I have felt anxious for most of my life.

Born into a poor family, my main goal has always been to become independent enough to support myself without needing to ask anyone for money to meet my basic necessities.

I witnessed my father frequently asking others for help whenever he faced significant challenges that his limited salary could not cover. For instance, he would reach out to people when it came time to get a child admitted to school or to submit the advance or security payment when we moved into a new rental house.

I feel that I was never as ambitious as other people my age. As a child, I had little desire, unlike many other children. Perhaps it was the impression that everything in life requires money, and since we didn’t have it, I felt I had no right to wish for anything. This constant thought and my naturally giving nature ultimately stifled my ability to desire anything.

I believe the only motivator in my life has been the urge to become self-reliant. I may have experienced chronic depression since childhood. I rarely smiled, had no wishes, and lacked the desire to play. I was merely existing, and in many ways, I was the perfect child because I never wanted anything and settled for the bare minimum. Maybe my motivation stemmed from a desire to prove my self-worth. In our family, girls were often viewed as a burden and deemed to have little value. I think I wanted to demonstrate that I was valuable.

I have found that the only source of true happiness for me is seeing others happy, especially when I can contribute to their peace or happiness. This realization led me to choose a profession in medicine. I have always understood that doctors have the ability to alleviate pain, and pain is something I have always despised in my life.

Perhaps it was because I felt everything ten times more intensely. I just wanted to escape from the pain, whether it was physical or emotional—mine or that of the people around me.

I never realized it was unavoidable.

The more I attempted to avoid, suppress, forget, or numb it, the more explosive it would become. Its intensity increased, and it lasted longer than I ever wanted it to. I didn’t understand that it was simply part of the package called life.

I always recognized that teaching is a respectable profession, one that has been held by prophets and saints throughout history. I often think that if I had not become a good doctor, I could have been a great teacher. However, there were two reasons that led me to choose a different path. First, teaching does not pay well, and second, my father was a teacher. I was so determined to distance myself from my father that it became my life’s goal to avoid pursuing anything he had done in his career.

When I decided to become a doctor, everyone around me was thrilled. They believed it was a well-paying and respectable profession, and I thought it was the only way I could prove to my parents that girls are not worthless. However, I overlooked the fact that being a doctor would come with its own challenges. While I already felt ten times more pain than those around me, I didn’t realize that I was like a sponge, absorbing the pain of others as well. Sometimes I wonder, is pain contagious for certain people?

After finally becoming a doctor, I felt a sense of relief.

As I began working, I found happiness at the end of each day, knowing how many patients felt better due to my care and by talking with me. I became the favorite doctor in every ward and specialty where I worked. It felt like my hands had a magical touch.

However, I cried every day; perhaps it was due to the pain I witnessed. It might have been the emotional toll of bringing joy to others or soothing their suffering. But if a person in pain feels 70 percent better by sharing 30 percent of their pain with me, then the cost is not too much to bear.

Over time, I have realized that after earning my degree and adding the title “Dr.” before my name, I no longer desired anything more. From that point on, I didn’t take any active steps; I never decided which specialty I should pursue. Everything just unfolded on its own.

I never imagined that I would become an oncologist; it simply happened unexpectedly. Based on my residency entrance exam scores, I was assigned this specialty, and as I had no other option, I just went along with it.

Sometimes I feel that everything I have achieved in life was motivated by a desire to avoid uncertainty and the fear of “What will people say?” The fear of the unknown can be very painful. In my quest to avoid pain, I sought control over my circumstances.

However, over time, I’ve come to realize that the relentless pursuit of growth and the struggle to make progress—without considering what we truly want in life, what brings us peace, or what aligns with our values—ultimately feels meaningless.

I feel at peace now because I have realized that I only have one life. It doesn’t matter how many fellowships I achieve, how big my house is, how settled my partner is, or how expensive a car I buy.

I have come to understand that these pursuits often stem from a desire to avoid uncertainty and the fear of the unknown.

If I choose not to wish for material things—like expensive clothes, branded shoes, bags, or fancy gadgets—unlike many people my age, then maybe it’s OK. “What will people say?” has been the biggest motivator in my life, but I have already spent 32 years of my life struggling with that concern.

I just want to focus on what brings me peace. If serving others or making those around me happy brings me peace, that’s perfectly fine. If I don’t have high ambitions, that’s OK. If I take a break from work, that’s fine as well. If I fail my exams, that’s all right. If I don’t have set goals in my life, that’s OK too. If I don’t pursue more fellowships, that’s fine as well. If I choose a low-paying job, that’s acceptable as long as I feel happy with it.

As long as I am healthy, peaceful, and feel fulfilled in whatever I am doing, that’s great. I must also accept that it is impossible to completely avoid pain and uncertainty in life. I believe there is no greater agony than spending your life worrying about “What will people say?”

“Oh, you don’t have a well-paying job?”

“Oh, you haven’t gotten married yet?”

“Oh, you’re not pursuing any foreign fellowships?”

“Oh, you don’t want to travel by car? Why is that? The first thing your colleagues did was buy a car.”

“This is the right time to seriously think about your future.”

I have been contemplating how we often forget that pain, loss, and sheer uncertainty bring about more change than just periods of growth.

The relentless hustle to keep up or avoid being left behind often distracts us from our fear of the unknown. However, when our energy finally drains and we collapse, it can be devastating, as we realize that this growth did not add any true meaning to our lives; it’s just a rat race.

The fear of the unknown and the feeling of stagnation, especially in comparison to those around us, can be incredibly painful and disappointing. Yet, during the slow and steady process of confronting loss, loneliness, and ultimately facing our fears, we may begin to find clarity about what we truly want in life.

I believe that true change helps us realize our potential, weaknesses, purpose, and happiness.

I am willing to accept uncertainty and the fear of the unknown, and I want to live in the present moment. My goal is to feel at peace, be grateful for what I have, and appreciate the things I have achieved so far.

I believe there is no greater happiness than alleviating the suffering of those around me, regardless of the capacity in which I do this. If it brings me a sense of fulfillment, then this is enough for me, and I am truly grateful for this gift.

“I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy.”
—Rabindranath Tagore

Damane Zehra is a radiation oncology resident in Pakistan.