The First Year: Learning to Breathe

When I started nursing 14 years ago, I thought I had a pretty good idea of what I was getting into. I knew there would be long shifts, hard work, and emotional moments. But nothing quite prepares you for that first day on the floor — the weight of responsibility, the rush of adrenaline, the sheer pace of it all. I remember trying to look calm while internally panicking over every IV, every call light, every unfamiliar beep from a monitor.

In that first year, I learned how to breathe through the overwhelm. I learned to lean on my colleagues, to ask questions, and to admit when I didn’t know something. I also learned that resilience isn’t about pretending to be tough. It’s about showing up every day, even when you feel uncertain, and doing your best with the support of a strong team around you.

The Middle Years: Weathering the Storms

Years three through ten were where I found my footing and truly grew as a nurse. I moved between units, took on leadership roles, and became a resource for newer nurses. But these years also brought some of the hardest lessons.

I’ve been through code blues that shook me to the core. I’ve held the hands of patients taking their last breaths. I’ve been yelled at by scared family members and comforted children who were too young to understand what was happening to them. I’ve witnessed both incredible recoveries and devastating losses.

In these years, resilience meant not shutting down in the face of pain. It meant learning how to carry grief without letting it harden me. It meant finding ways to keep my heart open while protecting my own mental health. I started practicing mindfulness and made peace with the fact that I couldn’t fix everything. Some days, resilience looked like stepping outside for five minutes of deep breathing. Other days, it was debriefing with coworkers after a difficult shift. We all found our ways to get through.

The Pandemic Years: Redefining Everything

No reflection on a nursing career would be complete without talking about the pandemic. Those years changed everything. We went from feeling stretched to feeling snapped. Protocols changed daily. We worked in full protective gear for hours at a time. We worried constantly about our own health, our families, and our patients. And yet we kept going.

I think about the fear we all felt in those early days. I think about how we supported each other with gloved hands and tired eyes. And I think about how our sense of purpose kept us grounded even as the rest of the world felt upside down.

Resilience during those years meant something different. It meant continuing to care when we were already burned out. It meant adapting on the fly, over and over again. It meant crying in the car after a shift, then walking back in the next day because we knew we were needed. That kind of resilience leaves a mark — not just on your career, but on your soul.

What I’ve Learned About People

One of the biggest gifts of nursing is the window it gives you into the human experience. You see people at their best and worst. You see incredible strength in the face of illness. You see love, fear, anger, gratitude, and everything in between.

I’ve learned that most people just want to be seen and heard. They want to know they matter. Whether it’s an elderly man recovering from surgery or a young mother in the emergency department, people respond to kindness. A soft voice. A moment of eye contact. A simple, “I’m here with you.” These small things are often what people remember most.

Nursing has taught me that resilience is not just an individual quality — it is built in relationships. It is strengthened when we lift each other up, when we listen without judgment, and when we allow ourselves to be human.

Looking Back, Moving Forward

After 14 years on the floor, I can say this work has shaped every part of who I am. I’ve become more patient, more grounded, and more grateful. I’ve also learned to set boundaries, to rest when I need it, and to speak up when something isn’t right. These, too, are acts of resilience.

The younger version of me thought resilience meant powering through no matter what. Now I know better. True resilience is about staying connected to your purpose, taking care of your own well being, and choosing compassion — again and again.

To the Next Generation

To the new nurses just starting out: You are stepping into a profession that will challenge you, stretch you, and change you in ways you can’t imagine. There will be days when you question if you’re cut out for it. Keep going. Lean on your team. Learn from your patients. Take breaks. And never forget why you started.

Resilience is not a badge of honor or something you have to prove. It is something you build with time, intention, and support. It lives in the quiet moments — in the calm after chaos, in the breath you take before walking into another room, in the small victories that nobody else sees.

Fourteen years later, I am still proud to be a nurse. Not because it has been easy, but because it has been real. And I would not trade that for anything.