote these not just to remember, but to reach. I hope something in these pages helped you feel seen, less alone, or more certain of your path.
Whether you’re a future doctor, a student in any field, or someone fighting quiet battles of your own, I hope you found fragments of hope here.
Maraming salamat sa pagsama.
And wherever your odds take you next—keep going.
If you’re preparing for the PLE or facing a tough exam season, I’d love to hear your story. Drop a comment or message me on Instagram or Facebook @ianleoj or email me at hello@ianleoj.com — we’re all in this together.