From the outside, a junior doctor’s job can look structured. A shift starts at a certain time. Ward rounds. Notes. Consults. Handovers. A lanyard and a stethoscope that signal competence and control.
From the inside, it can feel very different.
“The expectations for an intern are actually really low,” Dr Sonya explains. “Everyone knows you don’t know what you’re doing.” But the responsibility lands all at once. One day you are a student, supervised and protected. The next, you are the doctor. The person signing forms, speaking with families, carrying the weight of decisions that matter.
There is no gentle easing in. Hospital life is unpredictable in a way few professions are. You might be ready to leave at 5pm, bag packed and mentally spent, when a medical emergency call goes out at 4:59. You do not walk away. You run toward it. You keep going until the job is done.
Over time, that rhythm reshapes how you see yourself.
“Your time and your energy aren’t really your own,” she reflects. “They belong to the hospital. To the patients.” Meals are d
It can feel noble. Selfless. Even necessary.
But there is a cost.
Midway through her first year, after months of pushing through long shifts and emotional strain, Dr Sonya went on annual leave and noticed something confronting: a large bald patch at the back of her head. Alopecia. After medical checks ruled out physical causes, the conclusion was simple: stress.
“It was the only thing we could identify,” she says. “And the only thing causing me stress was my job.”
For many junior doctors, burnout is worn almost like a rite of passage — proof that you are committed, that you are resilient. But that narrative is starting to shift.
As Dr Devin Deo, a paediatric registrar who has navigated intense pressures on the wards, puts it:
“Self-care is good for you and your patients. As the saying goes, if I’m a teapot, I can only pour if I’m full.”
That simple metaphor captures something vital: caring for yourself is not indulgence, it is practical medicine.
Sonya began to question the old story of self-sacrifice. “I realised that thinking my needs were less important than my patients’ was actually coming from a bit of ego,” she explains. “Like I had to carry all of this myself.” But a hospital is run by hundreds of people. No single intern or doctor is the system.
One senior doctor offered her a perspective that stayed with her. To the hospital, you are one of many. If you leave, you will be replaced. But to your family and friends, there is only one you.
That shift in thinking changed everything.
Resilience, she says now, is not absorbing endless pressure without breaking. It is recognising when to step back so you can continue to step forward. Burnt-out doctors do not provide good care. Doctors who look after themselves are sharper, safer and more present.
The invisible weight of medicine is not just clinical responsibility. It is emotional labour. The unpredictability of the job. The quiet habit of placing yourself last.
And yet, in acknowledging that weight rather than denying it, something steadier begins to form. Not hardness. Not detachment. But perspective.
There is only one Dr Sonya. Protecting her wellbeing is not selfish. It is essential.
To hear more from Dr Sonya and Dr Harry, and to see the realities of junior doctor life up close, follow @Credabl on TikTok.