In 2017, only two years into my nursing career, I wanted to quit. I'd undergone multiple losses of loved ones, either to an aggressive terminal illness or to terminated relationships that no longer served a higher purpose. I walked away from 11 jobs that year alone. I couldn’t keep up with such intense professional and personal loss. So, I let it all fall apart because I needed to heal. This deep dive, which lasted about 9 months, led to a different way of journaling. I was driven to write my thoughts, feelings, and experiences daily, in moments that demanded to be instantly recorded on paper, like a fingerprint. I also dedicated three to four hours a day to my yoga, breathwork, and meditation practice. Hot yoga, Hatha yoga, Restorative yoga, Vinyasa yoga, Yoga Nidra. I engaged in this practice with the determination to discover where the answers that were within me actually resided. And I was going to find them and bring them into my physical reality one by one, like a mother brings her children into being. It was birthing. It was intentional. And it was painful. This method of unpacking brought to light not only the reasons for my suffering but also a roadmap that would show me the way out. This page is dedicated to sharing these moments, hoping they will bring some light to anyone experiencing the dark tunnel. This compilation was once part of a book I’d published, but I've retracted it to share it in a way that invites dialogue and provides access to anyone who would benefit from reading it.
Protect Your Passion for Healing
One unforgettable character I came across during my nursing program was a blond, thin-framed, petite elderly woman who wore prescription Jackie-O-style glasses. She was fashionable. Always wore a scarf or shawl. Loved to dress in brown and purple. And had the wittiest approach to her profession, stating that retirement would occur the day she was carried away on life support. From that day on, I became determined to find my niche in nursing that would make me feel that way. I also want to work until I am carried away on life support. I just want to be happy and fulfilled while doing it. She taught mental and behavioral health. She was near or in her 8th decade of life, and had been a nurse all her life, it seemed. I completed her clinical rotation with an expanded vision of what it takes to be a good nurse, and this included my personal fulfillment.
Somewhere along the line, years later, I found myself fighting to keep this sense of fulfilment, as it also became increasingly hard to see in the other nurses I worked with. It is a sad transition to watch. The exact moment this shift takes place seems to evade us all. But we see it coming. As we feel reluctance toward the mere idea of work, a sense of guilt kicks in, redirecting us back to our duty. But nursing isn’t a duty. Nursing is a calling. Nursing school isn’t only a rigorous, back-breaking, bone-shattering, heart-sinking trek that makes us dig deep inside to find courage and determination. Nursing school is a test to see just how badly we want to become nurses. It is made this difficult purposely. Do we fight our way till the end of the program, continue studying like maniacs to pass the boards, work diligently for some years, only to give up? At which point do we abandon ourselves, allowing injuries and disease to take over our minds and bodies? And why do we choose to allow this to happen to us?
There is a desensitization that takes place when we no longer feel that dignified pull to serve. It evolves and spreads like cancer, at times even going into remission, only to show up again with its ugly horns. We feel this conscious numbing alongside bouts of exhaustion, hopelessness, and disillusionment. We look at the overwhelming needs of others, and whisper sullenly, “What about me?” Nursing school also teaches us to forget about ourselves. We learned to turn off the self-care switch to pass exams, perform in clinicals, and meet every single deadline. Years later, as we find ourselves once again raging against the illogical demands of this profession, repeatedly defaulting to student-nurse mode, slipping into a permanent state of survival, we eventually stop asking, “What about me?”
Under these circumstances, “working until carried out on life support” takes on a dark and hopeless meaning. I encourage nurses to ask the following question during an interview: “How will this establishment support my passion for healing?” It will be very interesting to hear the response.
Be Heard and Hear Others
In July 2015, I felt accomplished, needed, and thrilled to have secured employment as a new nurse. I hadn’t even taken the Boards yet. During nursing school, a professor warned that it would be months before we could find jobs. This began my venture into the new and demanding role of community nursing. Orientation was thorough. Nurse educators were doing their best to implement a new training program. Their DON was new. The philosophy of implementing a form of preceptorship was a wonderful idea. At least in theory. However, this facility was highly understaffed. Training was more than an opportunity to learn my job. Training was the circumstance that allowed me to see the myriad of problems that keep new nurses out of Primary Care. My Graduate Nurse bubble was burst. Medical Assistants were the essential ones. They worked side by side with the MDs, while Nurses oversaw the periphery of the battle zone. My mind blanks out as I attempt to process the circumstances that made me realize that I, in essence, was not as essential as an MA. The power struggles that emanated from this unbalanced show of desperate acrobatics became intolerable. Two months into this role, I found myself lured into a new, unknown aspect of healthcare. But not without first shedding light on the issues that drove me there.
