Thanksgiving, Grace, and the Quiet Work of Training Physicians
There’s something about this time of year that slows us down; at least in theory.
In reality, hospitals don’t close for the holidays.
Patients still need care.
Residents still take call.
Fellow still round.
And many of the people who keep medical education running- administrators, coordinators, nurses, techs are quietly holding everything together while the rest of the world posts pictures of tablescapes and family gatherings.
Thanksgiving looks different inside a hospital.
Some residents may not celebrate the holiday at all.
Some are far from home, far from family, or navigating complicated feelings about the season.
And yet, the theme of this time- coming together, giving thanks, extending grace- still finds its way into the hallways, call rooms, and workrooms where people show up for each other every day.
The Kind of Gratitude We Don’t Post About
In medical education, gratitude often shows up in small, unphotographed ways:
A senior resident quietly staying a little later so an intern can leave on time.
An attending taking an extra few minutes to teach, even at the end of a long clinic.
A coordinator making sure holiday schedules are as fair as possible and absorbing the frustration when they can’t be perfect.
A colleague covering a shift so someone else can make it to a family dinner, a child’s recital, or simply a night of rest.
These moment rarely make it into a formal evaluations or annual reports.
But they are the invisible infrastructures of grace that holds training programs together.
Grace for Residents
For residents and fellows, this season can feel like a study in contrasts:
You’re expected to be present with patients who may be spending their holiday in a hospital bed, while your own life outside the hospital feels paused or distant.
So if you are a trainee working this week, this is for you:
You are allowed to feel grateful and exhausted.
You are allowed to miss home, even if you chose this path.
You are allowed to wish things were different, even as you care deeply about your patients.
Grace looks like letting yourself be human in a profession that often expects you to be more than that.
Grace for Leaders
For program directors, faculty, and GME leaders, this season is also an invitation:
To ask not only “Is the schedule covered?” but “How are my people really doing?
To recognize that the holidays can amplify grief, loneliness, or burnout.
To acknowledge the staff and administrators who make it possible for programs to function while others are away.
Sometimes leadership is a policy or a major initiative.
Sometimes it’s a quiet check-in:
”How are you holding up?”
”What do you need this week?”
Thanksgiving in medical education is less about grand gestures and more about small, intentional acts of care.
Grace for Ourselves
This season can also invite reflection:
What am I grateful for in this moment, even if everything isn’t how I imagined?
Where can I extend grace to myself, to my team, to my institution?
How can we make space, even briefly, to honor the people who keep showing up?
In a field that measures so much, RVU’s, duty hours, milestones; it’s easy to overlook the things that can’t be quantified: kindness, patience, generosity, presence.
And yet, those are often the things people remember most.
A Thanksgiving Wish for Medical Education
My hope for this season is simple:
That residents who are working feel seen.
That faculty remember the privilege of teaching and being trusted.
That administrators, often behind the scenes, feel appreciated.
That leaders take a breath, not just to plan the next initiative, but to recognize the people who make the work possible.
Most of all, that we give each other and ourselves a little more grace.
Because even when the holiday doesn’t look traditional, the heart of it remains:
We are here.
We are together.
And for that, in all it’s complexity, there is something to be thankful for.