Every college student is familiar with the feeling of working against burnout. In the last half of the semester, you just have to study a little longer, a little harder, a little more until you reach summer break. A professor of mine once compared it to a train moving at full speed: if you don’t keep going, you’ll fall off the train, and it’ll be really difficult to catch it and hop on again. For me, it’s like the engine is working overtime and making the train progressively hotter. I know once we get to the train station, the air conditioning will relieve me, and I’ll feel much better having reached my destination. But I also know the breeze outside would be incredibly refreshing, so the thought of hopping off early is tempting.

I was expecting the same academic burnout when I started graduate school for genetic counseling. I was also aware that emotional burnout is something genetic counselors face. However, there were two factors I wasn’t quite prepared for: first, that triggers of emotional burnout can be unique to you based on your past experiences, and second, that a GC career doesn’t have extended breaks to cope with burnout like college does. Without "train stations" during our sweltering journey, GCs must monitor our temperature regularly, and also find creative, individualized ways to knock it down.

Like most, my perspective of healthcare is molded by my past. I’m a Latina who grew up knowing as many Latinos as I could count on my fingers, so I know how powerful it is to have someone who can relate to you in your corner. In addition, my grandmother struggled with chronic illnesses her entire life, and my mother, her caretaker, carries that experience with her. I was taught that doctors don’t ever listen unless you really make them, and that we should avoid them as long as possible and do our own research to avoid getting tricked into harmful, ineffective treatments and exorbitant bills. All of this is to say that, during health scares, we felt utterly alone.

I became a genetic counselor with the goal of combating that feeling for others, so everyone can benefit from quality care. Now, I get to take time to talk things through, put control back in a patient’s hands, and be the friendly face they need during that terrifying moment. I am so grateful to make that slight difference. 

However, it also means witnessing traumas I can’t fix — and lamenting as our government makes things worse.

I strive to work at sites that prioritize equitable care for underserved populations. Still, I remember that the patients I see are the ones with the right referrals or financial supports to get an appointment. I relish being able to catch a diagnosis before it manifests, but I mourn the horror stories of being dismissed or mistreated for years. I see how genetics lacks data to properly care for minority populations, and though we work to close that research gap, the funding continues to get slimmer. And I grieve knowing that higher education is financially unattainable for many diverse individuals who would enter this field, and that DEI bans and graduate loan caps will only make that struggle more difficult. For me, these issues increase the temperature, making it harder to avoid burnout.

Perhaps the most valuable things I’m learning in my graduate program are the ways I can counteract that burnout heat. Personally, engaging in different forms of outreach is critical in combating my burnout. For example, I volunteer at a hereditary cancer awareness table run by Penn Medicine’s Basser Center for BRCA. We do impactful outreach at community health events by sharing genetic testing information with people who may never have heard it otherwise and by providing tailored resources for Black and Latina women, who are disproportionately affected by breast cancer. Above all, we provide a safe space to talk to Basser staff and volunteers about the importance of family history and cancer risk, without cost or obligations.

I also crafted my thesis project to engage directly with people affected by genetic conditions. We conduct focus groups with adults with sickle cell disease to understand their perspectives on gene therapy. We also provide information about gene therapy, then hear what unfulfilled needs the sickle cell community has for decision-making about the treatments. I am inspired by the belief that publishing these findings will make a difference for these patients and encourage additional outreach. 

These are the passion projects that cool down my graduate school burnout — my stash of ice packs, fans and popsicles to weather the heat — but there’s plenty more to do. For example, I am grateful to the Basser Center for the scholarship that made it possible for me to learn; therefore, I want to both pay it forward and combat structural oppression by participating in development of GC education grants and scholarships for diverse individuals from low-income backgrounds. This is something I maintain should be a priority for GC graduate programs and professional societies alike. I would love to hear from anyone working on this.

If my story resonates with you, I encourage you to find your own meaningful activities by joining — or launching — outreach efforts in the area you’re most passionate about. And please, reach out to tell me how you’re doing this! My GC class of 17 brilliant, kind and supportive people has taught me that, though our burnout triggers aren’t always the same, community is always helpful. 
I’m thrilled to keep this train moving forward together, as a profession — and to help each other keep cool along the way.

Photo by Charles Forerunner on Unsplash

Isabella G. Brown, she/her

Isabella G. Brown is a second-year master's student in genetic counseling at the Perelman School of Medicine at the University of Pennsylvania and a recipient of the Penn Medicine Basser Center for BRCA Genetic Counseling Scholarship. She earned her bachelor's degree from Northwestern University, where she studied biological sciences with a focus in molecular genetics and genomics and English creative writing with a focus in poetry.