The Silent Struggle of Medical Students

By: Nwobodo-Charles Chioma

A Never-Ending Cycle

In my years as a medical student in CMUL, I’ve seen students come and go. Some graduate with flying colors, while others quietly drop out. Tragically, some don’t make it out alive.

One thing that continues to strike me is the recurrence of suicide every year. A student gets overwhelmed and takes his or her own life, and it puzzles me. We mourn, we grieve, and then we move on, until it happens again. The cycle continues, and I can’t help but wonder: Is this just part of the process now? Should we accept it as “normal”? Or is there something deeply broken in our system that we’re refusing to acknowledge?

The Pressure to Be Perfect

There’s pressure on all students, but medical students bear the brunt of it. From our first days, we’re constantly reminded that the lives of others lie in our hands. “Any mistake made by a pharmacist in the production of a single drug can take the lives of more than a thousand people,” they say. A doctor misses a symptom, a lab scientist mislabels a sample, a nurse administers the wrong dose—each error holds the power to harm or even kill.

It’s an unspoken rule: Perfection is the standard, failure is unacceptable. And so we push ourselves beyond our limits. We memorize, we sacrifice, we break, but we don’t stop. Medical school demands perfection. The overwhelming workload, endless exams, and high expectations slowly chip away at our self-worth.

What happens when you start doubting yourself? What happens when imposter syndrome creeps in?

Many of us battle this invisible weight, the feeling that we’re not smart enough, not good enough, or that we don’t even deserve to be here. Even the best among us feel it. If the Best Graduating Student can feel overwhelmed and inadequate, what about the rest of us?

The Unspoken Grief

No one really talks about the emotional burden we carry.

The first time you watch a patient die, it shatters you. No textbook prepares you for the guilt, the helplessness, or the numbness that follows. You see the grief in the family’s eyes, and suddenly, medicine isn’t just about lectures. It’s about real people and real loss.

Then there’s the first cadaver dissection, a memory etched into every medical student’s mind. You think you’re ready until you realize you're cutting into someone who once laughed, loved, and lived. And when you find out that the cadaver was once your lecturer, it doesn’t feel like a lesson anymore. It feels like a haunting reminder of the fine line between the healer and the healed. And yes, this is a real-life occurrence.

We’re expected to stay professional and detached. But how do you detach from grief, stress, and burnout when they become part of your daily life?

Medical students grieve too. We just don’t talk about it.

Family Expectations

For many of us, we were already “doctors” before stepping into medical school. We’re called “Doctor” by neighbors, aunties, and even the woman selling beans in front of Stella. Our parents bask in pride. Your mum probably answers to “Mummy Doctor.”

But behind the praise, some of us are quietly breaking. The thought of dropping out lingers, but saying it out loud? That’s unthinkable. The shame and guilt would crush not just you, but your family’s dreams too.

So, we keep pushing, pretending, and performing—even if we’re falling apart. But we forget that it’s our names on that certificate, we are the ones who will have to walk into that theatre, not them.

The Cost of Sacrifice

The irony is cruel. We’re training to care for others, yet we barely care for ourselves.

If you head to the lecture theaters at 3 a.m., you’ll find students still reading. Eyes red. Bodies running on fumes. Many are functioning on just two or three hours of sleep, with caffeine or energy drinks as their closest companions.

The sale of Predator and Fearless is on the rise. Reading rooms are fully occupied as students stay up until the dead of night, struggling to cover their bulky slides.

Skipping meals, living on Indomie, and studying until our brains shut down has become the norm.

And no, it’s not normal. But in medical school, it’s reality.

Coping (Or Trying To)

The real problem? No one teaches us how to cope with the mental toll of this journey. Some students turn to alcohol or substances, not because they want to, but because it’s the only escape from their thoughts. Others shut down emotionally, burying themselves in work, too numb to feel anything.

Seeking help is still seen as weakness in this field, but it shouldn’t be.

We need counselors present in the schools to help students feel heard. We need safe spaces and support groups where we can talk without fear or judgment. We need to normalize conversations about burnout, anxiety, and depression. No one is a machine. Everyone breaks. And that’s okay.

We must remind ourselves that we are humans first, before we are doctors, pharmacists, or physiotherapists.

A Final Note: You Are Not Alone

If you’re a medical student struggling with exhaustion, anxiety, or self-doubt, know this—you’re not weak, and you’re not alone.

The journey is hard, but your mental health matters too. It’s okay to take breaks. It’s okay to rest. You don’t have to earn your right to breathe.

Start small:

• Talk to a friend, not just about school but about how you really feel.

• Set healthy boundaries. Sleep, eat, and pause. You’re not lazy for needing rest.

• Limit comparison. Everyone’s pace is different.

• Learn to say no when it protects your peace.

Speak up when you need help. Let yourself cry. Let yourself heal. Let yourself be human.

And most importantly, be kind to yourself. Your best effort is enough.