The moment I entered the exam room, I felt the weight of doing it all alone. No friends, no batch mates beside me—none of the people who had once walked with me during the early years of this journey. It hit me hard: this was something I had to face by myself again.
What’s ironic is that I’ve always been the one encouraging others, the one constantly lifting people up. Yet when my own mental health declined, I couldn’t even find the strength to lift myself. It consumed me, stole my time and energy—and on top of that, I had just undergone thyroid surgery. Still, despite everything, I made it through.
The exam was just as difficult as I had expected. Even though I had studied most of the key points, the actual test was overwhelming. As I answered each question, struggling to manage my time, I was quietly amazed: I was doing it again—alone. And yet, deep inside, I knew that this strength, this endurance, would mean something one day. I just have to be patient and trust the process.
By lunchtime, I was so exhausted I could barely hold my spoon and fork. I wanted to break down, but I couldn’t—not yet. It was just the first Saturday. I still have another round next Saturday—another five subjects to go through. Honestly, I don’t know how long I can keep doing this alone. Yes, I have friends who keep encouraging me, cheering me on toward the finish line—but it still feels different when a part of you feels like it’s slowly fading, even when you’re trying so hard to do everything right.
This journey is something I’ve always wanted, but I never expected that pursuing a doctorate could take such a toll on my mental health. And yet, on the other side of that struggle, I remain determined. I choose to continue—even at the cost of setting aside a personal kind of happiness. Not because I don’t want happiness, but because I’ve learned—sometimes painfully—that certain things are no longer healthy, and it's okay to let go of what once felt familiar and comforting. Growth means moving forward, even when it's hard.