When Confidence Cracks — And Why I’m Grateful It Did

Lately, I’ve been working closely with a lot of very new hospice nurses.

And I have to say—there is something about this season of my work that fills me with deep gratitude. Not because I have all the answers, but because I remember exactly what it feels like to not have them.

I’ve written before about my leap from inpatient hospice to hospice case management, but the memory feels especially alive right now.

In the inpatient unit, I was confident.

I had seen the worst of the worst—patients who were so sick they could no longer be cared for safely or comfortably at home. Crisis was familiar. Intensity was normal. I knew how to move in those moments.

So when I stepped into case management, I thought, I’ve got this.

These were the “stable” hospice patients.

The ones at home.

The ones everyone talks about as manageable.

In my mind, this would be easier.

And for a moment, I believed it was.

Until I didn’t.

When that confidence cracked, my world shattered.

I went from feeling like I was excelling to feeling like I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. The shift was sudden and disorienting. I cried—and not just occasionally. I cried daily.

Some days, the despair was so heavy that I would call my old boss from the inpatient unit and beg her to let me come back.

“I made a mistake,” I kept saying.

“I’m not cut out for this.”

“I should never have left.”

She listened.

And she was kind—but not the kind of kind that rescues you.

She was the kind of kind that holds the line.

It would have been easy for her to take me back.

It would have benefited her.

It would have felt like relief for me.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she pushed me—just far enough.

Far enough that I struggled.

Far enough that I floundered.

Far enough that I cried and questioned myself and truly believed I had failed.

But what I couldn’t see then was that I was growing.

That moment—the one I thought was a mistake—became a cornerstone.

Because of it, I became the leader I choose to be today.

The leader who will look you in the eye and tell you what you need to hear, not just what feels comforting in the moment.

And the leader who will stand right beside you, holding you steady, when I believe in you more than you can believe in yourself.

Working with new hospice nurses now, I see echoes of myself everywhere—in the doubt, the overwhelm, the quiet fear of not being enough.

And every time I do, I feel grateful.

Grateful that someone once believed in me enough not to pull me back to safety.

Grateful that my confidence cracked—so something stronger could take its place.