Fightmaster MD Audio

I do it for those haunted by a daring dream, who believe there’s more to life than making money and building a reputation.

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But to really seize that chance, I've learned you how to earn your wants. 

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One year ago today, I began. It wasn’t this website, but it was something, anything. I had to do something.

Tired of the charade and sick of waiting, life or death hinged on March 20th, 2022’s actions. Dramatic? Certainly. Necessary? Beyond.  

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Life was war these last eight years. Acceptance to medical school, grinding through exams, and graduating from residency were all proxy conflicts; the true battle pitted me against fear. The territory in question was wholeness.

When I resigned from medicine, I figured the war would be over, that fear would surrender and providence would be mine.

How mistaken I was. 

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My life during medical school and residency paralleled Santa Barbara’s 2023 forecast; I expected rain, got used to rain, and if it weren’t for a previous season, I may have accepted an overcast fate.

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ABOUT RYAN FIGHTMASTER: I'm a board-certified psychiatrist that left medicine in the fall of 2022 to build a life I love and want. I write, surf, and refurbish furniture because... it's what I enjoy. I share my journey at FightmasterMD.com.

I graduated medical school at the University of Oklahoma and psychiatry residency at the University of California, Irvine. I previously worked for HealthCorps, where I built a health program for high school students and appeared on the Dr. Oz show.

CONTACT: You can get in touch with me via Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/fight_the_md/

Can’t say I gamble much though, I prescribe to the don’t gamble anything you can’t afford to lose mantra. I’ve dabbled at tables and slots, but I’m too left-brained to ignore the odds. I love sports too much to bet on it, seems a sac religious act. Still, gambling is a story I get—stakes and pots, calls and folds, all-in’s and gone busts—because once upon a time, I refused to go all-in and still went bust.

“That Ryan Fightmaster, he’s such a nice kid.”

“That Dr. Fightmaster, he’s just so nice.”

I built my life upon these comments. I sung a tune targeting those praises. Being the nice guy was my compass, goalpost, and doctrine, until it almost cost me... me.

I made it 28 years before my first depression. It was a good run.

Darkness descended spring semester of my third year of medical school, the hardest year by my count.

Timing-wise, it was paradoxical. I had just aced our first board exam (Step 1)—scoring in the 90th percentile—meaning I had a chance at landing a residency coast to coast. My grades were beaming, recording more honors designations than not. During the fall, I’d even appeared on the Dr. Oz show discussing teen mental health based on my work in HealthCorps. I was “on my way”.

None of that held sway internally, where a divergent narrative took shape: I was losing who I was.

The current of my life outside the ocean was a different force.

I used to yawn all… the… time. I needed a perpetual nap. I hated getting up early. One missed night of sleep threw my existence into disorder. The current was strong.  

For most of med school and residency, my life was tinted with a begrudging tone. Just to be okay every day, to fight that current of medicine and get back to my spot, it required relentless battling. At first surmountable, I could refill the tank on the mountain bike trail or a weekend of camping, but as the stake got higher and higher, I couldn’t paddle anymore and got pushed where it cared take me. If you’re looking for a recipe for depression or a mid-life crisis, look no further.  

This one’s more of a journal entry—not a knowing but a figuring—because the truth is this: I don’t know what’s next.