The voice came at 2 a.m., when no one else was awake to argue with it. After my second failed board exam, it had compiled an entire case against me—complete with three names: Failure. Fraud. Fool.

"I just don't have what they're looking for," she whispered. Then I asked her one question that changed everything: "What have you had to figure out on your own that those 'prepared' students never had to learn?"

The rejection letter arrived on a Tuesday. I read the same lines over and over as if the words might rearrange themselves. What I didn't know then was that those rejections were preparing me for something I couldn't yet see.

Before the white coat, before the "Dr." in front of my name—there were rejection letters. Stacks of them. Here's what no one tells you about setbacks: they don't just hurt. They teach. But only if you're willing to pay attention.