When the Work Becomes the Warning: My Wake-Up Call as a Psychiatric Nurse

There are chapters in our professional journey that leave marks too deep to forget. For me, one of those chapters was working as a nurse in adolescent psychiatric care. It was a role I stepped into with purpose, thinking I could be a steady presence in the lives of young people at their most fragile. And for a while, I was. But the toll it took—on my body, mind, and spirit—was far more than I expected.

In that role, I became uncomfortably familiar with crisis. The kind of crisis that doesn’t follow a script. I was on a first-name basis with the state troopers who were routinely called in to deescalate violent outbursts or transport patients in handcuffs when no other options remained. I witnessed the full spectrum of human emotion—rage, heartbreak, hopelessness—all colliding within the walls of a unit that never slept.

The days blurred together under fluorescent lights, the tension always simmering. There were nights when I came home and couldn’t remember the last time I had a meal or drank a glass of water. Anger and despair weren’t just in the air—they were in the eyes of kids who had seen far too much far too young. And sometimes, despite our best efforts, that pain turned outward in violent, heartbreaking ways.

There’s a kind of emotional fatigue that creeps in slowly. You think you’re coping, managing, compartmentalizing. But one day, I realized I was physically sick. Not just tired—sick. My body had been whispering warnings for months that I’d chosen to ignore.

And it hit me—this wasn’t just a hard job. It was a job that was slowly erasing pieces of who I was. The shifts were demanding, the emotional weight relentless, and maintaining any semblance of a normal family life felt impossible. I was giving everything I had to others and had nothing left for myself or the people I loved.

This was especially difficult because I had already burned out once before, in a different role that had taken its own toll on me. I never expected to find myself in that place again. When I started in adolescent psych, I truly believed I had found the right fit—the calling that aligned with my skills, my empathy, and my desire to make a difference. I thought this was the path I was meant to be on. But even amid the exhaustion and heartbreak, I couldn’t stop thinking about my first passion. The purpose I felt in those earliest days of nursing—the moments where the human connection made it all feel worthwhile—kept pulling at me, reminding me there was still something meaningful waiting to be rediscovered.

That was the moment I knew I had to pause. To truly ask myself: Is this sustainable? Is this who I want to be and how I want to live?

Reevaluating didn’t mean I failed—it meant I listened. It meant I gave myself permission to change the direction of my life without abandoning the values that brought me into nursing in the first place. Compassion, advocacy, resilience—they didn’t leave me when I stepped away from that role. If anything, they became stronger.

Today, I still carry the stories of those kids with me. But I also carry the lesson that just because we can endure something, doesn’t mean we should. Sometimes, the bravest thing we can do as caregivers is care for ourselves.

That clarity eventually led me back to hospice care—a space where connection is sacred, presence is powerful, and purpose runs deep. It brought me back to the heart of why I became a nurse in the first place. Now, in my role as a leader, I’m just as passionate about helping caregivers protect their purpose as I am about patient care. Because healing doesn’t only happen at the bedside—it happens when we create systems that support the people doing the work. And it starts by listening to the moment when the work becomes the warning.

From the Pool to the Bedside: A Leadership Journey Across Unlikely Paths

Hello and welcome! I’m excited to introduce my first post on Leaders on The Edge, a space where I’ll be sharing insights, lessons learned, and personal stories that highlight the messy, yet powerful, process of growth

As we all know, personal development isn’t a straight line—it’s filled with setbacks, tough lessons, and moments where grit is the only thing keeping us moving forward. This newsletter will explore not just the "why" behind personal growth, but the "how"—the strategies, the challenges, and the real work that goes into building resilience and strength.

I’ve learned so much along the way, and I’m eager to share what’s been working—both on my own journey and from conversations with others in the field. I hope this newsletter becomes not just a source of knowledge, but also a conversation starter.

Thank you for joining me on this exciting journey. Let’s dive in!

