Heart knowing

Yes, I have prayed... pleaded with the highest power, "Please make me a vessel of healing, please make me a doctor." The words fell from my lips countless times, a mantra I believed defined my purpose.

But I also remember crying my eyes out to my dad right before college admissions, pleading with him, saying 

"I know it's what I've always wanted, but I don't think so anymore..." 

Deep within, something felt wrong – an intuitive knowing I couldn't ignore but couldn't fully understand either.

Now I know with certainty – it's wrong for me. Yes, being in the clinic brings a kind of life, a sense of purpose and meaning. But part of me remains dormant, a sleeping giant that would never be resuscitated unless I fulfill my soul's true calling.

Yes, I would be a brilliant doctor. This isn't pride speaking – it's a bone-deep knowing, an acknowledgment of capability. But it would just be living; I won't be ALIVE. The distinction is subtle yet profound, like the difference between existing and thriving, between surviving and blossoming.

For me, what would make me truly alive is having my own family... caring for souls made from my own being and doing so with boundless love, without expecting anything in return – except perhaps a loving father for them, someone who makes us feel safe while we, in turn, make him feel fulfilled through our care and appreciation of his protection.