Save People With Your Words

The seat was not well-cushioned, and Mrs. Biemeret, my college career counselor, was taking her sweet time gazing over my college application essay. I tilted to the right then to the left to relieve my buttocks of asphyxiation. 

“Cynthia… this is wonderful.” Mrs. Biemeret pulled off her glasses and her eyes glinted as she spoke, “You have such a way with words! Please tell me you are going to be an English major!”

I held back a chortle. An English major? What?  Does she think I’m stupid? I gave a light nervous titter of a laugh then explained, “Oh, no, I’m going in undecided, but I know I want to be a doctor!” I smiled, proud of my lofty goals of intellect and esteem. I was going to BE someone. I was going to DO something BIG.

“Oh no!! We lose all our brilliant minds to medicine!” She tossed her head back as she dramatically shook her wadded up fist into the sky. 

What the hell is she talking about? I was amused but also confused. I cleared my throat, (this will clear things up for her), “Of course I want to be a doctor, I want to save people!”

She dragged her head up so her eyes were once again level with mine. Her eyes filled with a lostness I couldn't understand and she gave an exasperated sigh, “Save people with your words!”

Ok, this makes no sense. Doctors save lives; words can't do that! I laughed softly again--my nervous habit-- before suggesting to my heated up college career counselor to proceed with her professional thoughts on my application essay. I knew I had to cram for my vocabulary quiz, then turn in my homework for psych before running to dance practice, then finish the fifty billion other college app essays I needed to write. Time was not a friend of mine. 

That moment in the college career center, at the time, didn’t seem very significant. I think my brain held on to that memory because I was flooded with a surge of dopamine when I was complimented so generously on my writing. I had always written for fun and excelled in my AP English classes, but I always had it in my head that being a doctor was the best thing to be because it was the hardest title to attain.

I was always the competitive-type. Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Calculus… a dividing line began to form as students were filtered into AP or LD, Smart or Dumb, Worth It or Leave It. Though it left me with mental breakdowns at least once a week, I’d consistently find myself staying up into the wee morning hours doing homework, reduced to sobs as I'd realize I only had a few hours until I need to be up and getting ready to lead a club meeting, take my 6 AP classes, then dance for 3 hours with the varsity dance team. Oh yes, then come home and do more homework. 

Looking back on my high school years, I cringe at how terribly I treated my body, mind and soul. I completely ignored all my needs in order to satisfy my craving to achieve a socially-defined form of success.

Now, where am I? Well, in the past 6 years, a lot has changed. 4 years ago, I had to leave my undergraduate career for 2 years to help out at home when my dad, the only moneymaker of the household, contracted a brain virus that left him incapable of working. I spent the first year stuck in psychologically detrimental rumination with my mother as we struggled to run my father's company, and the second year working full time with my uncle's company as my mother, with a heavy heart, realized we had to call it quits. 

During this time, as fate would have it, my own words saved me. I wrote about my inner turmoil and shared this with select friends. I then found a cathartic form of expression through pole dance, something that I started for fun but stayed with for its vital therapeutic benefits. After months of writing and dancing, I found myself feeling whole again.  My thoughts and expressions were validated through these physical manifestations. 

After that year, I had made enough money to finish up my undergraduate degree and finally move towards my dream of being a pediatric psychiatrist, helping the future generation find peace while they are still neurologically developing.

But after all the classes I took in my final years of college on mind-body interactions and developmental psychology, I was lost again. I’ve worked for years as a medical assistant to a pediatric psychiatrist and I’ve seen the abyss of medications and the business of navigating loopholes for insurance coverage and I’ve been slowly feeling more and more heartbroken.  As an undergraduate student, I already saw very logically how simple the solution was. It was a truth I had always known but never felt worthy enough to voice.  We already have a lot of scientific backing through research on what it takes to be healthy and how our physical and mental health really maintain strong communication. I’ve seen through basic life experiences the discoveries science is starting to empirically prove. I know in my heart how equal and powerful we are, and how we can start making a difference now. But who the hell am I to speak up?  I mean, I have to be a doctor to save lives, right?

Going back to school and knowing that it was MY hard earned money going into my education, I was ravenous for knowledge. But as the quarters wore on, I noticed something scary-- I wasn't sure if diseases and biology were my forte. My passion for studying and engaging faded in the realm of the sciences, but amplified in the realm of the humanities. Though my “academic” memorize-then-spit-out appreciation for the sciences shrank, my appreciation for the systematic application of the sciences grew.  

I asked myself, accolades and academic rigor aside, what would I be truly learning through different degrees? I knew what I wanted-- an education system that has a fully integrative healthcare component attached to it-- but would I be learning the applicable knowledge needed to achieve this goal? I wondered if I really needed to go through the rigors of medical school to advocate for the truths I already saw. This doubt grew and grew over the past two years, but I kept squelching that voice. My relatives pounded into me that being a doctor was the only way to get respect and money, and didn't I want that for myself? Didn't I deserve it? Because I had the grades and experience to get into a medical school, wouldn't it be such a waste for me not to at least try? I felt an obligation to my relatives, who provided me with a job, shelter, and guidance when I had none. I clung to their words as the truth and silenced my words as products of foolish youth. 

But then, my words saved me.  After years of practicing mindfulness meditation, yoga, and writing in my moments of clarity, I realized that, regardless of age, I had experiences that no one else had and unique insight from those experiences. I had to perk my ears up and finally listen to the voice I'd been suppressing for years. 

That day in the college career center over 6 years ago now has a whole new meaning to me, and I now understand the words of Mrs. Biemeret. Writing can most definitely save lives when you begin to recognize that there is more to living than physically existing.

Two weeks ago, I decided to contact Mrs. Biemeret and let her know the impact her words now have on me. I recognized her as another fellow human who might enjoy some light. I told her about my life, about my moment of realization, and how she tied in. Her response brought me to tears. She told me that she was about to retire, and in her final year, she'd been questioning whether she had really made the difference she hoped to make. My message to her was a source of this validation, and she thanked me with warmth.

Sometimes, simply being yourself can save a life; your own.