A week in psychiatry with Morta Juciūtė

Theme: Week in psychiatry

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In each issue we ask one of our colleagues to write a contribution about the week at their job. Although we are all psychiatrists, our days and conditions vary a lot. It is therefore both interesting and inspiring to read what daily life is like to our colleagues. This time, Morta Juciūtė gladly agreed to describe his work week.

Lately, my mornings have been starting much earlier than they did a few months ago, and it has been a challenge to adjust. I think this change is closely linked to the start of my residency. To make mornings more manageable, I promised myself a small gift - time just for me. I take this quiet moment to get ready slowly, savor my coffee for at least half an hour, and share my plans for the day with my boyfriend. This slow, deliberate start helps me center myself and mentally prepare for the day ahead. I can’t imagine navigating my mornings without it. I always take the bus to work, and living in the old town has its perks - a short walk through the quiet, awakening streets is unexpectedly calming. Despite the intensity of the first few months at work, I rarely wake up unwilling to go to the hospital - unless I’m genuinely feeling lazy. These early hours have become a small, grounding ritual in the midst of a demanding schedule.

Monday

This morning, I pressed the snooze button several times, each time promising myself it would be the last. Yet somehow, each new morning finds me pressing it more and more. A quiet mix of anticipation and anxiety grows in me as I get closer to work - a feeling that has become strangely familiar. On my way there, I meet a colleague and former classmate. We chose this field together, and now walking side by side to work has become our small morning ritual. It usually helps me find a moment of calm before the day begins.

We start with a five-minute breefing, after which those with lighter workloads get to enjoy a cup of coffee. I haven’t had many mornings like that yet - I usually begin by finishing the tasks left over from the previous day. Even at home, it’s hard to fully relax. I keep remembering small things I forgot to do, and those thoughts only make the tension stronger. After our morning rounds - with the doctor, the senior resident, and the two of us in our first year - I spend hours catching up on documentation. It still takes me much longer than I’d like. I often stay past my scheduled hours, which I’ve learned is almost a rite of passage for first-year residents still searching for rhythm and efficiency.

When I finally finish work, I meet my mother - she works in the same department as a psychiatrist. Together, we go to see the progress of the future private clinic. It’s being built in my great-great-grandfathers’ old house. My great-grandparents were doctors too, and years ago the building housed a small trauma clinic. Walking through those rooms now, seeing them come back to life, fills me with a quiet sense of continuity and hope. It’s as if the past and the future meet there - their legacy becoming a foundation for my own path. It gives me perspective and something to look forward to. By 7 p.m., I’m back home (time management has never been my strong side), where my boyfriend is waiting. I cancel my Pilates class - I’m simply too exhausted. We put on The Godfather and sink into the quiet comfort of the evening. Still, the restlessness I bring home from work lingers. I can’t sit still for long, so halfway through the movie, I decide to visit my sister, who lives nearby. Talking to her always helps - she grounds me, supports me, and reminds me how to find joy in small things. Later, I return home again - the second time tonight - around 9:30 p.m. I sit down to write about my day, letting the words settle my thoughts before I finally get ready for bed.

Tuesday

This morning is pretty much like yesterday. I wake up and remind my boyfriend - who is also a first-year surgical resident in the urology department - that he needs to get up for work. He leaves even earlier than I do, so we spend about twenty minutes together in the morning, getting ready side by side.

Today I came to work an hour early (around 7 a.m.) so that I could finish yesterday’s work, which I still haven’t learned to complete during regular hours. On this occasion, I treated myself by driving to work - a great opportunity to meditate and sing a few songs along the way. When I arrive, I finish some paperwork and have a cup of coffee with my colleagues. It’s always nice to hear how things went during their shift.

My mentoring doctor went home after her shift today, so we visit patients on our own. I check on my patients and discharge a couple of them (stressed and sweaty, of course). My colleague offers me some cake - and of course, I can’t resist. Around 10:30 a.m., I sit down to do the most difficult part of my work: writing the medical history, which sometimes takes me an embarrassingly long time. I might have been able to finish my work on time today, but I keep getting distracted because someone is telling an interesting story.

After work, I sit for about an hour in the park next to the clinic with my friends from work, sharing our impressions of the day and laughing a lot. At 3 p.m., I pick up my boyfriend from work and we go to eat together - both of us very hungry, since it’s our first meal of the day, we talk about how the day went. Then I go for a manicure, where my manicurist has become a great friend, and I always look forward to seeing her.

At 5 p.m., I meet my aunt. We go out for dinner together, and I walk her home afterward. We talk about what has happened since we last saw each other (I was pretty much off the face of the earth for about a month after starting my residency), and we share our experiences.

At 9:30 p.m., I return home and end up sitting on the doorstep for half an hour because I forgot my keys and my boyfriend is at football practice. Finally, I get inside and prepare food for my boyfriend, who will be on duty tomorrow - cooking is my language of love. I skip Pilates again and i feel guilty for that, but I choose rest today. I get ready for bed. Before going to sleep, we share our impressions of the day. Today was a good day.

