The Woman Who Redefined Strength for Me

This post isn’t meant to compare professions or belittle any - it’s simply an expression of deep respect.

Growing up, my parents - especially my mother - dreamt of seeing “Dr.” before my name. But I crushed that dream and walked a different path, chasing lines of code instead of heartbeats. Back then, the idea of becoming a doctor felt like nothing more than a subject choice - biology versus math. I never understood what being a doctor really meant.

Fast forward to this week. Unfortunately, my cousin brother got admitted to a government hospital, and I was assigned to stay with him during the night shift - something I can easily pull off, thanks to my training in debugging production issues at ungodly hours.

But those nights became something much more than just hospital duty.

Somewhere between the sound of beeping monitors and the faint smell of antiseptic, I noticed her - a woman doctor. Why mention her gender? Because in a world that proudly claims equality, genuine respect for women still struggles to exist in our everyday tone, jokes, and mindsets.

And yet, here she was - unbothered by the world’s judgments, draped not in designer clothes but in a lab coat that probably hadn’t seen Diwali lights in years.

It was Diwali night - a festival of joy, rest, and celebration. While people outside burst crackers and shared sweets, she was moving briskly through the ward - soothing, treating, consoling, commanding. Her eyes were tired, but her spirit wasn’t.

I watched her handle chaos that would break most of us. Patients shouting, some crying for help, others cursing her out of pain or panic - and she never flinched. She answered every plea, every taunt, every tear, with the same calm authority.

And that’s when it hit me - this is what strength really looks like.

Not loud. Not glamorous. But quiet, steady, and relentless.

I’ve always heard about how tough medical studies are - endless books, sleepless nights, the grind of MBBS and MD. But nothing compares to living it. Watching her that night made me realize: doctors don’t just heal bodies, they absorb pain that isn’t theirs, and still show up again the next day as if nothing broke inside them.

I saw her hug a crying patient. I saw her whisper comfort to a man in pain. I saw her quietly walk away from a bed that had just lost its battle. And she didn’t crumble. She simply took a breath and moved to the next one.

From ten feet away, I felt my heart sink. She, meanwhile, stood unshaken - the embodiment of grace under fire.

People often say, “Doctors ko farak nahi padta, unka roz ka hai.” But that’s such a lie. Maybe they learn to carry the pain, but it never stops touching them. You can see it in their eyes - a hint of ache behind the practiced calm.

As an engineer, my victories are small - releasing a feature, closing a bug, fixing something digital. But this woman, and thousands like her, fight real battles every single day. Their “production issues” are lives. Their errors are human hearts.

Two nights in that hospital changed something in me. Watching her was like watching a superhuman disguised as ordinary - tired eyes, quiet face, steady hands.

She made me realize that the true essence of work isn’t in achieving, but in serving.

That strength isn’t about how much you can carry - it’s about how much pain you can witness and still stay kind.

So, to that woman doctor - whoever you are - thank you for redefining strength for me.