For partners and family of medical students

If you love someone in medical school

You might be a partner, a parent, a sibling or a best friend. You probably don't fully understand what a "shelf" or "dedicated" is, and you don't need to. What you do understand is the person, and you might be the first to notice when something's off.

You're not alone in this either. Watching someone you love struggle, while they tell you they're fine, is its own kind of hard.

What it looked like from Becca's side

In the book, Becca wrote a short section about one stretch of medical school from her point of view: the weeks around the start of my Step/Level 1 dedicated period. She called it my lowest point in med school, and said it wasn't one bad week but a whole month.

One line she wrote has stayed with me:

"You were so incredibly hard on yourself."

Becca, in the book

She saw it more clearly than I did at the time. I was expecting a lot of myself and carrying it mostly alone. She also wrote that no one should have to carry that kind of weight alone. She was right.

What I'd tell partners and family

This is my side of it, looking back. Every relationship is different.

Notice, and say it gently. I was good at telling people I was fine. Becca saw through that. If you see your person struggling, naming it kindly ("you seem like you're carrying a lot right now") can be a relief to hear, even if they push back at first.

Stay close without trying to fix it. You can't make their scores better or their schedule lighter. Being someone they don't have to perform for matters more than finding the right words.

Make room for the small things. The moments that kept us steady were simple: a summer of working and a few trips, time together after a hard exam. After Step/Level 1, I flew to California the next day to be with Becca while she recovered. Seeing her again was the best part of that whole chapter.

Face the big moments together. When my Step 2 score became available on our honeymoon, we decided to open it together, head-on. Choosing that moment on purpose made it feel less like something happening to me alone.

Expect the schedule to change everything

If your person is moving from classroom years into rotations, know that their time stops being their own. Early mornings, late evenings, and schedules set by someone else replace the flexibility of the first two years. Dedicated study periods can swallow weeks at a time, and the days after a big exam can be strangely hard, too.

None of that means they care about you less. It helps to plan around the known pressure points together, like exam dates and the start of rotations, so they don't land as surprises.

Remember that your needs matter, too

Becca went through two major surgeries during my training. She recovered from one while I moved to a new city alone for rotations. Medical school can quietly make one person's stress the center of the household. It shouldn't erase the other person's.

If you're the partner or family member, you're allowed to have hard days, need support, and say so. Talking to friends, your own therapist, or other partners of medical students can help. Some schools and organizations have groups for partners and families; it's worth asking.

When you're worried

If you notice your person withdrawing, struggling for weeks rather than days, or saying things that worry you, tell them what you've seen, gently and specifically. Encourage them to reach out to their school's counseling office or another professional. If you're ever worried about their safety, use the crisis resources on this page. You don't have to handle that alone.

If you're worried about someone you love, or about yourself, the support resources page is a calm place to start.