Let Them. Let Me.

If you’re in academic medicine, it’s an uncertain time. The proposed NIH funding cuts could remodel our profession as we know it. I sincerely hope those cuts don’t come to fruition—that the current C-suite number-crunching turns out to be a fire drill and that our professional lives pick up where they left off just a few months ago.

But hope without action is rarely a winning strategy. Contingency plans are necessary.

I had just finished Mel Robbins’ new book, The Let Them Theory, when my institution began crafting its response to the looming NIH cuts. The central idea of “The Let Them Theory” (or just “The Theory,” as Mel calls it) is this: we cannot control other people, no matter how hard we try, no matter how noble our intentions. And when we do try, frustration is the best outcome. At worst? Destruction—of our self-confidence, our sense of security, our trajectory, our relationships.

Most of the book zooms in on one particular subset of this dynamic: letting people think what they will about us. Because living in constant fear of others’ opinions keeps us stuck. It shrinks our lives. It keeps us endlessly auditioning for approval that may never come.

Take this example: I’m considering applying for a job but worry what others might think. What if they think I’m not smart enough? That I’ll fail? That I’m too big for my britches for even trying?

Those thoughts could stop me before I start. But what if I said, “Let them”?

Let them think I’m not smart enough.
Let them think I’ll fail.
Let them think I’m too big for my britches.

Then comes the second half of The Theory: Let me.

Let me be brave and apply.
Let me surprise myself.
Let me be too big for my britches—for once, let me try on some bigger britches and see just how flattering they are.

“Let them” frees me from the impossible responsibility of managing other people’s opinions. “Let me” invites me to live a life aligned with my own values and goals.

So why is this mindset helpful now, as the only profession I’ve ever known shifts into something unrecognizable?

The U.S. government may cut NIH funding.
Let them.
Let me sign petitions, attend protests, and support my friends whose research has stalled.

My institution may increase our clinical load to make up for the lost dollars.
Let them.
Let me decide whether I can take that on. And if I can’t, let me determine what non-clinical responsibilities I need to release.

My institution may decide that the clinician-educator track is no longer sustainable, transitioning us all to the full clinician track.
Let them.
Let me decide if that’s a dealbreaker. Let me reflect on how vital the educator part of me is. Let me evaluate how much joy I get from national and international academic work. Let me ask whether this institution—this version of academic medicine—is still the right place for me.

Let them.
Let me.

It almost becomes a kind of meditation.
Breathe in: let them.
Breathe out: let me.
Opt out of the chaos.
Opt into yourself.