Fractured Foot, Full Heart: How Burnout Led to My Most Powerful Leadership Lesson

I often reflect on how my very brief time in adolescent psych shaped many of the leadership skills I still rely on today. However, there were many moments before that, which helped pave the trajectory I am on today. Not long ago, after the haze of post-COVID had started to clear, I found myself in a precarious situation. Staffing levels were critical, and it wasn’t just my company—healthcare everywhere was struggling. I was the clinical manager, case manager, on-call nurse, and on-call manager all rolled into one. I worked tirelessly, thinking this was how you prove your value in the field I had come to care for deeply. To me, working long hours and balancing multiple roles meant that I was doing what needed to be done, that I was showing my commitment.

At the time, I was given bits of information here and there, reassurances that once the circumstances allowed, I would get the promotion I had been promised. So, I kept pushing myself harder. Days and nights blended together. I was in the office, I was in the field, doing everything I could. I kept telling myself, "I’ll rest once it’s all worth it." But one morning, it all came to a head. I woke up and couldn’t even stand on my foot. The pain was unbearable. I had been dealing with it for days, but I ignored it, continuing to push forward with a fractured foot. After all, if I didn’t do it, who else would?

That foot injury was the first sign of a much deeper issue. I kept going, burning the candle at both ends, telling myself that someday, it would all pay off. But that day never came. About six months later, I found myself physically drained, emotionally unwell, and struggling to hold it all together. The stress had taken its toll, and I finally reached my breaking point. I walked away from hospice—a career I thought would be my forever. I left leadership, questioning everything. I didn’t want to manage anymore. Why would I want to continue? I had taken on all the responsibility, carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. But at the end of the day, I was just an employee. I was replaceable.

I’ve always struggled to let go, to delegate, to ask for help. It’s a hard habit to break, especially when you’ve spent so much time proving that you can handle it all. For a long time, I believed that strength meant doing it yourself, that leadership was about carrying the load alone. But over time, I’ve come to realize something crucial: I can’t be the strong leader my team needs if I don’t share the load. I’ve learned that asking for help and trusting others with responsibility isn’t a weakness—it’s a strategy for success. When I allow myself to lean on my team, we all become stronger together. While I still have a long way to go, I can now see that I am mirroring what I needed in those crucial moments years ago—someone to share the burden, someone to guide me in showing that strength isn’t about doing it alone, but about growing together.

I share this story because it was a turning point for me—a lesson I had to learn the hard way. But it was also one of the most profound lessons in my career. Even though I still struggle with it from time to time, I’ve grown in emotional intelligence. I now recognize when I’m pushing myself too hard, when I need to step back and reassess. I’ve learned to listen to myself and prioritize my well-being before I hit another breaking point.

Looking back, if someone had told me ten years ago that the most uncomfortable moments in my life would turn out to be the most instrumental parts of my growth—as a nurse, a leader, and as a human—I would never have believed them. I used to think that I had to have everything in place to reach a level of self-awareness and comfort in who I was. But now I understand that it’s through those moments of discomfort—those moments of pain and struggle—that the most significant growth happens. It’s not about waiting for everything to be perfect; it’s about learning to embrace the mess, the challenges, and the vulnerability that comes with being human. And in that vulnerability, there is strength.