Trigger warning: discussion of suicide
988 is the national suicide prevention hotline
When you look at her LinkedIn profile, Dr. Jing Mai was a woman committed to serving people, especially in healthcare and the sciences. Her earliest experience listed shows that in 2013 she volunteered for the Women’s Resource and Research Center in Davis, CA where she acted as a team leader for their STEM program for girls. From there, her resume shows continued engagement in her community’s science and health programs.
This compassionate woman obviously cared about providing access to healthcare resources to the underprivileged. She cared about improving healthcare literacy. What strikes me is that she even served as a Mental Wellness Student Coordinator to help improve access to the mental health services provided at UC Davis.
Dr. Jing Mai died by suicide in her third month of residency. According to her sister, Dr. Mai struggled with insomnia, anxiety, and feeling inadequate after starting residency. She sought out mental health services and the support of her family. But ultimately, she is not here today.
A year ago last August, I was struggling with thoughts of not wanting to be alive while I was in residency. At first I brushed it off, but the more it lingered I realized I needed to get help. I, like Dr. Mai, started therapy, started medications, and reached out to my family. But that wasn’t enough for me.
I remember thinking, “If I die, they’ll be sad for a while, but my friends and family will get over it.” My responsibility to care for my new dog kept me going. Lola is a rescue who struggled with reactivity, and I knew that if I died she’d be at risk of not having a home.
Low point.
Even though it scared the shit out of me, I talked to my program director about what was going on and requested time off. She encouraged me to go to seek more intensive treatment. We decided inpatient treatment wasn’t necessary since I didn’t have a plan to hurt myself, but I agreed to start treatment at a partial program.
I credit my former program director, the partial hospital, and my dog with saving my life. After my intake, I was diagnosed with PTSD from my year in general surgery and depression.
I entered the program feeling like a scared, piece of garbage. But along the way I heard from other people in similar situations who felt like. Some were also medical professionals who were struggling with their mental health.
My therapist at this program was a phenomenal PhD student who had me start to question whether or not I really wanted to continue in medicine. We talked about the fallacy of sunk cost– where people keep sinking more time and money into something that’s not working and hope it will get better.
At first I resisted this concept – I had already spent 10 years of my life pursuing this career and had $200K in student loans from medical school. No one would hire me without completing a residency program! What the hell was I supposed to do if I left?
My program director and assistant program director checked in with me again to see how I was doing after I’d been in partial for at least a week. They told me I was absolutely welcome back after finishing my program. But then the assistant program director looked at me, knowingly, and asked, “Do you want to come back?”
It felt like she saw right through me and the facade I’d been trying to keep up. I felt so stupid for even thinking of the idea of walking away from this Ivy league training program that had literally been handed to me. But she was right, I really didn’t want to come back.
So after more discussion with my mental health team, I decided I would quit residency and take time to focus on my healing. Once I made up my mind to do that, even though my parents completely freaked out, it felt like I’d shed 100 pounds.
I’m not going to say that this year since I quit has been butterflies and rainbow-farting unicorns. For a while I had to struggle with feeling like an idiot for leaving, and not knowing how to tell people about what I did with my life.
But now? One year out? I feel like a new person. And I want other people to know that there are other options out there.
It doesn’t matter how much time, money, blood, sweat, or tears you’ve put into something. If the best thing for you is to walk away, your life is ABSOLUTELY worth that. I promise you that there are more options out there than you know.
When you make a decision that is best for you, I promise the shame won’t last forever. Nobody knows what they’re doing on this planet, so please stop putting yourself on a pedestal to think you need to have it all together.
Every single one of us has flaws. No one has all the answers, so you don’t need to either. The weight of the world is not on your shoulders– this is just a story that you’ve been telling yourself.
So please. PLEASE. If you are feeling like you don’t want to be alive anymore because you’re so fucking miserable: get help until you feel differently.
Start somewhere. Call 988, the national suicide hotline. Or 211, your local resource line to get you on the track to where you need to go.
Don’t take no for an answer. Keep asking for help from different places until you get the help you need to be on a road that’s worth living. You are worth it.
If you’re interested in donating, here is the Gofundme campaign for Dr. Mai’s family.
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