Right after a storm, I would run outside. Whether it was the air or the fresh blanket of snow, it always felt magical or new. But as beautiful as it is, the snow starts to melt. And you're suddenly standing in dirty slush, frozen and unable to feel anything at all. But after enough time, even that disappears. The ground thaws, days get longer, and though you could never imagine it, you start to feel again. It surprises me every time.

When I was a kid, I would wake up every morning in the winter and immediately open the curtains to see if it was snowing. And it usually was. It was Boston. Schools would close. People would hunker down, light candles, and eat everything in the refrigerator. Everyone loves a snow day. Except for one person. My mother. She always said the same thing: "Meredith, surgeons don't get snow days." She was right. We don't.

It doesn't. It's a lie. A lie that both comforts and destroys us. A survey showed the typical adult says "I'm fine" 14 times a week. But less than one in five of them means it. Our default is to put on a brave face. But sometimes it's braver to admit something's wrong. Because pretending everything's fine eventually catches up to you. And when it does, you better hope you can repair the damage that's already done.