If I’m honest, controlling my temper was never something that came naturally. Not at the beginning. Not even halfway through my career. It has taken years, decades, really, to understand that the person I most needed to operate on wasn’t the patient on the table, but myself.
People often assume that the higher you climb, Consultant, Professor, whatever title gets attached to your name, the calmer and wiser you automatically become. You don’t. You learn. And you relearn. Usually, by getting it wrong a few times before you get it right.
The Early Years: All Heat, No Shape
When I was younger, I mistook intensity for dedication. A sharp tone meant I cared. A flare of frustration meant high standards. A raised voice meant urgency.
But if I’m honest, I was reacting.
Not thinking, reacting.
Whenever someone challenged me, questioned me, or simply got under my skin, I’d meet fire with fire. I thought that was strength. In reality it was just energy without direction.
Looking back, those moments didn’t achieve anything except exhaustion, for me, and everyone around me.
The Middle Years: When the Edges Start to Change?
Somewhere along the line, not in a single moment, but slowly, I realised something important: being provoked is inevitable. Baiting happens. Tension happens. Irritation is part of life, part of medicine, part of leadership.
Anger doesn’t disappear with experience.
It doesn’t fade with seniority.
It doesn’t vanish because you’ve matured.
It still rises.
It still hits the chest with a sense of pressure before a storm.
But what changed was how I handled it.
Where I Am Now: Not Anger-Free, But Anger-Directed
I haven’t conquered anger. I’m not Zen. I’m not immune. I’m still human, and humans have reactions.
But now I channel it.
Rather than hitting back, I divert the surge.
Like a flood channel built into a river system, the force still arrives, but I’ve carved a path for it to travel through, instead of letting it spill everywhere.
The anger still rises.
It just no longer dictates the outcome.
That subtle, invisible shift has made all the difference.
For me.
For my team.
For the juniors watching to see what “normal” behaviour looks like in high-stakes medicine.
So, What Must Be Done?
These aren’t abstract principles. They’re things I had to grow into.
1. Slow the moment down
Anger accelerates everything. Calm slows it. And clarity only exists at slow speeds.
2. Recognise the surge early
I can feel the flicker of irritation before it becomes flame. That’s when I divert it. Not later.
3. Respond with intention, not instinct
Instinct wants to react.
Intention wants to understand.
4. Let silence do some of the work
A pause is often more powerful than any confrontation. It unsettles the bait without escalating it.
5. Don’t match someone’s heat
If the room gets hot, I make myself colder. It steadies both sides.
6. Keep the bigger picture in mind
The goal is always the outcome, not the argument.
7. Protect your professionalism
Not for image, for self-respect.
8. Accept that anger is a signal, not a command
You don’t have to obey the feeling. You just have to acknowledge it and guide it somewhere useful.
The Version of Myself Now
I’m not flawless. I’m not emotionless.
But I’m steadier.
I understand now that being baited doesn’t mean I have to bite.
Feeling anger doesn’t mean I must express it.
And rising tension doesn’t mean I need to rise with it.
I channel.
I focus.
I steer the force rather than letting it steer me.
It’s better for my well-being.
Better for the people around me.
And, I hope, sets a better example for those finding their own balance in this profession.
Because keeping a level head isn’t about suppressing who you are, it’s about discovering who you want to be.