If you’d asked me a few years ago what a “good day” looked like, I would have given you a very medical answer. No complications, no complaints, inbox under control, clinic running on time. If I made it home before dinner, that was a bonus.
Looking back, I can see that my definition of a good day had very little to do with my own well-being. It was all about performance. Efficiency. Control. And, unsurprisingly, it wasn’t sustainable.
This year’s Mental Health Awareness Month theme is “More Good Days, Together.” It sounds simple, almost obvious, but the longer I sit with it, the more I realise how much we’ve drifted away from that idea in medicine. We’ve become very good at enduring bad days. We’ve just forgotten how to recognise or create good ones.
For many physicians, a good day doesn’t look like a wellness poster. It’s not about feeling calm, balanced, and fulfilled. Sometimes it’s much more modest than that. It’s getting through a shift without feeling completely overwhelmed. It’s eating something that isn’t from a vending machine. It’s noticing you’re struggling and not immediately pushing that feeling aside.
That counts. In fact, for a lot of us, that’s a genuinely good day.
The problem is that medicine quietly raises the bar so high that nothing ever feels like enough. We’re trained to keep going, to push through, to cope no matter what. There’s very little space to pause and ask whether the way we’re working is actually working for us. So when conversations about mental health come up, they can feel distant or even slightly frustrating, as if they’re designed for a version of life we don’t quite recognise.
What I find helpful about this year’s focus is that it shifts the conversation away from perfection and toward something more realistic. Mental health isn’t about eliminating difficult days. It’s about increasing the number of days that feel manageable, meaningful, or simply a bit lighter.
That distinction matters. Most physicians aren’t either thriving or completely burned out. We’re somewhere in the middle, functioning, but tired. Doing the work, but aware of the cost. That middle ground is where most of life actually happens, and it’s where small changes can make a meaningful difference.
And the changes don’t have to be dramatic. In fact, they probably shouldn’t be. Most of us don’t need another elaborate system or a ten-step plan. What we need are small, practical shifts that fit into the reality of our days. Taking a few minutes to pause between patients instead of immediately moving on to the next task. Letting something wait until tomorrow without carrying guilt about it all evening. Reaching out to a colleague after a difficult shift rather than keeping it to ourselves.
These things are simple, but they go against the culture many of us were trained in. Medicine tends to reward endurance and independence. We learn early on not to burden others, not to show too much vulnerability, and to keep things moving no matter how we feel. That might help in the short term, but over time it can become isolating.
Which is why the second part of the theme, “together,” is just as important. If burnout has taught me anything, it’s that isolation makes everything heavier. The work doesn’t necessarily change, but the experience of it does. Sharing it, even briefly, with someone who understands can make it feel more manageable.
That’s something I’ve seen repeatedly in Physicians Anonymous groups. Doctors come in thinking they’re the only ones feeling a certain way, only to realise within minutes that their experience is widely shared. There’s a kind of relief in that. Not because the problems disappear, but because they’re no longer being carried alone.
When I burned out, I initially tried to fix it in the way I’d been trained to approach problems: optimise, improve, push harder. It didn’t work. What helped, eventually, was much quieter. Letting a day be good enough. Being a bit more honest with myself and others about how things actually felt. Stepping away from the constant pressure to perform at a level that wasn’t sustainable.
Over time, I started to notice a shift. Not in a dramatic, life-changing way, but in something more subtle. There were simply more days that felt manageable. More days where I felt present rather than just getting through. More days that, by a more human standard, were good.
So as we start this Mental Health Awareness Month, I’m not going to suggest a complete reset or a new routine. Instead, I’d invite you to ask a simpler question: what would a “good day” look like for you right now, given the life you’re actually living?
Not the ideal version. Not the one you think you should be aiming for. Just something real and attainable.
Because once you define that, the goal becomes clearer. And often, more achievable.
And if part of that involves talking things through with people who understand the realities of this work, that option is there. At Physicians Anonymous, we run free, confidential, physician-only support groups where the focus isn’t on fixing or performing, but simply on being honest about the experience of being a doctor.
You don’t have to do it alone.
👉 You can find a group here:
https://physiciansanonymous.org/anonymous-meetings/
Mental health isn’t something we solve once and move on from. It’s something we live with, day to day. Some days will be harder than others. But if we can create even a few more days that feel manageable, connected, and real, that’s meaningful progress.
And it’s a good place to start.
