Two weeks ago, I bit the bullet and submitted my resignation letter to my boss.

Now, before you let your imagination run wild and start speculating what my reasons were for leaving, I’ll just tell you outright:

I left because it was time to leave.

For anyone who doesn’t already know (because I’ve posted hints elsewhere on social media), I am no longer pursuing a career in law, but am aspiring to enter the medical field instead—

—specifically, psychiatry.

In other words, I’m still going to drown in debt by the time I’m done with schooling.


In all seriousness, it wasn’t an easy decision to make, and there were far too many factors to take into account—more than I would have liked. But I’ll save my reasoning for some other time,

perhaps another post,
or maybe not at all
because, well, who even cares?
I’m just talking to myself, anyway.

So, for now, I’m just going to leave it at that.


Next (Spring) semester marks the beginning of my Molecular Biology and Biotechnology courses, and I’m going to need all of the focus (and luck) I can get. Being the stress-ball that I am, and knowing the grades required for medical school, resigning was the only plausible option. Not to mention, my classes require my presence on campus at odd hours, and no employer in their right mind is going to want someone with such a sporadic, non-committal schedule…

…which leads me to my next (fairly obvious) update:
I’m not going to be applying to another job.
I’m going to dedicate any free time I have to volunteering instead,
with a little contract work sprinkled here and there.
(a girl’s gotta eat)

So, now that that’s out of the way…

I’m not going to pretend that I’m fine—I loved my job and enjoyed working with my boss, and not having a stable income (or any income at all) terrifies the living daylight out of me.

(Thankfully, I am blessed to have a supportive family and SO.
My savings account, on the other hand, won’t be so fortunate.)


        That’s  the                                                                                 point.

I’m nervous,
and smothered with anxiety,

but also excited
and oddly rejuvenated.

I’m fully aware that the road to medical school, residency, and even practicing psychiatry, is going to be (for a lack of a better, less phallic description) long and hard*, but I’d rather try and (hopefully not) fail, than not try at all and regret it when it’s too late.

*I am told this is an understatement.


Change nothing and nothing changes.

— Unknown

I’m always encouraging my peers to chase their dreams while hypocritically putting mine on the back-burner due to fear, self-doubt, and self-loathing. So, this is me, blogging about it to hold myself accountable, and crossing my fingers that I’ll survive the next few years of academia.

Wish me luck!

(please…I really need it)




[In proof-reading this post, I realized that it came off as me rambling aimlessly, trying to justify the big decision I had made, which, while it is true in part, is not the point. My point, that I’ve failed to get across, is that happiness is not always comfortable, and taking risks is not always fun, but if a potato like me can do it, so can you.]

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