Wednesday

I wake up only with the third alarm. It feels like it’s getting harder to wake up each morning as the week goes on. This time, I see my boyfriend off to his night shift, pack his food, and say goodbye - we won’t see each other until Friday, since I’ll be on duty tomorrow. I arrive at work as usual by bus, which I take every day, and meet my colleague who always waits for me at the bus stop. We talk on the way to work. It feels good to be back in our routine.

The day is shaping up to be quite similar to the others. The morning is a little slower because we’re visiting patients on our own. I have some extra time to read through the documentation and plan my day. My colleague brings coffee from a nearby café, and we spend a few minutes chatting about what we did yesterday. It’s nice to be able to openly share the experiences and emotions we’re all going through so intensely. Sharing these experiences makes me realize, once again, how grateful I am for my colleagues - they’re truly one of the reasons I love this job.

After a five-minute meeting, we’re called for a consultation with the attending physician, followed by our patient visits. It’s always uplifting to see patients getting better and happier - it instantly boosts our mood and gives us a sense of fulfillment. Afterward, we move on to paperwork.

Today, I went out for lunch with my mom. She always asks how I’m doing, and I tell her. I feel lucky to have someone from the same profession who can understand, support, and guide me through these moments. After work, I go home to wait for my friend, who’s also a fellow resident. We plan to bake cinnamon buns and watch a very girly movie. As always, the movie plays in the background while we spend the whole evening talking - about work, our worries, and how we’re coping. We realize that, in one way or another, we feel the same: anxious about our patients, guilty about mistakes, insecure about how much we still don’t know, and sometimes just not good enough. After my friend leaves, I go to bed and mentally prepare for tomorrow. I always feel a bit anxious before my night shifts, even though I try to calm myself down. I turn on a TV series and slowly fall asleep.

Thursday/Friday

Today I am on a 24-hour shift, and I can’t help but feel nervous. I wake up around 5 a.m., take a shower, pack my things, and prepare food. By 7 a.m., I leave for work by car, trying to make things a little easier on myself for tomorrow morning, when I hope to return home quickly after a long, restless night.

The first half of the shift feels familiar. I try to keep up with my tasks, even get a little ahead, knowing that tomorrow my patients will be looked after by another resident. A couple of new patients arrived, adding some extra work, and we know we will discharge them tomorrow if they refuse treatment. My friend, on duty with me until around 7 p.m., was a great support - her presence distracted me from the anxiety of feeling responsible for the entire ward. Even though three of us are technically on duty - one resident in the ward, one handling external consultations, and a senior doctor - it often feels like everything is on my shoulders alone. Each situation seems impossible to control. During the shift, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed, like every decision rests entirely on me.

Until 9 p.m., things remain relatively calm. We chat with the senior resident, eat, and calmly work through paperwork. Later, several new patients are admitted. At 2 a.m., we needed to call the anesthesiologist for a patient whose blood pressure had dropped significantly. She was angry and frustrated that we had summoned help in the middle of the night. It was a tense moment, but we followed the guidelines and made sound decisions - and looking back, I feel relieved that we managed the situation appropriately. But at that moment, I forced myself not to blame myself, yet the tone of disparagement made me feel insignificant. Earlier in my experience, I never felt this kind of stigma from colleagues in other specialties. This time, however, I felt undervalued - even though I graduated from the same medical school, I wasn’t regarded as equal.

By around 2:30 a.m., the work is done, and I rest until 5:40 a.m. Getting up is brutal - I even open the window for a splash of cold air. Then come the last rounds for patients under observation and final status reports. After the shift, I linger at work for about an hour. Not to continue working - no one allows that - but to share impressions with colleagues over coffee. I leave for home around 10 a.m. and grab a short nap before my Pilates class at 1 p.m. Having procrastinated all week, my classes were pushed to the end, making the morning even harder, but I never regret it; the class always leaves me energized. My gym sits across from McDonald’s, so naturally I stop to buy breakfast for me and my boyfriend- which, for me, is more like a late lunch at 3 p.m. We eat in front of the TV, talking about work, sharing both frustrations and small victories. At 5 p.m., we speak with the wedding planner. The call goes well, and we feel thrilled that everything is moving forward.

At 9 p.m., we visit my parents’ house to celebrate my grandmother’s birthday. The family is there, along with her friends. It’s a warm, lively gathering that fills me with quiet joy. By 11 p.m., exhausted, we return home and finally go to bed.

Saturday/Sunday

Weekends are my chance to pause, recharge, and reconnect. After a hectic week at work, I appreciate the slower mornings, the opportunity to exercise without crowds at the gym, and the small tasks at home that help me regain a sense of order. Spending time with family, whether at church, over coffee, or during meals, reminds me how important these connections are, especially when the weekdays leave little room for them. I also treasure moments with friends - celebrating birthdays, sharing laughs, or just talking about life - as they bring joy and perspective to my routine. Even simple activities, like watching my boyfriend’s soccer game or tidying the house, become small anchors that ground me and help me process the week. By Sunday evening, I usually feel a mixture of exhaustion and contentment, grateful for the rest, connection, and the little pleasures that prepare me for the week ahead. □