What Nursing Taught Me About Resilience

I can remember being told, “You’re a great nurse,” on days when I hadn’t taken a break, hadn’t eaten and hadn’t even found time to use the restroom.

I had given 150 percent to my patients, and that was rewarded.

The message was clear, even when nobody said it directly: A good nurse keeps going. A good nurse puts everyone else first. A good nurse doesn’t stop simply because she’s tired, hungry, overwhelmed or needs a few minutes to herself.

I cared deeply about my patients, and I wanted to give them the best care I could.

But after more than 40 years in nursing, I can see how easily devotion can become self-abandonment when pushing past our own needs is praised as dedication.

That pattern became so deeply ingrained that I didn’t always recognize what it was costing me.

Eventually, I felt as though my soul was depleted. I felt nothing, numb, like my soul was dying.

That’s a strong statement.

But for me, it was the truth.

And it changed the way I understand resilience.

When Self-Neglect Is Rewarded

Caring professions have a funny way of praising the person who stays late, skips lunch, takes the extra shift and somehow keeps smiling.

We may be admired for how much we can carry, especially when we carry it quietly.

Eventually, that praise can become an internal voice.

• I’ll eat later.

• I’ll rest when this is finished.

• Someone else needs me more.

• Just get through today.

Sound familiar?

The problem is that tomorrow usually brings another reason to keep going.

What begins as commitment can quietly become a way of living where our own needs barely make the list.

Resilience Isn’t Endless Endurance

For a long time, I thought resilience meant being the person who could handle everything.

Now I see it very differently.

Resilience isn’t being untouched by stress or endlessly strong. And it certainly isn’t proving how much we can endure before we finally break.

Sometimes resilience does look like getting through a really difficult day.

But sometimes it looks like resting before our bodies force us to.

• Sometimes it means setting a boundary.

• Asking for help.

• Admitting that something simply isn’t sustainable anymore.

• Maybe even changing direction.

Resilience isn’t a performance.

It's an ongoing relationship with ourselves.

And that relationship has to include listening.

Being Capable Doesn’t Make Us Invincible

Nurses become very good at functioning under pressure.

We learn to assess a situation, prioritize what matters and stay present when someone else is frightened or in pain.

Those skills are incredibly valuable.

They're also part of what can get us into trouble.

Because when you're really good at functioning, you can continue functioning for a very long time while something inside you is becoming depleted.

A capable person can still be exhausted.

A calm person can still be carrying grief.

A caregiver can still need care.

We may still be getting everything done.

We may still be helping everybody.

We may look perfectly fine from the outside.

Meanwhile, something inside us is getting quieter and quieter.

I know that place.

What Is Actually Moving Me?

This is a question I've learned to ask myself:

Why am I still pushing?

Am I moving toward something because it gives me joy, sparks my curiosity or feels meaningful?

Or am I pushing because somewhere inside me I believe I have to?

That pressure can come from our profession, our family, other people's expectations or the roles we've taken on.

And sometimes it comes straight from us.

That's the sneaky one.

An internal push can sound an awful lot like commitment.

• I'm responsible.

• People are counting on me.

• I can handle it.

• It just needs to get done.

And sometimes all of those things are true.

But I've learned to get curious about what's underneath them.

• Am I choosing this?

• Does this still feel meaningful?

• Or am I afraid of what might happen if I say no, slow down or change direction?

I don't always love the answers.

But resilience isn't only about having the capacity to continue.

Sometimes it's knowing why we're continuing.

Recovery Can't Always Wait

One of the biggest lessons nursing taught me is that recovery can't always wait until everything else is finished.

Because let's be serious.

Everything is rarely finished.

There will always be another email.

Another person who needs something.

Another task.

Another reason we could put ourselves off until tomorrow.

And recovery doesn't have to mean a week at a spa somewhere.

Although I'm certainly not opposed to that! Spa robe and slippers are my fave :)

Sometimes it's rest, your favorite movie, yummy food or getting outside.

Sometimes it's movement, laughter, prayer or stillness.

Sometimes it's an honest conversation with someone who can listen without immediately trying to fix you.

Sometimes it's ten minutes when nobody needs anything from you.

I also love small rituals that help us move from one part of the day into another.

• Changing clothes after work.

• Stepping outside.

• Making tea.

• Taking a shower.

• Noticing a familiar scent.

• Nothing earth-shattering.

Just little signals that say:

That part of my day is over. I'm here now.

Recovery isn't something we earn after we've finally done enough.

It's part of being human.

And Resilience Can't Fix a Broken System

This part matters.

We cannot keep teaching people to become more resilient while ignoring environments that are asking too much of them.

Resilience should never be used to excuse unsafe workloads, chronic understaffing or systems that expect human beings to function indefinitely beyond reasonable limits.

No breathing practice, wellness routine or positive attitude can make an unhealthy workplace healthy.

The World Health Organization recognizes burnout as an occupational phenomenon associated with chronic workplace stress that hasn't been successfully managed, and occupational-health agencies have documented the many workplace conditions contributing to stress and burnout among healthcare workers.

And honestly, part of me reads that and thinks:

Did we really need a study to tell us what so many healthcare workers already know?

Individual well-being matters.

But organizations have responsibilities too.

Sometimes the resilient choice isn't learning how to tolerate more.

Sometimes it's naming what isn't working.

Asking for change.

Setting a boundary.

Or deciding that it's time to leave.

We Aren’t Meant to Carry Everything Alone

Nursing also taught me that resilience can be deeply relational.

Sometimes we need someone who will listen without immediately trying to fix us.

Sometimes we need practical help.

Sometimes we need friends, family or community.

And sometimes we need qualified medical or mental health support.

Receiving support isn't evidence that we've failed at resilience.

It's part of resilience.

That took me a while to learn. And it's always evolving.

What I Know Now

After more than 40 years in nursing, I don't measure resilience by how much someone can carry anymore.

And I'm trying not to measure my own resilience that way either.

I still ask myself:

• Am I drawing on resilience, or am I spending energy I haven't allowed myself to replenish?

• Am I moving toward this because it feels meaningful and alive, or because I've learned to measure my worth by how much I can carry?

• Am I choosing this, or am I responding to an old expectation that says a good nurse, caregiver or capable woman should always be able to give more?

Like I said, I don't always love the answers.

But the questions help.

They help me recognize when strength has quietly become overextension.

They help me notice the difference between commitment that's fueled by authentic purpose (I call it mission) and the kind that's being driven by obligation, expectation or fear.

And perhaps most importantly, they remind me of something I wish I'd understood much earlier:

Caring for myself doesn't make me less caring.

Rest, boundaries and support aren't rewards we earn after doing enough.

They're part of how we remain present, honest and fully alive.

I'm still learning that one.

Maybe I always will.