Sourly, I wrote my list of issues to the HR department. I wondered why a group of Caucasian middle-aged men was running an organization that served an impoverished and predominantly Latino immigrant population. What could they possibly know about my people? What solutions could they implement to help my elders live their golden years with a better outlook and a higher quality of life? They most likely traveled to the Caribbean, visited the resorts, drank the native beer, and swam on the beaches. But did they know my people? Not being in a position to confirm their suspected Capitalistic-driven shadiness generated within me a fury and disgust that traveled deep into my bone marrow. I felt my people were being exploited. I felt nurses were being exploited. And I was right. Some expressed it. Others were oblivious.
During my short stay, this environment felt useless and mind-numbing. Conversations with my patients were redundant. They were noncompliant with their medication regimen. They traveled to their country of origin for months at a time, returning only when they needed medication. Which didn’t make sense, because they weren’t compliant anyway. They professed feeling fine while being away. Their stories were, deliberately, never complete. These were not poor historians or confabulators. I could not bypass the superficiality of Primary Care while working in a community healthcare center. I was eager to move on into deeper waters. I wanted to know their complete stories. I needed to take on a role that would place me in the homes of those I wanted to serve. I felt I could get to the bottom of things by accessing their home environment. I would also build trusting relationships this way. Trust was a predominant issue in Primary Care. Staff turnover made communication hectic and unstable. Elderly clients needed more time and consistency. New and seasoned nurses alike tried to juggle hurried patient education with conversations that required specific levels of courtesy, respect, and time for the elderly brain to process information. Ultimately, acknowledging and addressing the need for time, which simply was not available in this setting.
Looking back at my childhood, spending my winter and summer breaks in the Dominican Republic was not only a way to keep me busy and out of the city, but also a means to expose me to a different way of life. Unlike the rushed, time-focused lifestyle of a New York City dweller, life in DR was slow and allowed for real human interaction. Relationships are strengthened through meaningful conversations that honor those involved. Elders speak with a purposeful, patient manner when sharing their wisdom. As nurses, we need to communicate in meaningful ways that build relationships. Our elders are our living ancestors. We will all be elders in our communities one day. With this said, someday we will also be the ancestors of our younger generations. This should help us remember that we must live our lives knowing that our words and actions should be honorable, so that they may be called upon to heal future generations. Giving ourselves the time to be fully heard and understood is crucial to healing ourselves and others.
Serve with Reverence
Fall of 2015. I’d never heard of Adult Foster Care nursing. The web is cluttered with so many job postings, I honestly have no recollection of ever applying for this job. However, after speaking with this particular hiring manager, it was a no-brainer. I will always remember her response when I told her what I was earning at my job at that time. In her Vietnamese accent, she exclaimed, “WHAAAT????!!” Needless to say, the pay intrigued me, and the added responsibilities soothed the broken ego I’d earned during my experience in Primary Care. The conversation did not evolve around my years of nursing experience. She simply stated plans to expand the organization and serve a larger portion of the Spanish-speaking community. Adult Foster Care nursing, I felt, was the answer. I would travel to my client’s homes, spend time with them, fix them all, one by one. Knowing that I would work side by side with a Vietnamese-speaking case manager made it that much more alluring.
I was paired with a very spiritual and humble Buddhist man. He pulled in resources for our clients like magic. We worked well together. He spoke fluent, proper Vietnamese, scheduled the home visits, and maintained the right amount of flexibility to prevent us from becoming exhausted. We served a vast Vietnamese population while awaiting the anticipated influx of Hispanic clients. Six months in, they never came. As time passed, the language barrier became an issue when my sidekick wasn’t present, or when clients felt threatened by my presence. Although fraud is a common issue in this type of service, we found it in only a handful of cases, which my director and I immediately discharged. News travels fast in this community, and that clarified why some felt anxious in my presence. The main issue was assigning trustworthy and consistent RNs and Caseworkers. Clients repeatedly claimed that they needed staff consistency. Without it, trust could not grow.
When I met them for the first time, they always asked whether I would be their permanent nurse or just filling in. I tried to offer them as much ease as possible when I expressed my commitment to them and their families. They also needed to feel respected. Entering these homes required a certain degree of reverence. Never entering with shoes on, even when they encouraged us to keep our shoes on. The offer to keep my shoes on always made me feel as if I was being tested. Shoes always came off at the entrance door, always with reverence.
These visits were held monthly. Connecting with these families felt very natural. We spoke about the benefits of meditation, prayer, breathwork, and mindful living. These conversations were effective with this population. They always responded with positivity. I was told repeatedly, and in more ways than one, that I had the heart of the goddess. (Whom I’d like to believe to be Kuan Yin – the goddess of mercy and compassion). I was heartbroken during my final home visits. I’d grown to love these families. And they knew and felt it. This experience taught me that Love transcends language, culture, and race. It never took these families long to open up to me. They sensed my sincere and pure heart. They knew I saw their pain.