From an early age, I learned the power of self-discipline as an avid swimmer, pushing myself through rigorous practice schedules and understanding the importance of perseverance. However, it wasn’t until college that I realized my priorities were at odds with one another. Swimming on average nine times a week, with its intense physical demands, left little room for pursuing a degree in the healthcare field, something I had always been passionate about. At 17, with little foresight into the long-term consequences, I made the decision to change my major, sacrificing a path in healthcare to continue my swimming career.  Business Management promised an easier academic path, that would allow me to focus my attention on college level swimming. This decision, while seemingly small at the time, marked the beginning of a profound realization: growth and development often come from making difficult, sometimes unexpected choices. Each piece of my journey, whether driven by discipline, passion, or the need to adapt—has shaped who I am today, teaching me that the path to personal and professional development is never linear, but every experience, no matter how different, profoundly impacts the journey

It was this decision that framed the next decade of my life. I quickly realized that while swimming was a passion, it did little to prepare me for a career outside the pool. With a degree in business management—one that held little interest for me and no clear path forward—I found myself in roles that didn’t ignite the spark I was searching for. I worked as a certified nursing assistant, a nanny, and even returned to the swimming world to try my hand at coaching. While each of these roles was fulfilling in its own right, none of them gave me the drive or foundation I needed to truly wake up excited for the day ahead. They weren’t the stepping stones I needed for the career that would eventually propel me into the world of personal development, leadership, and inspiration. It was clear that something was missing, but I didn’t yet know what that something was—until I began to seek out the deeper connection between my work and my personal growth.

Following the birth of my second daughter, I found myself in a period of deep soul-searching. I was nannying for a family with three children, while my own two kids were being cared for by others. Though I was surrounded by the chaos of life, I felt a quiet but persistent sense that something was missing. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted, but I knew that this—what I was doing at that moment—wasn’t it. On a whim, almost without thinking, I reached out to Naugatuck Community College to inquire about their nursing program. It was an unexpected move, but in that moment, I felt a spark of clarity—a desire to change, to find a path that felt more aligned with my own growth and my purpose.

                I jumped headfirst into nursing school, determined to complete my degree as quickly as possible. The fast-paced, demanding environment was a challenge, but I was fueled by a clear sense of purpose and urgency. During this time, I also ventured into the non-profit world for the first time, and it was here that I truly found a deeper sense of meaning in my work. Being part of an organization dedicated to serving others gave me a profound sense of fulfillment. We weren’t just providing services; we were doing so with the intention of making a difference, contributing to something much bigger than ourselves. It was in these moments that I realized I had found a career that aligned with my values and ignited my passion for serving others.

                Of course, things could not be that simple. It was during nursing school that I stumbled upon my true passion: end-of-life care. One day, I visited an inpatient hospice center near the college, and something shifted inside me. The quiet, compassionate environment, the care provided to both patients and their families—it all resonated deeply with me. I knew, without a doubt, that this was the direction I needed to pursue. It wasn’t just a career; it was a calling. That visit affirmed my desire to specialize in hospice nursing, and from that moment on, I was determined to pursue it immediately after graduation.

My initial role in hospice care, while not aligning perfectly with my personal expectations, became the crucial stepping stone that grounded my transition both as a clinician and as a leader. In truth, it wasn’t just not ideal—it broke me. The emotional toll of the work, combined with the weight of my responsibilities, was overwhelming. I left hospice thinking I had made a huge mistake. I questioned whether I had any business in this field, and I certainly felt unqualified to take on a leadership role. Doubts clouded my confidence, and for a while, I felt disconnected from the very purpose that had drawn me to hospice care in the first place. But looking back, I realize that this experience, while painful, was necessary. It challenged me to confront my fears, understand my limitations, and ultimately gave me the resilience to grow into the clinician and leader I would become.

Much like a tightrope walker balancing on a thin line, healthcare providers are constantly walking the precarious path between navigating crushing financial pressures and ensuring the well-being of vulnerable populations. While the weight of cost-cutting measures can strain resources and compromise care, the true cost is measured not just in dollars, but in the health outcomes of those who rely on the system most.

I left hospice. I left leadership. I needed a change, and in an unexpected twist, I took on a role in adolescent psychiatry of all things. It was a complete departure from what I had known, but during this time, I began to reframe my thinking. I realized that while I still wasn’t satisfied in my career, I needed a fresh perspective and the courage to move forward. Even though I was in a completely different field, I continued to browse job postings, searching for something that could reignite my passion. One day, I came across a hospice case manager role. It was intriguing. The agency had received positive feedback, and I was looking for a fresh start. Yet, I still clung to the negative stories I’d heard before—doubts that held me back. But one day, I made the leap. That leap would ultimately catapult my career trajectory, bringing me back to the very field I had once left, and landing me where I am today—a place of purpose, leadership, and passion for hospice care.