What are you waiting for?

In medicine, waiting is normalized.

We’re trained in it. Praised for it.

We learn to delay sleep, meals, vacations, and emotions. We delay joy. Rest. Fulfillment. Relationships. Children.

From the very beginning, we’re taught that waiting is a virtue. That endurance is professionalism. That sacrificing our own needs is a sign of how much we care.

During training, we wait—for sleep, for food, for recognition. We wait for the pager to go off and for someone else to decide when we’re done. 

We accept it because we’re told it’s temporary. Necessary. Part of becoming a “real doctor.”

But we don’t stop waiting when training ends.

We wait for fair compensation, for administrative support, for manageable schedules—for someone to notice and fix systemic causes of burnout.

We wait for the system to improve, for meetings to lead to change, for initiatives to become action. We wait to be acknowledged—not just as physicians, but as people.

I never liked waiting, and I wasn’t good at it.

I kept asking. I stepped into leadership roles, believing that if I cared enough and contributed enough, I could help fix what wasn’t working. I thought if I stayed long enough, tried hard enough, spoke up kindly enough, I could make it better—not just for me, but for everyone.

Even in leadership, we’re told to wait.

To help myself stomach it, I told myself that my institution was simply on a different timetable. This thought helped me wait.

I realized recently that the waiting is essential for the system in its current form to function.

It depends on us being patient, silent, and sacrificing ourselves.

We’re taught to wait because waiting preserves the structure.

Waiting may feel like loyalty, but over time it becomes quiet resignation. We hold onto hope while bracing for disappointment. We watch our colleagues burn out or walk away.

We stay and tell ourselves we’re strong enough to handle it. Until we’re not.

Underneath, many physicians are afraid. Afraid of what will happen if they step out of line. If they stop waiting for change and instead say no, or claim space for ourselves. They fear being seen as selfish, ungrateful, or replaceable.

They fear what choosing ourselves might cost us.

I was terrified when I resigned from my first physician job after 18 years. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It was also clarifying.

Once I chose alignment over approval and compliance, opportunities opened up everywhere.

Waiting has costs that can be steep as well.

Waiting drains our energy, distances us from our families, and dulls our joy. It slowly erodes who we are.

One of my clients recently decided to stop waiting. She chose to step fully into agency. In less than a year, she got married, bought a house, and changed her physician job.

Once the light bulb goes off, things move fast. Once we give ourselves permission, our over-functioning becomes an asset.

Where are you still waiting? What is waiting costing you?
What are you postponing? What might shift if you stop waiting? 

What are you waiting for?