Most suffered silently from PTSD induced by childhood trauma endured in their country of origin. It took an average of two home visits before they began to open up to me. Stories about child labor, famine, war, and lost family members filled our time together. Talking about these experiences brought about a sense of healing for us all. Learning about their fears and concerns made my work meaningful and rewarding. Over time, these home visits became small family visits. My coworker and I became a small extension of their family. Gifts of jade, silk, knitted scarves, pastries, tea, and soup filled my days. My biggest rewards were the expressions of trust and comfort they openly shared, their hugs and words of gratitude spoken in broken English, particularly the day I visited to say goodbye.
Having a work partner who was also spiritual made all the difference. We worked exceptionally well together because we shared many of the same life values. I do not identify as Buddhist, but I do practice rituals that help me cultivate a sense of tranquility, grounding, and mindfulness. I am grateful for having had this experience. I was able to successfully practice Cultural Sensitivity firsthand.
Bringing a peaceful spirit into a patient’s world is a healing benefit in itself. For the Healer, this facilitates a clear mind, a relaxed demeanor, the ability to be fully present and truly listen. My takeaway from working with the Vietnamese population and having to rely on someone for interpretation was the need for me to prepare myself emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually before starting my day. At worst, when time was scarce, I would meditate in my car during my drive to their homes. Some mornings, I played gospel or kirtan loudly in my car, creating a joyful energy vibration that knocked on their front doors long before I arrived. Energetic frequency speaks louder than the language of the tongue. They became accustomed to receiving this positive energy generated by song and meditation. The fact that their nurse was a black Hispanic woman with dreadlocks who did not speak their language no longer mattered. They saw the healer.
I encourage nurses to engage in spiritual or soothing practices that open their hearts and raise their energetic vibrations. This way, not only can we offer stronger healing energy to our clients, but we can also create energetic fields that heal us. This is an energy that flows through us; an energy we can harness, carry forth, and share with others. This energy is never depleted. Its source is infinite. Our ability to tap into it is innate and natural, requiring little effort. We need to feel comfortable with this part of ourselves. All the science we have to master to become nurses merely complements the information we already have within us. We are born with this sense of knowing. We all have a magical part of us that is fully present and alive as children. I feel it is perfectly fine to share that magic with our patients and each other. Dare to be bold and mix your own special magic with your good medicine. The world needs it.
Honor Your Integrity
Falling out of love with healthcare was not my goal, but I came very close to it during one experience as a Care Manager. How devastating it was to figure out that the very people I wanted so eagerly to care for and help were conspiring against me and every ounce of hope I had for them. This spell was broken quickly and aggressively. Healthcare did not break my heart. My clients did. It wasn’t long before I would find a way out.
To tell you the truth about what really happened. I didn’t want to devote myself to this extent anymore. This experience marked my initial departure from nursing, with one home visit and one job interview at a time. What I’ve learned about myself during this time is that I have an insatiable desire to live with integrity in every aspect of my life. During this journey, I’ve met nurses who appear to have given up. A few remain hopeful. But most seem to be stuck in jobs they are not satisfied with, with no hope of ever getting out! With all the options that exist, I cannot understand why they don’t explore. In most cases, they are undercompensated. Could they possibly believe they don’t deserve better?
The transformation I underwent to finally believe, and not just understand, that I deserved to be fulfilled in my role as a nurse, required losing myself and the romantic relationship I was in at the time. I walked away from this relationship after I realized I had walked away from my true self. In the process of developing myself professionally, I screwed up. I made my professional role the center of my being. This was a huge mistake. My ego was being fed with lies and a new form of greed. My word lost its value. Simple as it may sound, I just wasn’t happy with myself or the life I was living. Something had to give. So, I gave up the job and the man.
Broken-hearted and spiritually shrunken, I returned to my roots. I dug myself deep inside the soil that truly nourished me. Nine months later, I am well again. I stand strong in my truth and know, deep in my core, that I am genuinely and unconditionally loved. Down to the marrow of my bones, I am loved. Through every tissue, cell, and molecule, I am loved. This was a rebirthing process. Walking in nature. Meditating for hours. Sleeping long hours to cure my mental, physical, and spiritual exhaustion. Praying through the nights when sleep evaded me. Rediscovering a childlike love for God’s creations and the simple things of life. Developing a yoga practice that was physically agonizing in the beginning, to resurface stronger and purer than I have ever been. As in my childhood, I am once again feeling the love and energy that emanate from the moon, the sun, the rain, the forest, birdsongs, and the waters.
All of these experiences have brought me to a place of true, sometimes giddy self-love. Today, I live from a heart that sings and connects and loves unconditionally, closely, and from a distance. I write today because I know that I AM Love. And I choose to share this love through my work and my writing. This is the gift I leave for others to make their own.
Nurses are a gift to the world. Our hands illuminate hope. Nurses light the path the sick follow to get better, accept their circumstances, and leave this Earth with peace. Simple as that. We make holistic roads to recovery, comfort, and transition, real and tangible and accessible. May we always remember that what we do makes way for faith and miracles. So, nurses, please protect your work. Behold your hands and know that they are vehicles of God’s work. Follow your integrity. And honor your calling.