One of the first questions you’re asked when applying to medical school is: Why do you want to be a doctor? For most, the answer is some version of “I want to help people.” But for me, that was never the real question. It was always “Why do you want to be a pediatrician?”

I’ve known since I was very young that I wanted to work with children. I’ve always loved them: their honesty, their laughter, and their wonder. There’s something magical about the way a child can walk into a room, giggle, and suddenly make the entire day lighter. That’s what I wanted to protect. I wanted to help keep those smiles, those laughs, that light: healthy, strong, and growing.

I didn’t come from a family of doctors. I grew up in a small town, without a roadmap for how to get here. I didn’t know how much time, energy, and sacrifice it would take to become a physician, but I was determined. I believed (still believe) that every child deserves the best pediatrician. So I worked harder than most can imagine. I studied relentlessly. I skipped parties and weekends off. I pushed for straight A’s because I had to, because I needed scholarships, because I needed to prove I belonged, and because I had to make this dream real.

When I got into medical school, I doubled down. Every moment was focused on becoming the kind of doctor children deserved. And when I finally started practicing, I knew I was where I was meant to be. Every child I saw reaffirmed my purpose. Their resilience, their curiosity, their joy, it reminded me why I chose this path.

But the last several years have tested me in ways I never expected.

Through the pandemic and into this strange cultural moment, I’ve felt the ground shift beneath me. I’m no longer seen by some as a healer, but as a villain. I’ve been accused of injecting toxins, of causing harm, of being part of some vast conspiracy. It’s devastating. It’s surreal. It hurts more than I can say.

Because the truth is: I didn’t sacrifice decades of my life, take on crushing debt, and give my time, energy, and heart to hurt children. I became a pediatrician to help them, to heal them. That’s what real medicine is. That’s what science is. It’s not brainwashing. It’s not manipulation. It’s learning. It’s evidence. It’s growth.

We don’t know everything. I never pretend to. In fact, one of the things I love most about pediatrics is that I continue to learn (every day) from research, from my colleagues, and most importantly, from the kids and families I care for.

But what I do know is that I have never (nor will I ever) intentionally harm a child. That accusation goes against everything I stand for. Everything I’ve worked for.

And now, in this climate, I find myself questioning something I never thought I would: Do I still want to be a pediatrician? It breaks my heart to even ask.

But I still love children. I still want to help them grow, laugh, and thrive. I still believe in working with families to keep their children safe, happy, and healthy.

All I ask is that you see me (and doctors like me) for who we truly are: people who have devoted their lives to caring, learning, and healing. Not villains. Not enemies. Just human beings who still believe that children are worth fighting for.

Jamie S. Hutton is a pediatrician.