Glass ceiling
YOU KNOW how some people believe that once you’re on top there’s no way but down? What if you’re stuck there and no matter how you see something looming from a distance, you simply can’t go any further?
I have often planned my life; for me there is peace in structure and predictability. I grew up trying to go with the crowd and hoping to be someone they’d look up to someday. I have always valued achievements and academics and felt that I needed to work hard for everything to fall into place. I am not a genius, and I spent my school years looking up to classmates who seemed to ace their exams with minimal effort while I struggled to get an acceptable grade.
I pursued a premed course in college because my mentor once told me that it’d be a waste of my skill if I didn’t end up in medicine. At the back of my mind I dreamt of being a literature professor, but I was talked out of it and was told I could pursue it some other time. I spent my college days trying to prove that I am good—no, actually better than my peers. I joined competitions, organizations and student politics. I was unstoppable and on top of the world.
I graduated with Latin honors and was offered a scholarship to medical schools. I eventually went to one and found myself just an average student once more. I even felt stupid at times. I eventually graduated and had my internship. Then came the board exam and I geared my mind to topping it. But lo and behold, I passed with a merely acceptable average.
After that was the next logical step: applying for residency. I found myself going with the flow because everyone was applying and competing for limited slots. Despite feeling that I was not yet ready because I didn’t yet know what I wanted, I applied. I eventually got into pediatrics, and I couldn’t describe the feeling when I received word that I had been accepted. I remember that though I was not entirely happy, I was proud to acquire a coveted slot in training. I searched my heart for assurance that I was gearing the right way, but there was none.
I was never a quitter, but then I found myself turning in a resignation letter in my first official month as a resident. I fought back my tears and convinced myself that I was being strong with this decision. For someone who valued societal affirmation, it was a momentous step. I was told of the opportunity I was letting go and the chances I was not taking. I was even told that I was a coward. But having made up my mind, I left.
At that moment I felt a sense of liberation. I broke the image of a person who did what was expected of her. But on the other side, I saw myself as a person on top, with a glass ceiling against which I kept hitting my head. I could see everything looming on the other side but I felt weak, somewhat afraid to break it, and move forward. I knew that if I broke that glass ceiling, the shards would make me bleed but not kill me. But I was afraid to break the safety of where I was and to take the challenge.
I spent my days wondering: Did I really want to be a doctor, or was I pressured into it? Looking back, I saw that I had allowed people to push me to meet the status quo and be acceptable. I didn’t fight for things I wanted because these were seen as foolish and nonsustainable. But I figured that I couldn’t dwell on the past. I couldn’t muster regret because I knew that I had caused it to happen. I allowed myself to be told what to do—but then could you blame me? There was safety and security in being in that status quo and doing what was expected of me.
Alas, it wasn’t enough; the “rebel” in my heart broke free. I took a detour I never imagined. I quit residency and took things slowly, one day at a time. People kept asking me why and expressing regret: “Sayang ka.” Then I realized that the more I indulged them and allowed them to feel for me, I was deprived myself of the opportunity of getting in tune with myself. I realized that these people had been the frame that held my glass ceiling. They tried to design and plan my life, and I allowed them to. And no matter how I tried to move according to their plan, there were always comments on how I should have done things differently.
It’s said that one who follows the crowd becomes just one of the crowd. I’m not telling every young soul out there to just drop everything, quit, and travel the world (though that seems like a good idea). What I learned is that liberating yourself doesn’t always mean that you break free from everything you have. It doesn’t mean that you try to be different at all times. The world is noisy and busy and you get distracted from living. I saw myself as a lifeless husk amid the hustle and bustle. When I stopped, I taught myself how to live, and not just for the sake of living.
In my case, it didn’t mean that I abandoned being a doctor altogether. At the peak of stress and burnout, I just wanted a different life; I wanted escape from my daily grind. I thought I wanted to be a teacher, a chef, or just needed a different residency program. When I stopped, I realized that it was not about wanting something else, but about changing my perspectives.
I am not a preachy person, and I keep my faith to myself. These days, however, I find myself in tune with my prayers and, looking back, I see that God did answer them in ways I could never imagine or expect. I often asked God why He allows bad things to happen. In my quiet time, God made me realize that it depended on perspective and where we put our faith. If we saw bad things or events as challenges and were willing to accept them, then we can find peace in overcoming it. But if we feel too entitled and without a need to struggle, then we will view it as pain and suffering.
I thought that I was strong and the tough kind of gal. People have even called me intimidating and scary. I have realized that it was just my defense mechanism at work. I fought to make all things look together. I am insecure, with much self-doubt. I thought my identity lay on my success and achievements. I thought I was already succeeding in breaking my glass ceiling with my achievements, but they only cemented it.
The battles we encounter in our life can only be fought by ourselves. We can talk about the matter over coffee or booze, but at the end of the day it will always be how we’ll deal with it. I pray daily that God will oversee my plan. Sometimes I think that I’ve become too scared of laying out my plan because I might not be able to handle it if it fails. But I can’t be afraid all the time. I need to break that glass ceiling, or I’ll be wondering my whole life about what I’m missing. There’s no real summit of success; you just keep going and going. We don’t know everything, and there is peace in knowing that someone out there does. I will go back to training but I promised myself that this time around it’ll be different. I will not let anyone tell me who I am and where I need to go.
My identity does not rest on affirmation from people. I’ll take this journey to appreciate, love and live even more.
Andrea B. Uy, 26, says she is in the “waiting season of her life” and gearing into “what God has willed her to be.”
