Welcome! I’m Dr. Jillian Bybee, a physician leader and coach who is in process of discovering what a fulfilled life looks like for myself as I continue stepping out of the hustle of achievement culture. I share what I’m learning along the way as a path to helping you do the same. Humans Leading is a way for you pause for reflection to find more joy and less overwhelm in your life. Subscribe here to get this newsletter straight in your inbox:
Content warning: brief mentions of depression and suicide
When I was in training to become a pediatric critical care medicine physician, I found myself stuck in the metaphorical mud. I hadn’t been feeling like myself after experiencing a traumatic event at work, and my usual practice of shoving aside my emotions and personal needs wasn’t working.
In the following weeks, I was an object at rest. After more than a decade of hurtling through life, I felt stationary while the world zoomed past, continuing at breakneck speed while I was stuck in my new immobility. I was able to be present for clinical shifts but lacked the drive to do my research, go to meetings, or meet deadlines. Eventually, during a meeting with a mentor, it clicked that I needed to process what had happened and what I had been pushing aside for so many years.
-Jillian Bybee, MD “Forced to Rest”
I finally figured out that I was experiencing depression, and I was experiencing it alone and in silence. Later, I realized I had also been experiencing secondary traumatic stress. And I had been feeling a lot of shame, believing that there was something wrong with me.
At the time, I didn’t know that 1/3 of physicians in training experience depressive symptoms regardless of specialty or country of practice. I didn’t know that a physician dies by suicide every day. I didn’t know that just one traumatic event could lead to secondary traumatic stress symptoms.
Thankfully, my dysfunction eventually reached a level that made me tell other people that something was wrong rather than leading to the end of my life.
I still don’t know where the strength to diagnose myself and admit I needed help came from.
With therapy, medication, time, and support from friends and my partner, I found my way back to myself. I processed a lot of what I had been shoving aside for a long time. And, eventually, I became an advocate for healthcare worker mental health.
I have never experienced a relapse of my depression, and I consider myself fortunate. But it hasn’t happened by accident. I actively monitor my mental health and reach out for help at the first indication that things might not be right.
Which brings me to this month’s reminder(s):
Mental health is health.
Everyone needs help at some point.
You are not alone.
And, finally…
Check on your “strong” friends.
I was and continue to be the “strong friend.” Before I began speaking publicly about my experience with depression, this meant that I did whatever I could to appear “fine” to other people. But, as I said above, I was anything but fine.
Sometimes, strong people need other strong people to tell them they are worried about them.
So, if you’re worried about someone, check on them. If they decline to talk to you or say they are fine, respect it. But, remember that asking someone about suicide does not increase the chance of them dying by suicide. You are not “giving them the idea.” You might just be saving a life.
If you are a physician who needs help or want to help someone else, and you aren’t sure where to turn, I offer you this resource as an option.
The world and life and work are a lot right now.
You don’t have to be in crisis to ask for help.
And you aren’t required to be the helper all the time.
All of that said, if you are in crisis, the National Suicide and Crisis line is always available at 988 or at 988lifeline.org.
Such a powerful reminder. I’m so glad you are here and were able to get the help you needed.🫶 Checking in is so important. Practicing my “how are you, really?” check ins. Thank you for your work here. You are opening space for this type of conversation so people don’t have to suffer in silence. 🫶