Professional Wellness Section

Diana Savitzky, MD, FACEP
Jennifer Ashley Goebel, DO, FACEP

• The Voice in Our Heads: A Lesson in Self-Compassion from an Unexpected Place
• The Patterns We Carry
• The Harsh Voice
• What Criticism Does to Us
• Enter Self-Compassion
• Three Small Ways to Practice Self-Compassion
• A Question to End With

The Voice in Our Heads: A Lesson in Self-Compassion from an Unexpected Place

Like many parents, I often sit with my kids while they watch a movie but only half watch it myself.

I want to know what they’re watching. I want to be able to talk about it with them later. I want that small sense of connection when they reference a character or a joke. But if I’m honest, I rarely give the movie my full attention. I check email. I scroll my phone. I drift in and out of the storyline.

So when the movie K-Pop Demon Hunters came out and my kids asked to watch it, I assumed it would be the same experience. I had heard how popular it was, and secretly I was a little excited that I could watch it with them and use them as my excuse for knowing about it.

But something unexpected happened.

I actually paid attention.

And I liked it—more than I expected.

The music was catchy and the animation was captivating, but what really surprised me was how much the story affected me. It made me reflect on something I hadn’t been paying attention to in my own life: the voice in my head.

The Patterns We Carry

In the movie, the main character, Rumi, struggles with a sense that she doesn’t fully belong. She is fighting something she feels she is partly connected to. She is hiding parts of herself. She feels like a fraud.

Watching her navigate that internal struggle felt strangely familiar.

As a physician—and someone who works in physician well-being—I spend a lot of time talking about burnout, resilience, and supporting one another. From the outside, that might suggest that I have these things figured out.

But the truth is that I still fall into the same patterns many of us do.

I struggle to set consistent boundaries around my time.
I say yes to requests before thinking about whether I actually have the capacity.
I choose work over my own needs more often than I should.
I work through illness instead of calling out.
I promise myself I’ll slow down next week, next month, next season.

None of these patterns are visible the way they might be in a movie storyline. But they are real. And sometimes they come with a quiet sense of shame—especially when you feel like you should “know better.”

There was a moment in the movie when Rumi connects with another character who truly understands what she’s going through. During the song “Free,” there is a moment of recognition between them that brings her visible relief.

Watching it, I felt unexpectedly emotional.

It reminded me how powerful it is to be understood—especially when you’ve been carrying something alone.

The Harsh Voice

At first, the villain of the movie, the demon Gwi-Ma, seemed like a typical animated antagonist.

His voice was harsh.
He said cruel things.
He belittled the demons he controlled.

Initially, I brushed it off. It was a kids’ movie. A clear good-versus-evil storyline.

And besides, they were demons. Why would I care if he was mean to them?

But as the movie progressed and the evil forces began gaining strength, his voice began reaching other characters too. Characters who had previously seemed confident and secure started hearing his words inside their heads.

At one point he tells them:

“You thought you found a family? You don’t deserve one. You never have…
You’re too much. And not enough.
You’ll never belong anywhere… but I can give you a place.”

For some reason, that scene hit me hard.

Because suddenly I recognized something uncomfortable.

I had heard that voice before.

Not from someone else—but from myself.

How many times have I said things like:

“That was stupid—how could you make that mistake?”
“Did you hear how that consultant talked to you? They think you don’t know anything.”
“If you don’t do well at work, what are you even worth?”

The strange part was realizing how automatic that voice had become. I rarely noticed it. It was just there in the background.

But hearing those words spoken out loud in a movie made it impossible to ignore.

What Criticism Does to Us

Think about the last time someone said something sharply critical to you.

You probably remember the feeling immediately.

Shame.
Embarrassment.
Defensiveness.
A drop in your energy.

When we are criticized harshly, something closes inside us. We feel depleted rather than motivated. Our capacity shrinks.

Yet many of us speak to ourselves in ways we would never speak to another human being.

Physicians are particularly prone to this pattern. Medicine trains us to analyze errors, identify weaknesses, and constantly improve. Those are valuable skills.

But without balance, that mindset can easily turn inward into relentless self-criticism.

The result is not better performance—it’s exhaustion.

Enter Self-Compassion

Self-compassion offers an alternative approach.

Self-compassion is simply the practice of responding to our own challenges with the same kindness and understanding we would offer a colleague or friend. It does not mean lowering standards or ignoring mistakes. Instead, it means acknowledging difficulty without adding unnecessary self-punishment.

Research shows that self-compassion is associated with lower levels of burnout, anxiety, and depression. It strengthens resilience and improves how we recover from stressful experiences—something emergency physicians encounter every shift.

In a field where the stakes are high and perfectionism runs deep, self-compassion can be a powerful protective skill.

Three Small Ways to Practice Self-Compassion

1. Notice your inner voice.
   The first step is simply awareness. Many of us don’t realize how harsh our internal dialogue can be until we pause to listen. Over the next few weeks, notice how you talk to yourself after a difficult case or a mistake. Is the voice supportive—or critical?
2. Talk to yourself the way you would talk to a colleague.
   Imagine a coworker came to you after a challenging shift and said, “I can’t believe I missed that diagnosis.”
   You wouldn’t respond, “Wow, you’re terrible at your job.”
   You would offer perspective, encouragement, and understanding. Try offering yourself the same courtesy.
3. Create a personal compassion practice.
   This can look different for everyone. For me, I sometimes imagine my current self gently holding my overwhelmed self—almost like cradling a baby. It sounds strange when I say it out loud, but it feels authentic and grounding. The important thing is finding something that works for you.

A Question to End With

If a colleague came to you struggling after a difficult shift, how would you speak to them?

Would you shame them?
Call them incompetent?
Tell them they’re not good enough?

Of course not.

You would offer compassion.

Now flip the scenario.

When something goes wrong for you, how do you speak to yourself?

If your answer is anything like mine used to be, we may all have some work to do.

Start by noticing that inner voice. If it sounds a lot like Gwi-Ma—the harsh critic in the movie—pause and question it.

Then try something new. Speak to yourself with the same fairness and kindness you would offer someone else.

It may feel awkward at first. Maybe even a little fake.

But over time, it can become something powerful: a quiet source of resilience in a profession that asks a lot from all of us.

And if you discover your own approach to self-compassion, consider sharing it with colleagues. Conversations like these help create a culture where caring for ourselves is seen as part of caring for others.

Because in emergency medicine, the person behind the physician matters too.