What Medical School Failed to Teach Me About Healing

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ~Rumi

I’ve devoted a significant portion of my adult years to aiding others in their healing journeys.

As a podiatrist and surgeon specializing in the foot and ankle, I’ve observed various forms of pain—ranging from ruptured ligaments and fractured bones to chronic wounds. However, the most impactful wounds I encountered weren’t the visible ones I treated; they were the silent, invisible burdens my patients carried and those I had unintentionally borne myself.

At first, I thought healing was simple: identify the issue, provide treatment, follow up, and ensure recovery.

This seemed rational and was consistent with my education. Nevertheless, life and people seldom conform to such tidy frameworks.

Years ago, I treated a woman in her sixties suffering from chronic foot ulcers due to diabetes. In spite of our medically appropriate interventions—correct dressings, offloading, antibiotics, and regular visits—her wounds stubbornly refused to heal. This left me perplexed, resulting in frustration and self-doubt.

One day, she quietly confessed, “Sometimes I don’t even want them to heal.”

It wasn’t rebellion; it was sincerity.

Having lost her husband and living alone, these appointments provided her with rare instances of human connection where someone acknowledged her existence and wellbeing. Her injuries served as a means for her to be recognized.

This insight was enlightening.

I had concentrated solely on treating her foot without genuinely perceiving her or grasping the emotional significance behind her physical condition. In this neglect, I recognized I was overlooking something within myself as well.

I took pride in being poised, efficient, and competent. My residency emphasized the necessity of pushing through exhaustion, stress, and lengthy hours, prioritizing perfectionism over openness. I donned my resilience as if it were armor.

Yet, beneath that exterior, I was fatigued, emotionally drained, and detached from the human connection that had motivated me to become a doctor.

Acknowledging the deep-seated pain in my patients’ stories—sorrow, isolation, shame, fear—illuminated my own unaddressed anguish.

Not a physical malady or clinical burnout, but an elusive yearning to feel more integrated and complete.

Patients have wept and apologized, claiming they were “wasting my time,” as if their pain held no value. Some recounted traumatic experiences unrelated to their feet, yet critical to understanding their halted healing.

I began to listen more carefully, stopped hurrying, and started asking, “How are you, really?” This allowed me to embrace vulnerability—not just in others but within myself as well.

I returned to keeping a journal, acknowledged the importance of taking breaks, reconnected with friends I had neglected due to my busy schedule, and sought the guidance of a therapist—not out of crisis but out of a desire to explore overlooked aspects of myself.

I discovered that healing isn’t just about mending brokenness. It involves recognizing pain, even without a concrete diagnosis.

In medical education, we aim to become experts, to have answers, and to take charge.

However, genuine healing frequently escapes the limits of a clinical setting. It occurs in quiet exchanges of mutual understanding when two people drop their roles to truly perceive each other.

I no longer feign to have it all figured out. By embracing honesty with myself and others, my patients seem to place more trust in me—not because of perfection, but through authenticity.

What Have I Discovered?

Healing and growth do not follow a straight path. Individuals desire to be seen, not merely repaired.

Pain is not solely physical; often, the most profound wounds are the quietest.

Presence wields more healing power than performance.

I may never stop learning about the human experience, but I am grateful that my patients create the space for me to navigate this journey—not merely as their physician but as a fellow traveler on the road to healing.

December 2025

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