Grief in Medicine: There Is No Right Way to Carry It

I began medical school at the same time my father was diagnosed with stage IV cancer. What should have been a season defined by anatomy labs, white coats, and new beginnings was instead marked by oncology appointments, emergency department visits, ICU admissions, and long conversations that never felt long enough. While I was learning how to become a physician, my family and I were learning how to live with uncertainty.

Over the course of my medical training, my father was in and out of chemotherapy. He underwent multiple surgeries, some planned and others emergent.There were hospitalizations that blurred together, ICU stays that felt endless, a tracheostomy, feeding tubes, and complications that required urgent intervention. There were broken bones that required surgical repair, setbacks that felt cruelly timed, and moments where hope and fear existed side by side. Through all of it, medical school continued. Lectures resumed, exams came and went, and clinical expectations remained unchanged. This is what grief in medicine often looks like: life-altering loss unfolding quietly alongside professional obligation.

The Unspoken Expectation to Endure

Medicine trains us to be resilient. We learn early, sometimes explicitly and often implicitly, that showing up matters. We quickly learn that personal hardship is expected to stay separate from patient care and that professionalism means remaining composed. In many ways, this training is necessary. Patients depend on us. Teams rely on us. But there is a cost when endurance becomes silence.

Grief does not follow syllabi, rotation schedules, or exam calendars. Yet in medicine, it often feels as though it should. There is an unspoken expectation to compartmentalize loss, to return to baseline quickly, and to demonstrate that we are “handling it.” For medical trainees especially, grief can feel like an inconvenience that must be managed privately in order to avoid falling behind. The reality is that grief does not resolve simply because responsibilities continue.

Living in Two Worlds at Once

One of the most disorienting parts of grieving during medical training is existing in two emotional worlds at the same time. In one, you are memorizing pathways, seeing patients, presenting on rounds, and moving forward. In the other, you are sitting beside hospital beds, waiting for updates, bracing for phone calls, and carrying a constant undercurrent of fear.

On some days, I felt functional. I felt capable, focused, and even hopeful. Then there were days when the smallest reminder would unravel me. A diagnosis mentioned in lecture. The sound of a monitor. A patient encounter that mirrored my own experience too closely. Grief has a way of resurfacing when you least expect it, often when you believe you are finally “doing okay.” That unpredictability can be deeply unsettling in a profession that values control, preparation, and certainty.

There Is No Correct Way to Grieve

One of the most damaging myths surrounding grief, especially in medicine, is the idea that there is a right way to navigate it. That with enough time, strength, or insight, you should eventually figure it out. But grief is not a problem to solve. It is an experience to live with.

My father passed away a month ago. The truth is, I am still learning how to grieve. I do not have a framework that makes it easier. Some days I feel grounded and steady, and other days it feels as though the bandage has been ripped off all over again. The absence is sudden, the weight is fresh, and the path forward is unclear. This does not mean I am grieving incorrectly. It means I am grieving honestly.

Grief is nonlinear. It can be quiet for weeks and then overwhelming in an instant. It can coexist with moments of joy, focus, and productivity. It does not diminish simply because time passes or because others believe you are “handling it well.”

Holding Others’ Pain While Carrying Your Own

As physicians and trainees, we are taught to hold space for others. We sit with patients during their most vulnerable moments. We bear witness to loss, fear, and uncertainty daily. But when we are grieving ourselves, that emotional labor can feel heavier.

There can be guilt in struggling when patients are suffering. Guilt in needing support when others seem to need more. Guilt in acknowledging pain when we are supposed to be the ones providing reassurance. This internal conflict can cause many in medicine to minimize their own grief, believing they should be stronger, more composed, or more resilient. But compassion is not a finite resource, and extending it inward does not take away from our ability to care for others. It strengthens it.

Permission Over Prescription

What many in the medical community who are grieving need most is not a checklist or a timeline, but permission. Permission to feel differently day to day. Permission to talk about loss without having to justify it. Permission to seek support without fear of judgment or professional consequence.

For some, that support may come through therapy, trusted peers, family, or time away when possible. For others, it may simply begin with naming grief instead of suppressing it. There is no universal solution, and there does not need to be one. Healing does not mean moving on. Often, it means learning how to carry loss in a way that allows you to keep going without abandoning yourself.

An Osteopathic Perspective on Grief and Wholeness

Osteopathic medicine teaches us that the body, mind, and spirit are deeply interconnected. This philosophy applies not only to our patients, but also to those of us in medical training. Grief does not remain confined to one part of our lives. It affects our emotional well being, physical health, and sense of purpose.

Ignoring grief does not make it disappear. Instead, it often resurfaces as burnout, emotional exhaustion, or detachment. Caring for ourselves is not separate from caring for patients; it is foundational to it.

To acknowledge grief is not to admit weakness. It is to recognize humanity.

Moving Forward Without a Map

I do not yet know what navigating grief correctly looks like, because I am learning that there may be no such thing. What I do know is that grief deserves space in medicine. It deserves language. It deserves compassion.

If you are grieving while practicing medicine, you are not behind. You are not unprofessional. You are not alone. The path forward may be unclear, uneven, and deeply personal, but that does not make it wrong. Over time, grief can shape us into more present, empathetic physicians. It can deepen our ability to sit with patients in uncertainty, to listen without rushing, and to recognize suffering without trying to immediately fix it. Sometimes, the most courageous thing within medicine is the willingness to admit we are still learning how to carry loss. Sometimes, that honesty is exactly what sustains us.