By Desiree Acosta, MS4, David Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA
I officially made it to residency interview season, a milestone that often felt distant as I navigated the mountains and valleys of medical school as a first-generation Latina. When it finally arrived, I expected to feel only excitement and relief. Instead, an unexpected emotion arrived alongside them: exhaustion.
Interview season exists in a strange emotional space. Each time I received an interview invitation, I felt profound joy and relief. I felt deep gratitude for the privilege of reaching a point I had once doubted I would ever reach. Yet as the season unfolded, a quiet fatigue began to rise and one that eventually grew too loud to ignore. It put me in conflict with myself. I felt guilty for feeling tired during a time that seemed meant only for celebration.
There were moments of excitement: connecting with residents, learning about programs committed to caring for underserved communities, and imagining myself growing into the kind of family physician I hope to become. But those moments were often followed by emotional lows. Days filled with back-to-back interviews required constant performance. We are asked to articulate five- and ten-year plans, to describe the “perfect fit,” and to neatly package our identities, values, and lived experiences into short, rehearsed responses. Some questions feel meaningful; others feel oddly shallow, disconnected from the realities of training and growth. Yet each one carries weight, and each response feels as though it must be delivered flawlessly.
Choosing a residency program adds another layer of complexity. Applicants are asked to identify the program that best fits their career goals at a time when many of us still hold multiple passions and interests. We are told that this decision will shape the rest of our careers, yet we must make it without fully knowing who we will become. It is hard to stand at the edge of so many possibilities, unsure of where the road will lead, simply hoping it will be a good one.
What makes this season particularly challenging is how little we talk about its emotional toll. In medicine, we celebrate resilience. We praise perseverance, grit, and the ability to push through. But we are far less comfortable acknowledging collective exhaustion. We are rarely invited to say, “I am proud to be here, and I am also very tired.”
For students from underserved backgrounds or those who are first-generation, that fatigue often runs deeper. Many of us arrive at interview season already worn down by long and nonlinear journeys. Navigating medical school without insider knowledge, balancing financial stress and family responsibilities, all while meeting the unrelenting demands of training. By the time we reach this milestone, we are not only celebrating survival; we are carrying the accumulated weight of years spent having to constantly fight visible and invisible battles.
The silence surrounding this experience can feel isolating, especially for students without close mentors who are willing to speak honestly about how hard this process can be. Without transparency, it is easy to believe that everyone else is navigating interview season with confidence and clarity, while you alone are struggling to stay afloat.
We must move beyond celebrating endurance alone. Medical students deserve permission to rest, to question, and to feel uncertain without fear that it reflects weakness.
Family medicine, a specialty rooted in relationships, humility, and community, has an opportunity to model a different culture, one of honesty and care.
I am grateful to be here. I am hopeful about the future. And I am also tired. A truth I now know many of my peers share. Making space for that honesty is not only compassionate; it is necessary if we want a healthier, more humane medical culture. Honest conversations do not diminish resilience; they strengthen it.
